“You were what?” she gritted out, after diverting her eyes back on the road.
“Counting your freckles . . . and I’m a little irritated with your interruption. You made me lose count. I like how they congregate on your nose and then kind of carelessly scatter across your cheekbone like drunken little soldiers, just a few here and there. Do you know that some fell out of line and randomly landed wherever the hell they wanted? Little rebels. There’s one just below the corner of your lip, looks a little lonely down there, but it hasn’t fallen as far as this little guy here.” He reached out and brushed his thumb over the sensitive skin of her throat. “What is it doing all the way over there? I think this one is my favorite.”
“Stop counting my freckles and try to get some sleep,” she whispered, not at all sure what to make of this.
“That’s what I’m trying to do; it’s like counting stars, only so much prettier.” His words were starting to slur, and she refrained from commenting. A gentle snore a few minutes later alerted her to the fact that he’d dozed off, and a quick glance in his direction confirmed it. His head was lolling forward slightly and his beautiful lips were slightly parted. She forced her eyes back on the road and sighed, already missing his lively companionship. She was in deep trouble here. The man was proving to be much too irresistible.
“Daisy,” her name was whispered directly into her ear, and Daisy startled awake and blinked in confusion.
“Wha—” Why was it so dark? She turned her head, and her lips brushed against Mason’s stubbled jaw. He backed away quickly.
“We’re here,” he announced, and she rubbed her eyes.
“Already?” she muttered incoherently.
“Yeah, the last two hours flew by.” He had taken over the driving again after just an hour, and Daisy had reluctantly relinquished control of the beautiful car back to him. But she’d been tired after her half day at work and was happy to let him do the bulk of the driving.
“Your hotel is fifteen minutes away,” she said apologetically. “I’m sorry, it’s the closest one I could . . .”
“Don’t worry about it, Lia sorted something out for me.”
“What?” Her sleep-muddled brain wasn’t functioning properly, and she was still trying to process his words when he stepped out of the car and opened the passenger door for her.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, taking hold of her elbow gently.
“You’re staying here too?”
“I am,” he confirmed. He stopped at the boot to unload their luggage while a porter happily stacked the bags onto a trolley.
“I thought it was full.”
“It’s been taken care of,” he said as he shepherded her into the hotel reception area, the porter following behind them. They were welcomed by a warmly smiling desk manager.
“Good evening, you’re here for the Edmonton-McGregor wedding?” The attractive and polished woman’s smile widened at the sight of Mason, who smiled back casually, flashing that killer dimple at her.
“Yes,” Mason responded smoothly before Daisy could offer a reply. “Daisy McGregor and Mason Carlisle.” The woman’s glance slid over to Daisy, and her smile faltered very slightly. Daisy knew her hair had to be a total mess and her T-shirt was wrinkled after the long drive. As if sensing her discomfort, Mason’s hand slid beneath her hair to cup the nape of her neck. He squeezed slightly, his thumb and forefinger massaging her nape soothingly. The woman efficiently went about the check-in process, and despite Daisy’s muffled protest, Mason offered his own credit card for the security deposit. When she tried to offer hers to cover her own room, the woman smiled and said it wouldn’t be necessary. The desk manager lifted a couple of welcome bags from behind the desk and handed them one each. Mason grinned at the sight; he had never actually got around to helping them fill the bags.
“I finally get to see what’s in these,” he said, prodding Daisy with a conspiratorial elbow. His humor was infectious, and she returned his grin with one of her own.
“Please note that dinner will be served between seven and nine thirty tonight. Details for tomorrow’s itinerary will be found in your welcome bag.”
“Thank you,” Daisy said, reaching for the keycard the woman held out to her, while Mason took the one in her other hand.
“It’s on the second floor,” the manager supplied. “Most of our rooms are reserved for wedding guests this weekend.”
“Thanks,” Mason said, before hooking an arm around Daisy’s waist and leading her toward one of the elevators. The porter told them he would wait for the next one, and after the doors slid shut, closing them into the little glass-walled box, which probably had stunning ocean views during the day, Daisy looked down at her card.
“I’m in room twenty-three. You?” He didn’t bother looking down at his card, shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans instead.
“We’re in the same room, Daisy,” he informed her.
“What?” The word was practically screamed, and he grimaced. She shrugged out of his hold and turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. He looked down at her tightly folded arms, furious face, and tapping foot and seemed to be fighting back a grin.
“You look pissed off,” he noted—his voice and face a study in blandness—and she gasped.
“Of course I’m pissed off,” she gritted out through her teeth. “I told you we wouldn’t be sharing a room!”
“I figured it would be best if we did.”
“I can’t believe you did this. I can’t believe . . .” The elevator pinged and slid to a stop at the second floor, and Daisy’s mouth slammed shut as the doors opened to reveal Lia and Clayton on the other side.
“You made it,” Lia said with a relieved smile. Mason and Daisy stepped out, and Lia hugged them both effusively.