Veiled Seduction (6 page)

“Shut up, Mason.”

“Did something happen?” Leyla asked.

He shrugged and took a sip of his wine. Avoiding their gazes worked for about a second, but then his eyes ping-ponged back to his sister’s stare. “Nothing big.”

“Did you have a fight?”

He snorted before he could stop himself. When Leyla’s eyes narrowed, he realized his tactical error. “It wasn’t exactly a fight.” To fight, you needed to have two people with a difference of opinion. There was no opinion here. He was right, and she had been wrong. Black and white.

“Oh, Sasha. What did you say to her? Did you hurt her?”

That his sister was taking Maira’s side irritated him to no end. Never mind the fact she had no idea what, if anything, had even happened. “No, I didn’t hurt her.” He paused when the image of her sad face popped into his mind. That hadn’t been hurt. Surely that had just been mortification. And well-deserved, right?

“She’s so sweet…”

“Are you kidding me? She came on to me, Leyla. There, now you know.” He shook his head in disgust and drained the rest of the wineglass. He wanted more, his throat suddenly dry, the ache in his chest growing. “She’s no different from everyone else who’s suddenly wanting to be my best friend.” She’d been the only one who’d tempted him toward accepting the offer though.

Leyla closed her eyes. “Oh my God.”

Well, that was better. “I know, right?”

“Mason, I think I hear the baby. Can you please go check on her?”

Since he knew Mason would easily run through fire naked to keep his daughter from so much as whimpering, Sasha was surprised when the other man shook his head resolutely. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Please.”

“No. Leyla, my E.R. is full, and I can’t let you put your brother back there.”

Leyla turned back to Sasha slowly. Fire snapped in her eyes. “You idiot. That woman has been crazy about you since she met you. She finally works up the courage to do something about it, and, being the stubborn, blind fool that you are, I bet you blew up and did something insane, didn’t you?”

Sasha blinked at her, unable to process more than a few of those rambling words at a time. “Crazy about me?” He tried to laugh and looked at Mason for support.

His best friend shook his head sadly. “Dude, I was the one who noticed it first. She’s got it bad.”

“Who are you, Dr. Phil?”

“Nah. I just know unrequited love when I see it.”

His stomach churned. “She does not love me.”

“Lust then.” Mason shrugged. “Whatever.”

“You’re both crazy.”

Leyla huffed a breath. “No, we’re both normal. You’re the idiot. If you’ve hurt that woman, so help me God, I will shoot you in the other leg.”

Since he knew it probably wasn’t an empty threat on Leyla’s part, he winced and attempted to defend himself. “You think it’s just coincidence that she suddenly decided now was the time to act on this long-standing desire?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Leyla held up her hand and ticked off the points on her fingers. “Is it a coincidence that Mason decided yesterday he needed to figure out how to make your favorite meal? Is it a coincidence that for your first time over since you got out of the hospital, I pulled out my wedding china? This is just a wild guess, but maybe she was so relieved you were okay and freaked out that you’d actually gotten hurt in the line of duty, she decided it was time to bite the bullet and work up her courage to lay her heart on the line.” Her scowl was utterly black. “Of course, I may be completely wrong, and she really is just a hero groupie.”

His stomach hurt. Before he could respond, a thin cry interrupted them. Leyla’s mouth tightened, and he felt like something that had been scraped off the bottom of her shoe. “Excuse me.” She swept out of the room.

He and Mason sat in silence, the slight murmur of Leyla’s soothing voice carrying from the baby’s room. “Are you certain?” he asked, unsure of what else to say.

Mason rubbed his temples. “I came in to check on you before they transferred you out of emergency. You were laying there, unconscious from whatever they’d given you. Maira was standing next to your bed crying. Her hands were shaking, man. She kept trying to clasp them together, but they were knocking like an alcoholic coming off a bender. I’ve seen that woman stitch up ripped-open heads and stabilize pregnant women who have been stabbed without batting an eye.”

Crying? Her hands had been shaking?

The scent of lavender, soft kisses on his face…

That had been real. Oh God. All of it. Sasha swallowed. Maira was the most calm, collected woman he knew. He couldn’t imagine what it would take to rattle her.

Sash, God, I love you so much.

Nausea punched him in the stomach as the words replayed in stereo. Too genuine, too leaden with fear and…and caring to be fake. He’d bet his soul she’d said those words. Said them while he was laying in a stupor, not knowing he would hear them and bury them away in his subconscious.

The media attention hadn’t prompted her to make a conquest out of him. That emotion, that vibrating intensity, couldn’t possibly be faked.

While he’d been tentatively considering a possible romantic relationship with her, she’d fallen in love with him.

He could barely speak. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Mason snorted. “Yeah, that’s right. Do you like Maira, check yes or no. Come on. You’re almost thirty, you’re old enough to go after what you want.” He hesitated. “Though now that I think about it, maybe I should have talked to her. She’s so professional and mature, I forget how young she is. I’ve never seen her with a man. In fact, other than you, the only men she seems really comfortable with are the ones who are married. I can’t imagine she’s had a ton of experience.”

Sasha rubbed his hand over his mouth. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah.”

He closed his eyes briefly. After checking to make sure his sister was still gone, he leaned in close. “No, I really fucked up. She stripped her shirt off. I accused her of just wanting me because of the cameras, made out with her a little on my dining table, acted like an asshole and watched as she ran out.”

“Oh.”

“I fucked up.”

“Indeed.” They were silent. Mason fiddled with his napkin. “So…do you like Maira?”

“I’ve always liked her. I was thinking lately…” Sasha paused awkwardly, since he wasn’t really good at talking about his personal life, not even to his best friend, “…maybe it might be something more.”

“More? More as in, you-like-having-lunch-with-her more, or more as in you’d-die-if-you-never-saw-her-again more?”

He stared at his friend. Never see her again?

Never talk to her about a problem, never hear her laugh, never ever have any contact with her? Every fiber in his being rejected that scenario. “I…I can’t not see her again. I just can’t.”

Mason brightened. “Okay. This is good, awesome.”

“Good?” Nothing was good about this situation. Nothing.

“Well, it would really suck if you were disgusted at the thought of kissing her or something. I think it’s pretty clear what you have to do.”

“What?”

“Tell her that you fucked up, that she’s a goddess among women, and you didn’t mean anything that you said.”

“And if that doesn’t work out?”

Mason frowned at him. “It’ll work.”

Sasha thought of the courage it must have taken Maira—reserved, shy Maira—to strip her shirt off for him in the bright daylight of his kitchen. He thought of the things he’d said and her shamed, heartbroken face as she’d run out. Misery coiled inside of him. “And if it doesn’t?”

Mason sighed. “Then lock her in a room, get down on your knees, and don’t get up until she’s ready to listen to you beg.”

It was definitely easier to think about begging for forgiveness than it was to actually get up the gumption to go do it.

Sasha sat in his truck and stared at Maira’s little gingerbread house. The windows were all dark. And why wouldn’t they be, he thought with a grimace. It was almost eleven. If she wasn’t at work, she was tucked safely away in bed.

Of course, thoughts of her in bed led quickly to thoughts of him in her bed. He shifted. Nice thoughts. Very nice indeed.

A tinge of shame made him shake the image away. He didn’t have the right to think of her like that right now. Focus.

He considered her dark house. He couldn’t very well just go marching up to her door and apologize. And he couldn’t call her and do it over the phone.

Actually, you could do either of those things. Sasha reluctantly conceded that. If he wanted to salve his conscience or just wanted to put her at ease enough that she’d let them go back to being friends, he would have no problem picking up his cell and phoning his apology in.

He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. He didn’t want that. He was greedy. He wanted more.

Maybe, just maybe, Maira was the only woman he’d ever really considered getting serious about because Maira was the only woman for him.

Oh yeah, you think?

He winced. No one had ever called him brilliant. Particularly where women were concerned.

Just go home. If it were you who had been humiliated like this, would you forgive? Maira wasn’t him, though. She had a huge heart under that no-nonsense exterior. She loved him.

Sasha’s lips firmed. She loved him. It was unthinkable that they wouldn’t sort this out. Hell, he wasn’t about to take something like this laying down. He’d win her back.

A plan.

He smiled as the idea solidified in his mind. Yes. He needed a plan. All of his problems tended to happen when he went rushing into things, right? He’d come up with a step-by-step plan to win his woman back. If he did things right, he’d have her for keeps.

Almost giddy with relief, he started his car and pulled away from the curb. Just you wait, Dr. Khan. You aren’t going to know what hit you.

“Mason?”

Leyla walked into the darkened living room, stumbling over a toy on the ground. When they’d bought this house the week before their marriage, the three bedroom had seemed spacious enough. Less than ten months later, Ash had arrived, bringing a whole bunch of stuff with her. The stuffed duck gave a little jingle as she picked it up and tossed it into the playpen/aka Fisher-Price holding cell.

“Hmmm.”

She moved closer to the couch. “Dishes are done, leftovers put away.” Leyla happily took the kitchen cleanup duties, since it meant Mason handled the cooking. Cooking, her nemesis. “That was a wonderful dinner.”

“Thanks.”

“I feel better after having seen Sasha looking so good, don’t you?” It was like a massive weight had been lifted off her shoulders. From the minute she’d gotten that horrible phone call from Mason, she’d spent the last week worrying over her brother and his injury. Seeing Sasha walking and talking and being himself, even if that meant occasional acts of boneheadedness, relieved her.

Her husband took a swallow from the highball glass he held. “Yeah.”

She cocked her head. “Aren’t you coming to bed?”

“In a minute.”

Relief made her giddy and giddiness made her naughty. Leaning over the back of the couch, she touched her lips to his ear. “I could make it worth your while.”

It always gave her ego a little boost that she could still tempt her husband after two decades of friendship, three years of marriage, and one child. And he was most definitely tempted. She could tell by the slight tightening of his muscles, the inhale of breath.

Normally, he would have tumbled her down onto the sofa with him. Now, though, he remained seated. “I’ll finish my drink first.”

She considered the amber liquid in the glass. “What are you drinking?”

“Whiskey.”

Another oddity. Mason rarely had anything stronger than beer. “Since when do you drink whiskey?”

He considered the glass and then downed the whole thing. “Since I found it in the cupboard.”

“It’s probably from our Christmas party last year. You said it tastes like medicine.”

“It’s not bad. Maybe my tastes are maturing. I am thirty now.”

“And I’m thirty-four,” she said dryly. “Does that mean I need to start drinking hot toddies?”

Instead of laughing, he rested the glass on his knee and stared moodily out the window. “Maybe I’m having a mid-life crisis.”

She frowned. It wasn’t that Mason never sulked or brooded. It was just that it happened so rarely, and she usually had a pretty good inkling of when it would happen. He was sunny by nature, and his easygoing personality helped make their life together…well, easy.

He was under a ton of stress, though, Leyla realized with a pang of regret. As much as she had worried over her brother, he’d had to worry about Sasha in addition to the other patients. “Do you want to talk about anything, Mason?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

This time, he didn’t respond, only grunted. Leyla bit the inside of her cheek. Mason had a tough time concealing anything. It wouldn’t take long to get him to talk.

She straightened and smoothed her hands along his shoulders, beginning a slow massage of taut muscles. Her fingers slipped over the broad planes, the flesh tight and hot under her palms. Amusement vanished. His shoulders were rock hard. She hadn’t realized how tense he was until she laid her hands on him. Poor guy.

She concentrated on working the kinks out of his neck and back, stopping only when he reached behind him, grabbed her hand and drew her around the couch. She slipped easily into his lap, his arm loosely encircling her waist. No one told you about these little bonuses that came with being married. Like just being able to slide into someone’s embrace whenever you felt like it. It was so very nice.

He rested his forehead against hers. Their breaths mingled. She knew his scent better than her own. And she knew when he was upset sometimes even before he did. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, his hand slowly stroking up and down her back.

Yeah, he was about to crack. With the lightest of touches, she brushed a kiss near the corner of his mouth. “Something’s up. Tell me.” She kissed him again. “Please?”

His hands clenched at her waist. “It could have been you. Or Ash.”