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“But… what…?”
“I don’t want other guys thinking you’re available,” he says vaguely. “I don’t want you entertaining those guys either. I want to be the guy you give that kinda attention to. Make sense?”
I nod slowly. “Yeah…”
“Good,” he says, buckling his belt. “Let’s clean up. Then I expect you in my bed.”
19
SYDNEY
Mason Cutler would hatefor anybody to know the truth about him: he’s a cuddler.
He swears up and down he isn’t. The first time I tease him about it, he’s insulted. He gives me a cold look of warning that explicitly says I should be careful…or else.
But after a few nights sleeping in his bed, there’s no beating around the bush.
He. Is. A. Cuddler.
He draws me into him, tangles my legs with his, and glides fingers over my skin. The TV plays in the background, the volume down on the late-night news cast that’s airing. The only other sound in the room comes from the steady thrums of our breath.
His lids are heavy. Mine too.
It’s been another late night at the saloon. Another long day for Mason and the guys. He won’t tell me what’s going on, though it’s not like it takes a genius to figure it out—the Kings are warring with the Hellrazors. Worse since they attacked us on the road.
He’s seemed to take it very…personally.
Which makes these quiet moments between us more confusing. As I’m laying lazily at his side, tucked under a thin sheet in his bed, I still can’t help wondering what’s going on between us.
The more he draws me close, the more it feels real. The harder my heart beats and deeper it flutters.
I begin getting those funny knots in my stomach like I’m nervous about something I can’t verbalize.
The lines are blurring, which sets off the alarm bells in my head—a stern warning not to fall for these moments. Don’t get too attached. Don’t fool yourself for one second.
Mason Cutler is a Steel King. The Steel Kings are my enemies.
They murdered Pop. They must pay. I’ll make sure of it of it kills me taking them down.
I’m supposed to be on point, infiltrating their club. I’m not supposed to lose sight of my goal. I should be milking Mason Cutler dry. Charming the hell out of him so that when I get my revenge, he’ll be shocked.
I glance over, my arms giving him a squeeze around his torso. “Mason Cutler, you’re cuddling me.”
He peeks at me with both lids about closed and only his left brow raised. “I’m trying to get some sleep. It’d be easier if you weren’t talking.”
“I wouldn’t talk if somebody admitted they were cuddling me.”
“You’ve got to be the stubbornest chick alive. Anybody ever tell you that?’
“Yes. So… are you going to admit you’re cuddling me now?”
He rumbles out a noise that rivals thunder—andshouldfrighten me—but instead, as he pulls a maneuver and slips me under him, I’m turned on.
I’m lost in the deep, uncanny shade of forest-green that makes up his eyes. In some lights, they appear a shade or two lighter. In others, a hue that’s somehow darker than black.
Mason’s eyes give him away every time, framed by what’s nice lashes for a man.
I reach up and palm his ruggedly scruffy cheek without ever looking away. He doesn’t either… ’til he leans in close and takes my lips.
