“That's going to be all over the ranch by dinner.”
Mason's thumb traces a small circle against my hip—a gesture so subtle I almost miss it. “Probably before dinner.”
I should care about that—about the exposure, the vulnerability, the fact that everyone will know. But standing here with Mason's hands still on my waist, his eyes dark and intent on mine, I don't care at all. For the first time since I escaped, being seen doesn’t feel dangerous.
50
MASON
Iknow Lily’s home before I even pull into her driveway. The porch light is on.
Actually, every light in the house is on—kitchen, living room, bedroom window glowing soft through the curtains.
She hates the dark.
The thought settles heavy in my chest as I kill the engine and sit there for a second, staring at the little house tucked beneath the trees. Whenever I think about why that is, I want to grab my rifle and go on a rampage.
I grab the paper bag beside me and head for the porch.
Before I can knock, the door opens. Lily stands there barefoot in shorts and an oversized gray sweatshirt that hangs off one shoulder. Her hair’s loose around her face, messy like she’s been dragging her hands through it.
Christ. My entire body tightens.
Her hazel eyes flick over me once before landing on the bag in my hand. “What’s that?”
“Peace offering.”
One brow lifts. “For what?”
“For what I’m about to ask you.”
That makes her go still. Not scared—braced.
Slowly, she steps back from the door. “Pastries before interrogations? Is that standard operating procedures?”
“Learned it from Emma actually.”
A snort slips out of her despite herself, and some of the tension eases from her shoulders as she lets me inside.
I catch a hint of her lemon scent as I walk by her. I want to lean in and kiss her, but I don’t trust myself. We need to talk, and if I taste her—even in the most innocuous kiss—the only kind of talking we’ll do is dirty.
“You want something?” She closes the door and locks it, sliding the deadbolt home. “Coffee? Beer?”
“I want honesty.”
She freezes halfway to the living room, her eyes wide on mine. “Will you give me the same?”
“Always,” I promise.
Nodding she continues into the living room. She perches on a shabby couch, curling one leg underneath herself.
I take in the way her shorts ride up as I sit on the opposite end. I lean forward, my elbows on my thighs, my hands steepled. “We need rules.”
Her eyes narrow. “What kind of rules?”
“If we’re doing this, then we do it right. No lies that get either of us killed. No disappearing acts. No running off to Turner’s property alone.” I raise my brow.
She shakes her head. “That happenedonce, and we weren’t seeing each other then.”