Untouched: 2 (Rough Boys) (15 page)

She needed a raise. Like yesterday. For a moment he considered popping the glove compartment and digging out his checkbook. Scribbling a big, fat bonus check might be the best gift he could ever give her.

But he couldn’t do that. He was fucking in love with her, and he simply couldn’t insult her that way.

Grabbing his fruit basket, he settled it under his arm and climbed out of his truck. The sky was dirty gray and the wind brisk. Her walkway was blown shut. On the porch, he spied a shovel, which he’d use to clear the snow for her before he left. Hell, he wished it were summer. He’d round up a bunch of his guys and set them to work on that roof.

Putting his head down into the wind, he trudged through the deep snow and to the front porch. Mounting the steps, he found the boards were in worse repair than he originally thought.

The door was old and warped. The doorbell, when he stabbed it, didn’t work. Damn, it was getting worse and worse. What would the inside reveal? If she was living in squalor, he’d never forgive himself. Hell, he’d probably have nightmares about running her into the poverty level.

Rapping on the door, he waited. Inside, he heard the low voices of the television. Knocking again, he heard Eva call out, “Be right there!”

His heart kicked into overdrive. Small, pattering footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. Mason’s pulse raced. A thin barrier of wood separated him from the little boy Eva shared with a man who’d most likely killed himself. An innocent child, raised by only a loving mother. But did it make up for the things the child couldn’t possibly have? Like a roof that didn’t look ready to fall in?

“Let me get it, Brady. What have I told you about answering the door?” The muffled warning came to Mason’s ears, the inherent sultriness of her voice igniting him as always.

Fuck, now I have a hard-on. Merry Christmas, Eva.

She opened the door and gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth.

His heart surged onto his tongue at the mere sight of her. Wearing sweats and a tight-fitting tee in a holly red color, she absolutely glowed. She wore no makeup and her hair was in a messy bun atop her head.

He leaned in and kissed her fully on the lips. “You look beautiful.”

Reeling, Eva stepped aside to allow Mason to pass. He pressed a basket of fruit into her hands and turned at once to her son.

Bending down to Brady’s level, Mason smiled at him. “Hey, big guy. You must be Brady.”

“Yup!” He bounced up and down like a jackhammer.

Eva’s heart turned over. A constant tremor ran through her. What was he doing here?

She placed a hand on Brady’s head and mussed his soft, thick locks. “This is Mason.”

“He brought a present! Is he Santa?”

Mason smiled but a sad little spark lit his eyes. “Well, I come bearing fruit.” He pressed his lips together into a tight seam.

Eva’s chest fizzed with affection. Heedless of Brady’s presence, she stepped close to Mason and wrapped her free arm around his neck. Into his ear, she whispered, “I’m glad you’re here.”

He hugged her perfectly tight, flexing his arms, then curling them tighter on her body and squeezing her again. She imagined a hum in his muscles, just beneath the surface.

Brady threw himself at Eva’s legs and she and Mason shared a laugh. She stepped away and gave him a smile. “Come in.”

While he shed his coat and boots, she watched him, amazed at his size. Here in their little house, he seemed to take up so much space. Had she ever realized how broad his chest was?

“What is that, Mommy? Lemme see.” Brady hopped around her until she abandoned her study of Mason and held out the fruit basket to her son.

“Can I carry it?”

She tipped it into his arms and he strode off toward the kitchen, a cocky swagger in his step.

Mason was gazing at her, his eyes warm and tender. “I hope it’s okay that I came.”

“I can’t think of a better gift.” She went into his arms, hungering for his touch. Tears rode the surface of her eyes. At this moment, she was the happiest she’d ever been in her life.

Too bad she hadn’t known he was coming. She was dressed for comfort and not a smear of lipstick graced her face. She hadn’t even washed her hair.

Reaching up, she moved to tug out the pins holding it.

Mason gripped her wrist. “Leave it.”

A thread of excitement wove through her belly and settled between her thighs at his tone. She nodded. “Come and make yourself at home. We were just making a new batch of Christmas cookies. Somebody ate them and there weren’t any left for Santa.”

She led Mason through the living room and into the kitchen, where Brady had unwrapped the fruit basket and had already sunk his teeth into a shiny apple.

Mason laughed, a hearty and heart-warming sound that bridged the gulf in Eva’s life between existence and true joy. He swung his gaze between her and Brady. “He looks like you.”

A smile spread on her face. “Some say that.”

“That good, Brady?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he said around a mouthful.

She urged Mason to sit at the counter and took up her spot before the mixing bowl again. She felt his gaze on her every movement. A hot flush crept over her skin. God, how was she ever going to make it through an entire afternoon, and possibly an evening, with him? She wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms and kiss him until she could no longer breathe. But not with Brady’s very curious gaze upon them.

“What have you been doing all day?” she asked Mason, trying to take the focus off her.

“Thinking of you.” His abrupt and very blunt answer made her fingers twitch into fists. Holding herself back was going to be more difficult than she thought. Especially seeing him seated beside her son.

Brady devoured the apple and started in on another before Eva could stop him.

“Hey, mister! One wasn’t enough?”

“Uh-uh. It’s good.”

She grinned at her son, happy he was getting the fruit he loved. She had a hard time keeping fresh produce in the house, especially on a budget. In the fall, there were apples galore in the surrounding fields, but they were harder to come by in the winter months.

“Perfect gift,” she said to Mason.

The set of his shoulders relaxed minutely and he leaned across the counter to peek into her bowl. “What are you making?”

“Just chocolate chip. Little Mr. Frank’s favorite. And Santa’s too.” She quirked her brows upward and Mason smiled.

“What other plans do you have for the evening, besides leaving out cookies?”

“Leave a carrot for the reindeer,” Brady piped up.

Mason fixed him in his gaze. “A carrot? I thought they ate magic corn.”

Brady’s dark gaze shot to hers, a question in his eyes. He stopped chewing. “We have magic corn, Mom?”

“Nope. Santa feeds them magic corn for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The reindeer like a tasty treat now and then, and that’s carrots.” She smiled at both of the men in her life, then continued mixing the ingredients.

She let Brady dump in the chocolate chips, but before she could stir them in, he snatched a fistful. Dropping them onto the countertop, he looked at Mason.

“Wanna share?”

“You bet.” He pinched one chip between his thumb and forefinger and popped it into his mouth. Catching her gaze, he winked.

Warmth bathed her insides and engulfed her heart. She’d never been able to picture him here in this space with her. Somehow their relationship was real only when she was at work. Having him at her house gave her an acute pang of emotion. Was there more to their relationship than she’d suspected?

He wouldn’t have come otherwise.

He caught her staring. “Give your momma one.” He didn’t tear his gaze from hers.

Brady held out a chocolate chip and she leaned in, opening her mouth to accept the bit on her tongue. A shudder shook Mason’s big shoulders.

Straightening, she went on mixing. “We put out our cookies, a glass of milk, and a carrot, and then get tucked into bed so Santa can come. Isn’t that right, Brady?”

“Yep. And he’s gonna bring me a big dinosaur.”

She ducked her head. For the past two weeks, he’d been asking for a dinosaur and she hadn’t purchased one. She had the bike and helmet, a new set of PJ’s and a few other small gifts hidden away for him, but not a dinosaur. At this moment, if she were within a fifty-mile radius of an open store, she’d splurge on a dinosaur and damn the money.

Mason reached across the counter and trailed a finger over the crest of her cheek. When she met his gaze, she hoped her despair didn’t show.

“Well, these cookies are ready for the oven. Brady, do you want to help?” She looked to her son, who was just polishing off his second apple and reaching into the basket again.

“Uh-uh. No more for now. Now come wash your hands and you can help me scoop the dough.”

“Can I help?” Mason’s eyes danced.

Her knees melted. Waiting to get him alone was proving to be harder by the second. Did he understand what he did to her? She was having a hot flash and her panties were moist.

Once again, she wished she could sneak away and change into something else.

His gaze roved over her as she held Brady up to the sink to wash his hands. Then she gave her son a small ice cream scoop and set him to work scooping dough. When he had trouble releasing the dough onto the cookie sheet, Mason wrapped his big fist around Brady’s very small one and helped him squeeze it out.

Eva’s eyes filled with tears. Helpless against them, she simply looked on as her two favorite people interacted.

As if they were a father and son.

She twisted away to the sink.
I’m getting sappy. Just because he’s here doesn’t mean he wants to take over the raising of a child who is not his.

She gathered up a dish towel and quickly wiped her eyes. But not before Mason saw.

“Eva.”

Drawing a deep breath, she looked up. He wore an expression of concern, his dark brows drawn low.

“Come here.” He waved an arm and she came around the counter. He pulled her against him roughly, while still helping Brady drop dough onto the cookie sheet. Mason smoothed a hand up her nape and cradled the back of her head, drawing her face to his shoulder.

She laid her cheek on him, soothed by his touch and closeness. For so long she’d kept her own counsel, she couldn’t remember what it was like to share the burden of a worry. Could she spill out everything right now? Tell him about the dinosaur and the telephone and how she never had enough to pay the sitter, and all because of her damn late husband, who’d stolen from Mason’s father and then shot himself as a way to escape the reality?

The anger was back, and she knew from experience there was no absolving it. It had to ebb away on its own. Sometimes she even pitied Bill. But since she was left to sweep up so many shattered pieces after he was gone, it was rare that she knew pity.

Mason trailed his fingers up and down her spine until she relaxed against him. “Here, buddy, you try the next one. Your mom needs help right now.”

He licked off his sticky fingers and then twisted on the stool, pulling her between his legs. Wrapping her tightly against his chest, he buried his face in her hair and simply held her. For long minutes, she enjoyed his strength and support.

Suddenly he raised his head and burst out laughing. She followed his line of sight to Brady, who had the entire ice cream scoop shoved into his mouth, his cheeks bulging with metal and cookie dough. Drool ran down his chin.

She giggled. Before moving away from Mason, she gave him one last squeeze and received a pinch on her ass in return.

Grinning, she set about cleaning up her son, knowing this was going to be a brighter Christmas Eve with Mason present.

Outside Eva’s little house, the wind raged and snow drifted. The last thing Mason wanted to do was go out into that. Hell, that wasn’t the problem and he knew it. He didn’t want to walk away from Eva.

He stood in the living room, waiting for her to return from tucking Brady into bed. It took everything in him to keep from following them. A burning urge to see her sitting on the edge of Brady’s bed, reading him a story, consumed Mason. When she interacted with her son, she wore a gentle expression that made Mason’s breath catch.

For long minutes, he revolved through the space, looking at pictures of a smiling Eva and Brady together, taken at picnics and out in the snow. When he came upon a small snapshot of Bill and Eva in high school, he spun away.

Dammit, he didn’t know enough about her. Was she happy? How was she faring since her husband’s death? Did she pine for him or had there been a bad root there amongst the good of the family?

At the sound of her step, Mason spun. She wore a sad smile. “You’re leaving?”

“Uh—” He took two steps toward her and then drew up short. Suddenly he was more uncertain than he’d felt in a long time. “What do you want?”

He asked her often enough in bed, but in this context, the question fed his confusion. He didn’t know her, didn’t know what she wanted, not really.