“Mason. Please.”
He carefully extracted himself from her grip. “I have to make this call.”
She frowned. “You take your job way too seriously.”
“You’re my job,” he pointed out. “I have to take your safety seriously. And right now, it’s been compromised.”
Again the reminder she was nothing but a job. How she hated when he did that. “Fine. Make your call then,” she said, her voice soft.
Leaning in, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “I’m not sure how long it will take so go ahead and start dinner without me.”
She watched him go out the sliding glass door, his strides determined as he walked across the lawn, his cell already held up to his ear. The little protective bubble she’d carefully cultivated around them had burst. Reality had reared its ugly head and made itself known.
Their idyllic time on Whitney Island was over.
Chapter Eleven
She’d waited for him, had even told him to sit and relax when he finally came back into the house forty-five minutes later while she warmed up the containers of Chinese food in the microwave.
Mason almost felt domesticated, though it was ruined by the fact that they’d just argued after she was threatened by some sort of twisted psycho.
His stomach rumbled loudly when she started opening containers and her gaze met his, a little smile curling her lips. “I’m starving,” he offered in explanation.
“Same.” She prepared him a plate and set it in front of him, then handed over a fork. He dove into his food with gusto, not wanting to talk, not wanting to fight. Just wanted to fill his belly, clear his head, make himself feel normal again, even if only for a few minutes.
He’d spoken to Byron himself, explaining as best he could the phone call Blake had received. His boss hadn’t been pleased but hell, neither was Mason. Who the hell had gotten her number and called her? He had his suspicions but they only seemed to piss her off.
Yet it was the logical conclusion. He didn’t trust her new so-called friend, he never had.
Blake sat next to him at the counter and grabbed the bottle of wine that was close by, pouring herself a glass, before she filled his. He sipped the cool, crisp wine, already feeling better now that he’d had a few bites.
He’d gone too long without eating and it left him cranky as hell. Not to mention everything else that had just happened.
Blake’s earlier emotional outburst had surprised him. As had her beautiful artwork. Did he really know this woman? Sometimes he thought yes. But right now?
He was thinking hell no. He had no clue what made her tick. She was a constant surprise and it both excited and worried him.
No, what worried him more was the phone call.
Glancing at her plate, he watched as she dragged her fork through a pile of fried rice back and forth. “You don’t like it?”
“I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.” She reached for the glass of wine and drained it in seconds.
“Easy,” he murmured, garnering her attention.
Slowly she set the fork down by her plate and placed her hands in her lap, kept her gaze downcast. “I’m sorry. For the argument over the phone call and for—” Her voice was low and she cleared her throat. “—for my behavior earlier. I kind of fell apart and I apologize.”
He sighed. This was the last thing he wanted, a contrite Blake. “It’s all right. You don’t need to apologize.”
“Yes, I do.” She shook her head. “I got a little emotional this afternoon. I don’t know why.”
Surprise filled him. He thought she was referring to their arguing they had not even an hour ago. “Are you talking about when we were in the studio?”
Blake nodded silently.
He couldn’t remember what was said. Hell, he was still too distracted by that damn call. “I must’ve upset you earlier.”
She offered him a weak smile. “No, I upset myself. I should thank you for what you said. How you complimented my work. You were very sweet and I appreciate that.”