Under His Protection (16 page)

Mason frowned. Did he really want to end
this? Was this really just about sex? The sex was fantastic, but
there was more. Much more. And despite his earlier negative
thoughts about relationships, he realized he didn’t want to stop
seeing her.

He didn’t want to let Blake get away. Not
yet.

Now he needed to figure out how to prove
that to her. That she mattered.

But would she believe him?

Chapter Ten

When Blake woke from her nap, Mason was
nowhere to be found. Sleep had been fitful, full of odd dreams—no,
nightmares—about Mason leaving her. Making her cry, leaving her
desolate and alone. She gave up on sleep after jerking awake for
what felt like the hundredth time.

She found a note Mason left her on the
bedside table, saying he was working and would be back at the main
house in a while. She studied his bold, slashing script, unfamiliar
with his handwriting since he had no reason to communicate with her
in such a manner.

There was so much about him she still didn’t
know, was a mystery to her. She wanted to know, had cherished every
private, intimate fact he’d doled out to her since they’d been
together on the island, but it wasn’t enough.

She wanted more. She wanted everything when
it came to Mason. But did that make her greedy?

Well, if it did, then so be it.

After puttering around in her studio for a
few moments, she realized she couldn’t concentrate. Her thoughts
were consumed with Mason. She wanted to go out and talk to him but
she just...couldn’t.

Allowing him entry into her private world,
letting him see the one thing she did that no one else knew about,
left her feeling raw and vulnerable. When she’d told him, she’d
been shaking with nerves over his reaction and dreading what he
might say.

His words had been kind, his reaction a
complete surprise. She hadn’t expected his immediate, easy
acceptance. And because of it, emotion had overwhelmed her.
Emotions she couldn’t express no matter how badly she wanted
to.

Sniffing, she grabbed a tissue and dabbed at
her eyes, then her nose. She didn’t know why she cried. They hadn’t
fought and he definitely hadn’t been mean to her.

That was precisely the problem. He hadn’t
dismissed her easily or tore her down for her art. He hadn’t made
her feel small or useless. Anyone else would’ve told her she was
wasting her time.

Mason told her she had talent—and he’d been
sincere.

Tears streaked down her cheeks and she
swiped at them irritably. She never cried. It was a sign of
weakness and her father abhorred weakness above all else. Yet it
felt as if she’d done nothing but cry since she arrived on the
island. The waterworks wouldn’t let up.

It felt surprisingly good to revel in the
show of emotion.

Memories flooded her of the last time she
cried, after she talked to her dad and he’d been so terribly cruel.
Mason’s gentle, tentative offering of comfort had touched her, made
her realize then maybe what they shared wasn’t all one-sided.

And then that kiss, which had ended far too
soon, but eventually led to so much more.

Blake tossed the crumpled tissue into the
wastebasket with a frustrated sigh. She’d been foolish earlier,
letting her emotions get the best of her. All of the jumbled
feelings that warred within her made her head ahe, her stomach
burn.

She needed to focus on something else,
something meaningful. Constantly trying to prove herself by
pleasing her father was getting her nowhere. She usually ended up
making a fool of herself instead.

When she returned to DC, she was going to do
something different. Make a positive change in her life and not let
all the negativity get her down.

But what would she do? Volunteer maybe? Were
there art programs for disadvantaged kids? That sounded like
something she could throw herself into, something she would
enjoy.

An idea dawned and she stood, practically
ran to the tiny desk in the corner of her studio. Grabbing a
notebook and a pen, she scribbled furiously, taking notes so she
wouldn’t forget.

If there were no art programs for young
kids, then she would create one. She had enough money in trust and
her father would wholeheartedly approve, considering how it would
fit into the image he was constantly trying to create her into.
He’d probably ask her why she hadn’t thought of it sooner.

Better late than never, she mused as she
studied her chicken scratch writing. Maybe she had Mason to thank.
For making her open her eyes and really see the direction she was
taking herself.

Absolutely nowhere and completely miserable
while doing it.

Her cell phone rang and she grabbed it,
paused when she saw the number was blocked. Frowning, she answered
it anyway. “Hello.”

Silence greeted her.

“Helloooo?” Again nothing, so she hung up.
Within seconds, the phone started ringing again and this time, she
said nothing when she answered.

And heard heavy breathing on the other
end.

“Who the hell is this?” She rolled her eyes.
Had she ever had a breather call her before? Pervert.

A weird giggle sounded in her ear. “Blake?”
The voice was falsely high pitched, almost as if it had been
distorted.

Icy dread slipped down her spine. “Who is
this?”

“Can you come out and play?” Another giggle.
“Please, Miss Blake? You’re so pretty. I want to play with
you.”

She hung up with shaking fingers, dropping
the phone onto her desk as if it burned her. Her number was
unlisted and she gave it out to only a few people. So who the hell
was calling her?

Blowing it off as a wrong number was
impossible, considering the person called her by name…

Her cell rang yet again and she stared at
the screen and she saw it was her father. She hadn’t talked to him
in a couple of days. But did she really want to talk to him now?
Especially after that last phone call? No way could she tell him.
She needed to let Mason know first.

Deciding to get it over with, she answered,
striving for chipper.

“Blake! Where have you been? I’ve been
worried sick.” Her father’s voice was full of concern—and not a
trace of anger. Strange, especially considering the call she’d just
received.

“I’m fine, Daddy.” Her voice was shaky, a
residual effect leftover from the weird caller. She hoped her
father didn’t notice. “I haven’t been anywhere but here.”

Naked in Mason’s arms for the last few days,
but she certainly wasn’t going to mention that particular bit of
information. She’d been too distracted to bother with answering her
phone or even leaving the house.

“I’ve called a few times but you never
answer.”

Why didn’t he sound mad? She didn’t get it.
“I guess I’ve been distracted. I’m sorry. I’ll pay better
attention, I promise.”

“Oh, Blake.” He sighed and she swore she
could hear him shaking his head over the phone. He probably was.
“I’m not angry. Just concerned. I worry when I don’t hear from
you.”

Did he really? She figured he was too
occupied with his campaign to worry about her. “Have you talked to
Mason?”

“Of course. I’m in daily contact with Agent
Russell. I just thought maybe you might call me.”

“I know you’re very busy.”

“It’s been incredibly busy but exciting too.
Things are looking good, sweetheart. Real good.”

The endearment touched her even though she
knew it shouldn’t. It was pointless to get her hopes up only to
have them dashed and smashed.

“I’m happy for you, Daddy,” she said softly,
doodling on the notepad in front of her. Drawing little hearts with
her initials and Mason’s in them.

She scratched them out furiously, slashed
over them again and again. So silly.

“I wanted to talk to you about coming home.
We’d like you to fly back next Monday morning. How does that
sound?”

Just the thought of leaving Whitney Island
filled her with dread. She didn’t want to go.

She didn’t have a choice.

“That sounds fine. Do you have something
planned Monday night?”

“We do. The events are non-stop now, leading
up to the election. It’s a pre-celebration gathering that evening.
You’ll come, of course.” It wasn’t a question.

She answered it anyway. “Yes, I’ll be
there.”

“I’ll discuss arrangements with Russell, get
everything taken care of and I’ll see you next week.” Her father
paused and she waited, her hand clutching the phone so tight her
fingers cramped. “I’m proud of you, Blake. For keeping out of the
magazines. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.”

She absorbed his words, wishing she didn’t
always have this need for his approval. It would be so much
different if he gave it easily. “When I get home, I have something
important I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“I’m interested in some volunteer work,
something to do with kids and art.” She waited breathlessly for her
father’s reaction.

“That sounds perfectly fine, Blake. We’ll
discuss it more when you get home. I look forward to hearing your
ideas.”

“Goodbye.” She breathed a silent sigh of
relief.

“Bye, Blake. Take care.”

She held the phone up to her ear long after
her father disconnected the call. Slowly, she set her cell on the
desk and shook her head in disbelief.

Her father had been surprisingly accepting.
Would wonders never cease?

Blake rubbed her forehead with the tips of
her fingers. She felt better after talking to him, though now the
nerves came back even stronger. Not only did she need to go face
Mason after almost crumbling in front of him earlier like a crazed,
emotional wreck, now she needed to tell him about the phone
call.

He was going to flip. And she didn’t look
forward to it. He’d go into full agent mode when really she wanted
everything to remain quiet and intimate between them. No matter how
hard she tried, something always got in their way.

Gathering every last bit of resolve within,
she went to the studio door and slowly turned the knob. She glanced
around the edge of the door, then emerged from the studio and
started down the hall toward the kitchen.

A soft light glowed from the living room and
she realized it was awfully dark for the time of day. Clouds must
have rolled in. It was getting closer to nightfall and darkness
came earlier with every day that passed.

Soon it would be winter and gloomy and
depressing. Christmas would come and she’d be sad and lonely and
wishing she had someone, anyone to get her through the
holidays.

Someone like Mason.

Pushing pointless thoughts and wishes from
her mind, she moved down the hall, keeping her steps light,
practically holding her breath. Where was he? Was he still in the
cabin or had he come back into the house?

Blake ventured into the living room, saw the
single lamp that sat on the end table lit and a fire roaring in the
river rock fireplace. The room was warm and cozy. Inviting. She
wanted to grab the thick blanket that was draped over the back of
the couch and wrap it around her. Stare at the fire with a hot mug
of coffee in her hands and just enjoy the quiet.

But she couldn’t. She needed to find the man
who created this serene quiet first.

A sound came from the kitchen and she
followed it, nerves slowing her pace, doubt making her wonder if
she should turn around and go hide. Make him come to her.

No.
She stood straighter and took a
deep breath. She would go to him. She was being foolish.

When she entered the kitchen, his back was
to her. He stood by the sink, the water was on and she saw he was
washing his hands. The sleeves of his dark green thermal Henley
were pushed up, revealing his strong forearms and thick wrists. His
arms were beautiful, his entire body was beautiful, and a needful
ache started deep in her chest, blooming outward through her
limbs.

Mason shut off the water and reached for a
paper towel, tearing it off with a zipping rip. He dried his hands,
turned to toss the damp towel in the trash when his gaze lit upon
her.

“Blake.” His voice sounded strangled, a
little hoarse and she knew she’d surprised him.

“Hi.” She didn’t know what else to say and
she shuffled her feet, feeling awkward.

“Hey.” His expression was unreadable. No
surprise. He was so good at that. His mouth was a firm, straight
line and she missed that vulnerable softness that only appeared
when they were intimate.

Her skin prickled with awareness just at the
thought of kissing him.

When she didn’t speak, he looked determined
to fill the awkward silence with a bunch of meaningless words. “I
ordered dinner. It just arrived. Are you hungry?” He nodded toward
two large brown bags that sat on the kitchen counter and she stared
at them, surprised.

“No one delivers on the island.” The town
was so small everyone walked or drove to get what they needed.

“I convinced the new Chinese place to
deliver. I, uh, couldn’t leave and I didn’t want to disturb you
while you slept so I gave them a call.”

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

His brows drew together. “You weren’t?”

Blake shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep so I
went to my studio.” She paused. “I got a—weird phone call a few
minutes ago.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “It probably wasn’t a big
deal.”

“Tell me what happened Blake,” he demanded,
his voice stern.

“Okay, um, there was heavy breathing at
first, then weird giggling. Then the voice asked me if I could come
out and play.” Unease settled over her as the memory of the odd
voice came back to her.

Mason scrubbed a hand along his hard as
granite jaw. He looked quietly furious. “Was the request general or
was your name mentioned?”