Mace (Cocky Cage Fighter #4) (2 page)

"Hello? Who is this?” The goddess’s melodic voice is the perfect mixture of husky sex phone operator and sweet southern belle, slowly stretching out all of her vowel sounds.

Realizing there hasn’t been ringing on the phone at my ear for several seconds, it's very possible that she caught me singing along with Frankie while I strained my eyes, hoping to develop x-ray vision. I need to know what kind of panties she’s got on underneath that tiny ass dress. Thong? Bikini? Lace? None? Oh fuck, the mystery of it all might just blow my goddamn mind.

I watch as a crease forms between her eyebrows that are a shade or two darker than her hair, making her face seem even more strikingly beautiful. Frowning harder, she says, “Hello? Is anyone there?" In her southern drawl, I imagine the question would be closed captioned to something along the lines of, “
’Ello? Is Annie Juan thare
?” Yeah, I know
thare
is not a word, but that’s how it comes out of her mouth, dripping slow and sweet like honey. I’m used to Linc’s country twang, even though at first I thought he was an unintelligent hick. Of course I now know he’s definitely not. But her accent on the other hand?  Well, damn, if it’s not
cute as a button
, as they would say around here. Which really makes no fucking sense because there’s nothing cute about buttons, but I digress.  

"Hey, um, this is Mason, your ride," I finally respond, and then wince when the words come out making me sound like an overexcited, fourteen-year-old boy, which I must say, nicely compliments my public boner.

Her sigh is so heavy, I can practically feel the warmth of her breath whooshing against my ear before she says, "You're late."

There's something about the weight in those two words and how her golden shoulders slump that have me feeling shittier than maybe ever before for being slack. Not just slack, I was fucking selfish, making this incredibly classy and gorgeous woman wait for me in a shitty airport coffee shop while I was dicking around. The southern beauty doesn't even sound pissed. She sounds...disappointed in me. Which is so much worse. And I know right then and there that my being late has actually hurt her feelings. In a rare moment of understanding how the crazy female brain works because I have—
had
— two older sisters, I even realize exactly
why
she's upset - I didn't think she was important enough to be on time for.  

"I'm sorry," I say with as much conviction as possible, because I honestly mean it. If I had known about those fucking mile-long legs and her slow, sexy drawl, I would've been here at sunrise, waiting to worship her on my knees instead of having a threesome. That’s right,
she
equals the equivalent of two sexy women. Hell, maybe even four. "What can I do to make it up to you?” I ask, wanting, no, scratch that,
needing
to have her forgiveness. “Any fucking thing. Name it, and you've got it, sweetheart."

And that’s when it happens. Her face breaks into a smile that's so stunning it actually causes a hiccup in the space-time continuum. It's like in a movie when the entire room freezes. Everyone else around us disappeared, time stood still, and the single moment hung suspended in its progression, all because of
her
.  

I pull the phone away from my ear to see what time it is because I never want to forget this monumental, historic event.  Eleven-eleven on June sixth is the exact moment I fell in love with that smile. And now I’m absolutely sure that I'll not only keep my promise to do anything to make up for being late, but I'm also certain that I would do anything on God’s green Earth just to see her smile again.   

Hailey Abrams

Oh, he is good, wipin’ away the annoyance of an almost two-hour wait with a few smooth words.

After walkin’ about twenty laps around the entire airport, I stopped at the coffee counter, too wound up to sit down, and besides, standin’ burns more calories than sittin’. I was startin’ to wonder if my ride, Claire's younger brother Mason, was ever gonna show or if I was shit out of luck.

Since I can’t have a car or drive in New York, I let my North Carolina driver’s license expire. Now I can’t even rent a freakin’ car until I can go to the DMV next week. Last night I had a photo shoot, so today was the earliest I could fly in for the festivities. Everyone else is already at the beach. Linc told me that Claire’s brother could be somewhat flaky, but promised he wouldn’t forget something as important as pickin’ me up. Well, he was wrong. But honestly, it’s my own darn fault for not havin’ a license, not the guy who was suckered into goin’ out of his way to do a favor for my brother.    

"So where are you?" I ask, decidin’ to file his sweet and genuine soundin’ offer away for later.

"In the airport."

"It's a rather large and crowded place. Could you be just a little more specific?"

"Ah...I see some planes."

"Fine. You come to me," I tell him on a sigh. What's a few more minutes to wait before I have to get in a car and drive five hours to spend a week watchin’ my baby brother get married, all happy in love while I remain a depressingly single old maid? I'm ecstatic for Linc and Claire, I really am. They are no doubt googly eyed in love with each other. But I'm two years older and just turned twenty-seven.
I
was supposed to be the first one to get married and settle down, dammit! "I'm at the Greenie Beanie in the General Aviation Terminal. Just call me again when you get here."

"Okay, I'm on my way. Give me like ten minutes or so," he says.   

Shakin’ my head, I end the call and toss the phone back into my purse. No reason to keep checkin’ it. My friends all know I'm in North Carolina for a week, so they won't be callin’ to see if I want to go out this weekend. I haven't dated any guys in over three months so nobody will call to say they miss me. And my family is all wrapped up in
Wedding Extravaganza 2015
. Again, I'm not bitter, but jealous and so damn tired of bein’ alone.

Plenty of men want you; they just all happen to only come up to breast level and have a Bigfoot fetish,
the inner bitch who gives me hell pretty much 24/7 says to dampen my mood even more. Yes, I'm a giant of a woman, and with my heels on, I easily stand at over six feet tall. You would think I'd be rail thin since I'm vertically supersized, but nope. There is plenty of meat on my bones, which is why I've always been in the "plus size" or "full figure" categories instead of a couture, runway model. Mainly I do catalog work and some commercials.

“Hi, hon. Can I get a tall cup of the house blend?"

I’m powerless to stop my curious eyes from glancin’ up when I hear the deep, masculine and persuasive voice orderin’ at the counter. Yowza! Mr. Coffee is
hot
. And really big. Even at my giant, unfeminine height, he makes me feel small. Facin’ his profile, I get a chance to stare at the tribal tats that start at the shoulder of his wife-beater and wrap around and down his entire right arm, endin’ at the top of his hand. There's something about the thick, black markings that resemble a warrior's armor and screams
badass
. Speaking of asses, mmm-mmm, you could bounce a quarter off his tight, firm one that fills out his rugged jeans nicely. I have a sudden urge to spank it, and then maybe lick it, which is
really
sayin’ somethin’ since I've never actually thought about lickin’ a man's ass before.

"Thanks, hon. Have a good one," Mr. Coffee says to the teenage cashier. The girl is sportin' second-degree cheek burns when she hands him his cup. She’s also blinkin’ up at him like she’s imaginin’ havin’ his pretty little babies.
Rookie
.

Oh, but then he slides farther down the counter and turns toward me. As soon as I get the first glimpse of his face, I completely understand the young girl’s fluster. Warm, beautiful green and gold sprinkled eyes meet mine, suckin’ all the air from my lungs.

"Hey," he says softly, sweepin’ his caramel hair out of his eyes to look at me from underneath long, dark lashes. The way he said that one word sounds somewhat hesitant, like we're old friends and he’s worried I’m about to rip him a new one. Hold on.
Is
he talkin’ to me? I actually glance over my shoulder to make sure there’s no one else around, and then face him again so quickly that my long ponytail slaps me in the face.

"Hey?" My response sounds like a question.     

Full, sensual lips quirk up at one corner when he takes a step closer and reaches for a coffee lid in the container behind me. I don’t offer to move out of his way, not certain my limbs would obey the command if I wanted them to. "Hailey, right?" he asks.

Wait, what? How does he know my...who the heck is...

"Mason?" I gasp, and dammit, my cheeks instantly feel warmer. This is what I get for makin’ fun of the blushin’ girl.

“Yeah,” he says givin’ me a full, perfect, megawatt smile. When I imagined Claire’s “little” brother,
he
was definitely not what I had in mind. He’s not a boy, but a very large, impressive man. When he holds out his huge tattooed hand in offerin’, I slip my palm against his for a quick and awkward handshake, more like holdshake since mine just sits there in his warm, strong grasp. I shiver just thinkin’ of all the badass things he’s probably capable of doin’ with that lethal size and strength. Like my brother, I know he’s also a cage fighter. The confidence in his grip and steady, rich green gaze tells me that he knows
exactly
how to use that massive body of his to throw men his own size down on the canvas of the octagon and throw a woman into an orgasm coma. Just lookin’ at the tall, sexy man causes a warmth low in my belly and tinglin’ in my panties.

"How'd you...I thought you said..."
Way to go, Hailey,
my inner bitch chastises me. Y
ou've now lost the ability to speak in a complete sentence.   

"I was closer than I thought," he responds with a shrug of his wide, muscular shoulders.

“Ah, good, I guess.” Doesn't explain how he knew what I looked like. Guess Linc gave him a description. I can practically hear my brother describin’ me to Mason now, "
Just look for the giraffe among the antelope. Can't miss her."

He tears open a few sugar packets, dumps them into his coffee, and then swirls it around with a red stir straw before popping on the lid. I watch, entranced with each and every muscle in his tattooed arm that flexes. After that's taken care of, he reaches and grabs another red stirrer and offers it to me. "A rain check on owing you, since I was a jackass and made you wait.”

I look at the peace offerin’ for a second before I finally accept it, slippin’ the stirrer into my purse to buy some time to decide what I might want from him. “Anything?” I ask when I look back up at him, wonderin’ if that covers lickin’ his tattoo. Or even better, his incredible ass.

“Anything,” he agrees, his handsome face dead serious. “So, soon-to-be-sis, you ready to hit the road?"

Whoa! I don't like that word
sis
at all, since there is nothin’
sisterly
about what I was thinkin’ about him. "We're not actually gonna be related," I tell him.

"My sister will be your sister, and your brother will be my brother, so wouldn't that make me your
brother by marriage?"

"That’s definitely not how it works, so please don’t call me that."

"Okay, fine." He chuckles. "This all your luggage?" He nods to the white leather Dolce & Gabanna carry-on bag beside my feet that matches my purse. I watch as his eyes slowly follow my legs all the way up and over the hem of my dress before comin’ to a stop at my bust, where they remain for longer than is polite.

"Um, one of three bags. I need to grab the other two on the way out," I tell him, unable to resist reachin’ up to smooth my ponytail, fidgetin’ nervously under his gaze. I can practically hear what he's thinkin’,
Pretty face and big tits, she’d be kind of hot if she lost a few pounds.
The story of my life.

"Lead the way, sweetheart," Mason says to me with a smile and arm sweep toward the baggage claim, after he picks up my carry-on. It takes me a minute for my feet to start movin’ since I get distracted by his muscles again. I cannot wait to load him up with heavier luggage to see more of those puppies pop.

I may or may not be guilty of swayin’ my hips a little more than usual, knowin’ he's walkin’ behind me and possibly lookin’ at my ass. Some guys like bigger ones, maybe he does, too.
Is
he lookin’ at my ass? I wanna glance behind me to check, but resist. Until I hear…hummin’ and then… Is he seriously singin’?

My high heels stop movin’ and I give in to the urge to look over my shoulder, raisin’ an eyebrow in question. There's no way I can suppress the smile on my face, despite how hard I try to remain unaffected by the flatterin’ lyrics.

"Devil With A Blue Dress On," he says, givin’ a nod in the direction of my blue sundress as if I didn't recognize the familiar tune. The widenin’ grin on his face causes my own to expand. His is so damn big that there are these adorable matchin’ smile lines on each side of his upturned lips, like his sexy mouth thought it needed to be offset in a pair of parenthesis so you wouldn’t miss it among all of his other fine facial assets. Strong jaw. Dark scruff from not shavin’ this mornin’, thicker over his sideburns and chin. Emerald eyes with hypnotizin’ swirls of gold that he doesn’t take off mine for even an instant.

"Oh, so I'm the devil?"  I ask.

"Only in the best way," he replies smoothly.

"How do you know?" I look up into his humor-filled expression. I'm not used to havin’ to look
up
at anyone, and it's...really nice. He makes me feel all girly because he's so big and strong. It's probably just some primal inner cavewoman approval thing, because based on his sheer size, he would make an ideal mate, providin’ protection and warmth. Senn is the only other man who has ever invoked the same sort of instant physical attraction from me. Now I'm on my way to live in a beach house with him for a week since Senn is my brother's best man. Yay for me and all the awkward fun
that
will be! Oh God. What if Senn brought a date? I had kind of been hopin’ we could pick things up from where they left off last summer. Stupid and silly, I shake those annoyin’ thoughts from my head and focus on the buff giant in front of me. "You just met me two minutes ago, so I could be a complete, ragin’ bitch."

"You are not a complete, raging bitch," he says with total confidence before takin’ a sip of his coffee and lookin’ at me over the top. The foot traffic movin’ at a fast clip around us causes Mason to have to take a step closer to me. So close, I get a whiff of the comfortin’ scent of sunshine and leather on him, which has me shiftin’ all the way around to face him. His smell is just one more addition to the growin’ list of things my inner cavewoman likes about him. "I know you're not a bitch,” he continues. “Because you could’ve thrown a fit and called me an asshole for being late, which I would have deserved, but you didn't."

"Maybe I'm just waitin’ until we get into the car before I throw a fit. Private bursts of bitchiness might be more my style," I counter

"Doesn't matter," he says with a shrug of indifference.

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” I ask in confusion with my hands on my hips.

"The longer the fit you throw the better,” he replies. “Because regardless of what comes out of your mouth, it'll give me a reason to keep looking at you while imagining all the various styles and colors of panties you just might be wearing underneath that dress. Blue thong? Black lace? The possibilities are," his eyes drop purposefully below my waist like he’s tryin’ to see through the fabric before they meet mine again, "endless."

Oh. My. God. He's talkin’ about my panties. In the middle of an airport. And we just met. And he's gonna practically be family in a few days. Does any of that stop the aforementioned from becomin’ wet? Nope.

"Let me save you some time, they're cotton string bikinis, white with little red cherries,” I inform him as my inner cavewoman throws herself on the ground and spreads her legs.
Slut
.

Why did I just describe my undergarment to him in great detail? I have no idea. Maybe because he has a way of makin’ me feel sexy with a few smooth words, and that's not somethin’ I get to feel very often. I like it. In my profession, it’s always about the negative; what I need to fix and what's wrong with me, like the size of my thighs or the flab around my waist. 

Mason groans, and his heated stare, focused on the front of my dress, is all it takes to have me percolatin’. A different grin spreads across his face. This one is triumphant and downright wicked when he meets my eyes again, like he knows the effect he has on me. "You might very well be
the damn devil, but my cock really appreciates your assistance in completing that visual for him," he says with a wink.