Friendship On Fire. Joss Wood
are you staying?” She needed to know when her life was going to go back to normal. With a date and a time, the Jell-O would, hopefully, solidify into hard earth.
“I’m not sure. A month? Maybe two?”
Great. She was in for four to eight weeks of crazy. Like her life wasn’t busy and stressful enough. Jules rubbed her forehead with her fingers. God, she did not need to deal with this now. Today. Ever. Seeing him created a soup of emotion, sour and sticky. Lust, grief, hurt, disappointment, passion...
All she wanted to do was step into his arms and tell him that she’d missed him so damn much, missed the boy who’d known her so well. That she wanted to know, in a carnal way, the man he was now.
Jules shook her head and pushed past him, almost running to the stairs. Sort it out, Mom?
Much, much easier said than done.
Callie...
After a brief and tense conversation with Levi, Callie dropped her forehead to the table and banged her head on the smooth surface. Levi reluctantly admitted to her that none of them told Jules that Noah was back. Nor had they informed her that Noah was sleeping in Jules’s bedroom at her old house.
Really, and these people called themselves adults?
Aargh!
The whisper of a broad hand skated over her hair and she lifted her head a half inch off the table to glare at Mason. With his dark brown hair showing little gray, barely any lines around his denim-blue eyes and his still-hard body, the owner of the new coffee shop looked closer to forty than to the forty-five he claimed to be. Yes, he was sexy. Yes, he was charming, but why, oh, why—in a room filled with so many good-looking women, most of them younger, slimmer and prettier than her—was he paying her any attention?
Mason slid a latte under her nose and took the empty seat across from her. Callie glared at him, annoyed that he made her feel so flustered. And, holy cupcakes, was that lust curling low in her now-useless womb? “Did I invite you to sit down?”
“Don’t be snippy,” Mason said, resting his ropy, muscled forearms on the table. “What’s the matter?”
Callie thought about blowing his question off but suddenly she wanted to speak to someone with no connection to her annoying clan. “I’m arguing with my daughter.” Callie sipped her coffee and eyed Mason over her mug. Because his expression, encouraging her to confide in him, scared her, she backtracked.
“She asked if you were good-looking, whether she could meet you. She’s gorgeous, tall, dark-haired with the most amazing light silver-blue eyes.”
“She sounds lovely but I have my heart set on dating a short, curvy blonde.”
Callie looked around, wondering who he was talking about. His low, growly laugh pulled her eyes back to his amused face. “You, you twit. I want to take you on a date.”
“I thought you were joking.”
“Nope. Deadly serious.”
Okay, this was weird. He seemed nice and genuine, but what was his game? “You don’t want to date me, Mason.”
“I’ve been making up my own mind for a while now and you don’t get to tell me what I do and don’t want.” Mason’s tone was soft but Callie heard the steel in his voice and, dammit, that hard note just stoked that ember of lust. Man, it had been so long since she’d felt like this around a guy, she didn’t know what to say, how to act.
For the first time in thirty-plus years she wanted to kiss someone who wasn’t her husband, to explore another man’s body. The problem was, while he was a fine specimen for his age, she was not. Her boobs sagged, she had a muffin top and lumpy thighs. Despite her wish for sex, a one-night stand, that was more hope than expectation. And if she found the courage to expose her very flawed body to a new man, he wouldn’t have the lean, muscled body of a competitive swimmer.
Mason made her feel insecure and, worse, old. There were, after all, ten years between them and, God, what a difference ten years could make. Age, the shape their bodies were in, and then there was the difference in their financial situations.
She was, not to exaggerate, filthy rich. Mason, she’d heard, was not. Did he know how wealthy she was? Was he looking for a, ugh, sugar mommy? What was his angle?
“Tell me about your daughter,” Mason said, leaning back in his chair.
Yeah, good plan. When he heard about her family he’d go running for the hills. “Which one? I have two by blood, one by love. I also have four sons, one by blood.”
Mason blinked, ran his hand over his face and Callie laughed at his surprise. “Do you have kids?”
“Two teenage boys, fifteen and seventeen.”
“My youngest, Ben, is twenty-eight,” Callie said, deliberately highlighting the differences in their ages again.
“You old crone.” Mason sighed, stood up and pushed his chair into the table. He placed one hand on the table, one on the back of her chair, and caged her in. His determined blue eyes drilled into hers. “You can keep fighting this, Callie, but you and I are going on a date.”
The Ping-Pong ball in her throat swelled and the air left the room. He was so close that Callie could see a small scar on his upper lip, taste his sweet, coffee-flavored breath.
“And while I’m here, I might as well tell you that you and I are also going to get naked. At some point, I’m going to make you mine.”
Callie was annoyed when tears burned, furious when her heart rate accelerated. “I’m not... I can’t... I’m not ready.”
Mason’s steady expression didn’t change. “I didn’t say it was going to be today, Callie. But one day you will be ready and—” he lifted his hands to mimic an explosion “—boom.”
Boom. Really? Callie blinked away her tears and straightened her spine. “Seriously? Does that work on other women?”
“Dunno, since you’re the only one I’ve ever said it to.” Mason bent down to drop a kiss into her hair. “Start getting used to the idea, Cal. Oh, and butt out of your kids’ lives. At twenty-eight and older, they can make their own decisions.”
Callie scowled at his bare back as he walked away from her. Really! Who was he to tell her how to interact with her children? And how dare he tell her that he was going to take her to bed? Did he really think that he could make a statement like that and she’d roll over and whimper her delight? He was an arrogant know-it-all with the confidence of a Hollywood A-lister.
But he also, she noticed, had a very fine butt. A butt she wouldn’t mind feeling under her hands.
Noah...
Noah would’ve preferred to meet with Paris Barrow at her office—did the multidivorced, once-widowed socialite have an office?—but Paris insisted on meeting for a drink at April, a Charles Street bar. Hopefully, since it was late afternoon, the bar would be quiet and he could pin Paris down to some specifics with regard to the design of her yacht. Engine capacity, size, whether she wanted a monohull or a catamaran. He had to have some place to start. Oh, and getting her to sign a damn contract would be nice—at least he would be getting paid for the work he was doing.
But Paris, he decided after couple of frustrating conversations, had the attention span of a gnat...
Noah pushed his way into the bar. Another slick bar in another rich city; he’d seen many of them over the years. Looking around, he saw that his client had yet to arrive, and after ordering a beer, he slid onto a banquette, dropping his folder on the bench beside him.
It was his second full day back in Boston and, in some ways it felt like he’d never left. After being kicked