Page 36 of Mason: His to Convince

It had been a long night of tossing and turning and only her pride kept her from joining Mason in the other bedroom. The frustration she endured in the seemingly endless hours till daybreak more than punished her for her deception of the night before and all she wanted was a few hours of undisturbed rest.

She still couldn't believe that Mason had calmly informed her they would be married as soon as possible and kissed her good night, on the forehead no less. Now the sound of deep masculine singing coming from the other room made sleep impossible. The clatter of pots and pans seemed like an explosion in her tired mind. Climbing out of bed she stomped out of the room. Marching angrily into the kitchen she shoved her tangled hair out of her eyes and glared at Mason.

“Something wrong?” he inquired artlessly, taking in the clenched jaw and angrily tapping foot.

“Only that someone let a herd of bellowing elephants loose in here and I haven't had an hours sleep all night. Do you think it's possible to do whatever it is you're doing at this ungodly hour a little more quietly?”

“It might be if you asked me nicely,” he returned, crossing his arms over his chest, dark head tilted expectantly. His slate eyes gave nothing away this morning and Rebecca could have sworn he'd had a wonderful night’s sleep which further infuriated her.

Dressed in tight jeans and a cream sweater he'd already showered and shaved and looked vibrantly male and awake. Ignoring him and the smell of coffee perking, Rebecca stumbled to the cupboard searching until she found a bottle of aspirin. Without a word she brushed past him to get to the sink for water.

“We are in a nasty mood this morning, aren't we?” he asked turning away and giving the skillet of sausage a shake. While he was slightly amused by her temper, the sight of her slim legs and the sway of her hips did nothing to cool his still smoldering passions.

Rebecca swallowed the pills before answering. The thoughts that kept her awake all night flowed over her like the steam rising from the stove. Her level of frustration was so high her answer came without thought.

“I'm not nasty,” she informed him, hands on hips, head thrown back in challenge. “I'm tired, and the reason I'm tired is because I spent all night remembering the last time we slept together.”

Mason began to sweat.

“Remembering the feel of your hands on my body, the texture of your skin… “

Mason turned away and picked up the spatula, hands shaking as he played with the cooking meat.

“Remembering the taste of you, the smell of you, and the cloudy look that came into your eyes when you… “

She got no farther. Crushed suddenly in his arms she moaned softly into his mouth. The spatula skidded across the floor as he swept her totally off her feet. Rebecca’s head fell back in relief as he carried her from the room and buried his lips in her neck. “Finally,” she sighed softly.

Her own scream shocked her as she flew through the air and landed on the bed, bouncing several times. Shoving the hairout of her eyes she glared at Mason, struggling for names bad enough to call him.

“Get dressed,” he ordered sharply. “We're leaving.”

“How dare you,” she began, rising to her knees and searching for something to throw at him.

“Oh I dare honey. That and a lot more if you don't get your butt dressed and ready to go in the next ten minutes,” he ground out, hands on hips as he stared her down. “I've had enough.”

Rebecca swallowed any response she had planned to make. He looked enormous from her position on the bed, towering over her his eyes dark with passion and fury.

“Enough of what?” She asked softly. Fear closed her throat. Enough of her?

“I'm a man, not a plaything,” he shouted, raking his hand through his hair. “I've explained the way I feel, but you just don't get it, do you? I've offered you everything I have, everything I am and you, contrary woman that you are, aren't complaining it's not enough...no you don't want it because it's too much.” Mason stomped into his boots, his movements jerky and quick.

“You want me to be less than I am Rebecca, and God help me I was trying to be. I tried to make myself believe I could play it your way, fun and games and we'll be buddies when it’s over, but it doesn't feel right here, Becca,” he told her, thumping his chest, his voice thick with emotion.

“Oh I don't blame you, not entirely at least,” he continued. “I blame your father for shutting you out when your mother died, and I blame myself for always giving in to you. Well not this time sweetheart. You’re finally going to pay the piper.”

“But Mason I want to mar...”

“And another thing, just so we understand each other. I'd like nothing better than to get in that bed with you and make you beg for mercy, but I won't. For one thing no child of mine will be born a bastard and for another I wouldn't want to do anything tomake you try to welsh on our little arrangement. Not that I don't trust you.”

Rebecca stood perfectly still as Mason left the room.

“Ten minutes,” he growled over his shoulder before slamming the door.

Shaking with suppressed sobs, and wiping her tears away with the back of her hand she began to dress. For all the times she'd argued with him, for all the years she'd spoken her piece without effort, she hadn't been able to say one word at what was probably the most important moment of her life.

The trip back was long and silent. Mason had the cabin closed up and the truck packed in less than 15 minutes. Nothing had turned out as he planned; although why that surprised him he didn't know. Yes, he'd accomplished his objective. Rebecca had promised to marry him but winning her in a card game!

It was a bittersweet victory and certainly a blow to his pride, to say the least. Not that he had any intention of letting her back out. For all he knew she could be carrying his child this very moment. It would be just like her to keep quiet about it too. He glanced speculatively over at her, trying to determine if she looked any different.