“It’s a beautiful gesture,” she whispered, and he shrugged.
“It was the least I could do.” His tone and body language told her that the subject was closed for now, and she kissed his chest just above the highest branch. He continued to towel her off before pausing.
“Jesus,” he suddenly swore, and Daisy, still contemplating that stark, poignant tattoo and what it represented, jumped at his vehemence.
“What?”
“You’re full of bruises.”
“I am?” She twisted around to get a look at herself in the mirror and saw the dark-blue and -purple bruises mostly on her butt and thighs. There were a few smudges on her arms as well.
“Why didn’t you tell me you bruised so easily?” He sounded horrified.
“Well, I had no idea that I did.”
“Does it hurt?” He touched one tentatively, his face tight with remorse.
“Not at all. And before you ask, no, you didn’t hurt me when we were having sex either. I didn’t even feel these when they happened. We were both carried away. I mean, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you have a few scratches down your back as well.”
“That’s nothing. It’s already an ugly, scarred mess; a few scratches won’t make a difference.” She gasped at that and poked a stern finger into his hard, naked chest.
“Your body is gorgeous, every delectable inch of it. And tonight you’re telling me what your other tattoos mean and we’re going to catalog all your smaller scars. Got it?”
“Don’t try to distract me. I’m not touching you again until after these fade.” His face grew stormier with each new bruise he found. He was seriously pissed off with himself for bruising her.
“You’re being silly.” She stepped out of his hold, taking the towel from him. “And just so you know, you have a bruise too. A huge one. On your neck.”
Mason turned to face the mirror, and sure enough, he had a massive hickey just above his collarbone.
“God, I look like a teenager,” he groused, and she smiled, looking so damned pleased with herself that he immediately didn’t mind the mark.
“I’ve never given anyone a hickey before.”
“And you’re never giving me another. One is your limit,” he warned, and she nodded, still looking smug. His eyes drifted back down to those ugly bruises marring her beautiful skin, and he felt like a savage for putting them there. He couldn’t recall ever marking anyone like that before, and he knew it wasn’t just because she had sensitive skin. He’d been seriously out of control with her. He needed to cool down, be gentler. And that was always his intention until he got his hands on her. Then all bets were off.
They got dressed; Mason pulled on a pair of gray cargo pants, canvas shoes, and a navy-blue Henley before turning to her with his arms outspread.
“Golfy enough?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“You look much too sexy in that getup. My father probably has a plaid-shorts-and-shirt combo you can borrow.” He looped his arms around her and dropped a kiss on her neck.
“Sexy, huh?”
“Don’t you dare fish for compliments, Carlisle,” she warned, and he hugged her close for a moment before letting her go with a lighthearted tap on her rump.
“You look pretty hot yourself,” he said, eyeing her appreciatively, and Daisy flushed. She glanced down at her simple white shift dress—another new purchase—pink cardigan, and scuffed tennis shoes. She looked like a librarian, or maybe somebody going to Bible study group. Hot was not the adjective she would have used, but Mason’s gaze was sincere, and she was going to simply accept and enjoy the comment.
They parted ways in the hallway, Daisy stopping to knock on Daff’s door while Mason stopped a few doors farther away to pick up the golf clubs. She felt a pang of loss as she watched him walk away and wished she could spend the morning with him.
Daff yanked the door open and thankfully distracted her.
“Oh my God, you look awful,” Daisy said. Her sister had black circles under her eyes, her hair was a mess, and she looked as pale as a Goth. “Are you sick?”
“A little hungover. And sleep deprived.” Daff glared at her before taking her hand and dragging her into the room. “You and Mason weren’t exactly quiet last night.”
“You heard us?” Daisy whispered, dismayed.
“I’d be surprised if the whole hotel didn’t hear you too. You guys were pretty damned vocal. What the hell, Deedee? One minute you’re telling me there’s nothing between you, and the next you’re shagging each other’s brains out?”
“It just kind of happened.”
“You’re not the type of woman these things ‘just kind of happen’ to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She was immediately offended, and Daff rolled her eyes.
“You’re the good one, that’s what I mean. I’m the one who usually makes the dumb life choices and winds up in bed with the wrong guys.”
“Well, sometimes being good is boring. Mason and I are both consenting adults, and we had fun. He made me feel sexy and raunchy and—”
“Stop. For the love of God! I don’t need to hear any more.”
“Maybe you do,” Daisy insisted. “Do you know that I’ve never had a real relationship?”
“I . . . did not know that,” Daff admitted reluctantly, the wind leaving her sails. “You’re really private sometimes, and I always assumed there were guys at college. You always talked about guys.”
“I was embarrassed. I felt unattractive and unwanted. Mason makes me forget that I’m the sad girl who never had a boyfriend in high school and never dated in college. The twenty-seven-year-old virgin who had no prospects of ever changing her status.”
“You were shy,” Daff said heavily. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
“I was shy, and I thought I was boring and ugly and fat.”
“But you’re not.”