Rules Of Engagement

24

“Believe me, it’s a recent development.”

He presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. Then his gaze drops to my mouth, and his amusement fades. He stares at my lips in intense concentration.

“Mason.”

His gaze flashes up to mine.

“I know you hate pink, but when you look at my lipstick like you’re trying hard not to puke, it hurts my feelings.”

There’s a long, crackling pause. Then he says, “Is that robot we saw at church the only man you’ve ever slept with?”

Shocked, I pull my arm from his grip and say icily, “That’s none of your business.” “He is, isn’t he?”

“See my previous answer.”

“Because I’m thinking the only explanation for your total lack of awareness is that you don’t have much experience with men.”

Heat crawls up my neck, flooding my cheeks and making them burn. “I’m perfectly aware of how I look.”

He steps closer, leans down into my face, and growls, “I didn’t say anything about your looks.”

I swallow. He’s so close I can feel the warmth of him. I can smell his skin. I can see the little flecks of green in the depths of his burning gray eyes.

For one long, breathless moment, we stare deep into each other’s eyes.

Then he pulls away abruptly, and I’m left reeling.

He snaps, “Now go find me that mute girl so I don’t have to deal with this crap anymore.” He whirls around and stalks away, shoulders stiff.

I sag against the wall, pressing a hand to my thundering heart and trying to catch my breath.

It takes a few minutes before I’m calm enough to return to the table, but when I do, Mason’s gone.

13

MADDIE

N

aturally, Bettina is in a snit over Mason’s disappearance.

“What did you say to him?” she hisses as I sit down.

I fold my napkin over my lap and dig into the Eggs Benedict, which are now cold. “What do you mean?”

“Mason excused himself to go to the restroom a few minutes after you did, and when he came back, he was totally pissed off! He didn’t say a word, just threw some money down on the table and left! I know you must’ve said something to him.”

I say calmly, “I didn’t see him, Bettina. Maybe he got a phone call and had to step out for a minute to deal with something. I’m sure he’ll be right back.”

I’m not sure of anything of the sort, but I’m dang sure I’m not going to relay our conversation to Satan.

But why would he have left?

And why did he say I have a total lack of awareness?

And why did he keep his hand on my arm all that time?

And if it wasn’t because of my pink lipstick, why was he really looking at my mouth like that?

Maybe he wanted to kiss me.

I freeze with a forkful of Canadian bacon halfway to my mouth. My heart stops dead in my chest, then takes off like a rocket.

No. That’s ridiculous.

But… is it?

I think back to our first meeting. To how aggravated he was from the minute he laid eyes on me. To the way he flirted with me on the phone, and the way his gaze always seems drawn to my mouth.

Puh-lease! The man probably flirts with every woman he meets!

He didn’t flirt with Bettina.

Perfect-for-him-on-paper Bettina, who, if you’re interested, is about to rip out your hair by the roots.

“What?” I come back to reality with a jerk. “What were you saying?”

Bettina is a seething pool of rage. “I said,” she spits, leaning toward me, “if I find out you talked trash about me to Mason, you weird little virgin, I’ll ruin your life.”

I roll my eyes. “Terrifying. Speaking of virgins, if you try anything with me, I’ll have Bobby tell your next fiancé about the time he walked in on you taking it in every hole from the basketball team at that frat party his freshman year in college.”

I smile at her. “I’m sure the video’s still floating around somewhere. That pool table must’ve been really hard on your knees.”

She sucks in a hard breath and goes sheet white.

Then she throws down her napkin and storms away from the table, trailing steam. I get back to my bacon.

After fifteen minutes, I’m certain Mason won’t be returning. So I give the waitress the money he left and head out to the car.

I was expecting to see Satan sitting in the back seat, but when I climb into the front seat, d**k is alone, reading the paper.

He takes one look at my face and grimaces. “That bad, huh?”

“I can honestly say that was the strangest brunch I’ve ever attended. Where’s Mason?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“You know him better than I do. Where does he go when he’s mad?”

Dick starts to look worried. “Mad mad, or just cranky?”

“I’m thinking mad mad. There was a good bit of growling going on.”

Dick’s jaw tightens. He tosses the newspaper into the back seat, guns the engine, and peels out of the church parking lot.

“That’s not exactly the reaction I was expecting.” I grip the door handle as we careen around a corner, tires squealing. “Is he dangerous when he’s upset?”

“Only to himself,” mutters d**k, hunched over the steering wheel. “How long has he been gone?” “Maybe twenty minutes.”

When he curses, I start to get worried, too. “He can’t possibly do too much damage in twenty minutes.”

He says darkly, “You don’t know Mason.” Then he turns his attention back to the road and doesn’t talk again, even when I suggest we call him.

I guess d**k knows Mason won’t pick up.