I turned to see a short, Spanish woman walk into the kitchen through a side entrance. She looked up wide-eyed and immediately apologized.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Cline. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He raised his hand, shooing her apology away.
“Don’t worry, Lexi, please. We’ll be dining on the lanai. If you’d please bring the meal out when it’s ready.”
She nodded. “Of course. Ten minutes, sir.”
Mason gave Lexi a small nod and reached out for me. I walked toward him and he again placed his hand on my lower back.
Feeling the heat of his hand through the fabric of my dress sent tingles between my legs. I was surprised at how quickly I became aroused. It wasn’t that I didn’t think I’d get turned on when I was with him, because let’s face it, it was impossible not to. However, I didn’t expect to be turned on so quickly after everything that’d happened.
Guiding me to the side of the kitchen, we walked through a pair of French doors and out onto a patio that ran the length of the house. It was beautiful and looked like something I’d find in a Homes and Garden magazine.
The cool night air blew through the opened screen sections, and three dim lamps were turned on around the space.
Leaving me to stand where I was, Mason walked over to a rectangular, marble-looking table and pulled off the top middle section, revealing a small fire pit. Then he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a box of matches, striking one and tossing it over the coals. It immediately burst into flame, and I stared on in awe.
“Your home is so beautiful, Mason,” I told him as he walked toward me. He reached a hand up and caressed my cheek before leaning down to kiss my forehead.
“Let’s eat.”
He walked away from me and toward a dark-finished, wicker table set. Pulling out a chair, he gestured for me to sit.
I left the warmth of the fire pit and walked toward the chair, keeping my eyes diverted, and took a seat.
“You seem nervous,” Mason stated bluntly.
I looked at him, eyebrows pinched, and opened my mouth to begin a protest of how untrue his statement was, but I stopped myself. “I’m not entirely nervous. I’m more unsure as to what to expect for the night.”
I turned my head toward the French doors to see Lexi walking out with two glasses and a bottle of wine. She set them down by Mason and I watched her quickly walk off.
“Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen.”
I looked at him to see a slight smirk, and I bit my lip to hold back my laugh. That’s what I was worried about. What didn’t I want to happen?
“Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked as he poured us both a glass of red wine.
I knew the meaning of his question. After the last time I was there, he expected me to be frightened of him because of the actions he’d displayed, but I wasn’t. If anything, it intrigued me. I had so many questions going through my mind that I knew I couldn’t ask, especially questions about his cutting. I’d tried that before at the fountain, and he’d only denied what was so blatantly obvious.
“No, you don’t make me uncomfortable. I just…” I didn’t know how to put into words how I felt. “I’m kind of out of my element. What we’ve started…” I gestured between the both of us. “I’ve never done this. I told you that from the beginning. In my mind, I’m going backwards. We’ve already been intimate, but I still don’t know you.”
He gazed at me thoughtfully. “What is it you’d like to know?”
Just then, Lexi walked in carrying two dishes. I had to give it to her for being discreet. She never even made eye contact with me.
“I hope you like filet mignon,” he stated as Lexi set the plates in front of us. “If not, I can have something else—”
“No, no. This is perfect.” The filet was covered in a mushroom cream sauce with asparagus and squash on the side. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good steak.”
Mason nodded toward Lexi as he took a sip of his wine. She turned without another word and walked out the French doors, closing them behind her. I guessed that meant she’d no longer be serving us for the night.
“Did you grow up with servants?”
He picked up his napkin and laid it in his lap before picking up his knife and fork.
“Servants? No. A cook? Yes.” He began cutting into his steak, so I took that as a cue to pick up my utensils. “When I was little, my mother took care of the home, but she was a horrible cook. The phrase ‘you can’t even boil water’ was something we used lightly around her.” He chuckled. “She loved to bake, though. She made the most amazing pies.”
I could see the light in his eyes as he talked about his mother. It was one of those occasions that his demeanor completely changed.
“Well, I’m sure I’m not as good as she was, but I love to bake, as well.” I took a sip of my wine and placed it down before I looked up to meet his gaze.
He smiled at me. “Then maybe you’ll bake something for me one day.”