Mason arches a brow. “A hoss?”
“No, that’s like…a cool guy. In the seventies.”
“A man whore?”
I tilt my head back, bringing my lips closer to his as I whisper, “No. Hussies don’t get paid. They’re in it for the wicked, wonderful, shameless pleasure of it all.”
His jaw tightens. “I’m definitely in it for all of those things. God, Lark, you feel so good. Just holding you is…” He trails off with a shudder that echoes through me. His fingers dig deeper into my bottom, making me wonder what it will feel like when he does that with nothing between us but skin.
From there, my mind quickly spirals straight into the gutter and the last of my reason vanishes in a rush of desire. “Let’s get out of here.”
He blinks. “We can’t… Can we?”
“Sure we can,” I say, fisting my hands in his shirt. “We can go to my place. It’s close.”
“What about the cookout?” But Mason is already backing away from the door, drawing me with him.
“We’ll be fast,” I say, not caring that I’m barefoot or that I’m leaving without telling my sisters where I’m going, not caring about anything but getting closer to Mason. “We’ll be there and back before anyone—”
“Lark! Mason!” calls a light voice from inside.
A moment later Melody appears at the front door, her eyebrows shooting up when she sees us practically humping each other on the front porch. But she quickly recovers, playing it cool as she adds, “Um, hey you two! Sorry to bother you, but I think I messed something up.”
“Messed what up?” I run a hand over my hair, fighting to breathe normally as Mason sets me back on my feet. I turn, blocking his body with my own, hopefully providing some cover for the hard-on situation. I’m sure Melody won’t be looking in that region, but Mason isn’t small and the strained front of his jeans would be hard to miss. Hopefully we can keep this short and sweet and Melody will head back into the house.
“Am I supposed to bring the basting sauce to a boil and simmer it for a few minutes, or just bring it to a boil and then remove it from the heat?” she asks. “The notes on your old recipe card are smeared.”
“Let it simmer,” I say with a nod.
“How long?” Melody asks. “Because there isn’t a lot of excess liquid and I don’t want to run out of—”
“Just put it on to simmer and I’ll be in in a second.” I widen my eyes at my sister in a silent plea for a moment of privacy.
“Oh. Okay. I’ll go get the grill started then.” Melody backs away with a little wave. “Glad you’re here, Mason!”
“Thanks, me too,” he calls after her.
I turn to glance at him over my shoulder, biting my lip. “I think our escape has been thwarted.”
“Probably for the best. Nash will be here soon.” He takes my hand and pulls me through the door, adding in a softer voice, “And I don’t want a quickie with you, Sunshine. Not the first time. I want all night, hours and hours to worship every inch of your beautiful body.”
“Same,” I murmur before pressing my lips lightly to his.
It’s just the ghost of a kiss—only a few seconds long and the barest nudge of my warm skin against his—but it’s enough to make me feel like someone set a swarm of bees loose in my belly. In seconds I’m buzzing all over, from the tips of my fingers to the soles of my feet and everywhere in between.
God, this man just…does it for me. All of it. All the tingling and humming and aching and needing and wanting that I wasn’t sure I was capable of feeling again until he swept back into my life.
“Knock, knock,” a deep, male voice rumbles from the open doorway. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”
Mason pulls away and turns to greet the other man with a smile. “Nash, hey man. Good to see you. This is Lark, hostess and the best cook in Georgia.”
“Hey,” I say, laughing as I take Nash’s outstretched hand. “Not sure about ‘best,’ but top hundred at least. So glad you could make it.”
“Thanks for inviting me.” Nash grips my hand firmly, but gently, as he smiles. It’s a wide, friendly smile that showcases very straight teeth set in an undeniably handsome face.
As I take the bottle of wine Nash brought as dinner tribute and lead the way into the kitchen to open it, I give Mason’s friend a subtle once over.
Nash is about Mason’s height, but thicker all over, with muscles that strain the sleeves of his tight, red t-shirt and jeans that were obviously purchased at some kind of specialty store for men with giant quadriceps and tiny waists. Mason is an athletic, muscular guy, but Nash has the body of a professional athlete. Between the killer physique, tan skin, white teeth, bright green eyes, boyishly short brown hair, and sweet, lazy drawl, Nash is any red-blooded woman’s dream come true.