All For You (Rocktown Ink #5) by Sherilee Gray (fantasy novels to read txt) 📗

did I have to go and bring that up? I chewed and washed it down with a mouthful of beer. “So what’s it like to be back in Rocktown, back in your old house?”

His thick fingers gripped the bottle in his hand tight, and he sat back. “Good. The city was never for me.”

There was a little growl to his voice when he said that and I felt it…low. It brought back one particular memory. The one with Mase up on his hands, body straining, abs tight as he thrust into me. The hot look in his eyes. You want me to fuck you harder, kitten?

Nope. Not going there.

I fought down a shiver and shoved more pizza in my mouth. When I swallowed, I took another sip of my beer and valiantly tried to ignore the growing tension in the room. Each passing moment it was increasing tenfold. Or maybe it was just me?

“Gran and I moved around a lot. We had a couple of short stints in different cities, but I much prefer the country.” I looked up, and his gaze was on my lips. I automatically licked them.

His nostrils flared and that blue gaze intensified.

No, I definitely wasn’t the only one feeling the tension. It was as thick as goddamn molasses.

“So, you moved around a lot?” he said into the silence.

“Yeah, my gran didn’t believe in laying down roots. She didn’t do long term, not with friends or romantic relationships, because let’s be honest, most people don’t deserve that level of trust. She’d been a performer, a singer and dancer, when she was young, and I guess she never stopped touring, even when the performances ended. Basically, she thought commitment of any kind was an anchor, and to her, life was always about living free.”

“But she raised you? That’s a pretty big fucking commitment.”

I took another sip of my drink, trying to avoid that penetrating stare. “My brother and I were the exception.”

“You have a brother. Older?”

“Yep.”

“Does he have the same philosophy on life?”

His voice was a low rumble, and it sent tingles through the pit of my stomach. “My brother’s philosophy on life is me, myself, and I. He left us as soon as he was old enough. I barely see him now.” He’d taken after our mother all right; one broken promise after another, and when I needed him most, he was never there.

“And what about you? Is that what you want, to live free, to travel? No commitments?”

“I mean, Gran gave me the trailer when she went into a nursing home, it’s what she wanted for me. To carry on living the way she did. The way we had when I was with her.” Though, in truth, deep in my heart of hearts, I wasn’t sure what I wanted anymore.

Silence.

I glanced over at Mase. He was watching me closely, too damn closely.

“But is that what you want?”

This whole conversation had gotten too heavy, way too quickly. And I didn’t miss the disapproval in his eyes over the way my grandmother had lived her life. Gran would have called him small-minded, and I couldn’t stop myself from defending her. “Why not? I’m young; why put down roots and limit life’s possibilities, right? Why cave to society’s expectations? Seeing others living a life different from what many people perceive as the ‘norm’ is hard for some to accept. But not everyone wants the white picket fence.” How many times had Gran said those exact words?

“Right,” Mase muttered.

I’d gone off on a tangent. No chance of him asking me back for pizza after this. I forced a grin to try and lighten things. Because even as I said those words, I wasn’t sure I believed them anymore. I’d been wanting Gran’s version of happy less and less lately. Moving all the time had sucked. New schools, new friends. I’d been lonely more often than not. Which was why I’d been saving for some land of my own.

A home base that would always be here for me to come back to, if I needed it. A safety net, I guess.

Gran hadn’t believed in those either.

Which was why, saying…doing anything other than what she’d wanted for me felt like I was betraying her, the only person who’d truly cared. Again. I thought of her letter and guilt crept in.

I glanced up at Mase. “My gran had another life moto; it was something that Katharine Hepburn once said.” I grinned wider. “If you obey all the rules, you’ll miss all the fun.”

Mase said nothing, just watched me, his jaw like granite, his sensual lips pressed thin. Yep, he most definitely disapproved.

“You don’t agree?” I asked, pushing. I’d spent months arguing, butting heads with him. I’d rather that than his censure.

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if I agree or not.”

For some reason that stung. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t actually decided what I wanted. I kind of hated that he didn’t approve of me. And it made me angry that I cared. “I’m not some idiot with her head up her butt, Mason. You have no idea what my life’s been like. Don’t sit there and pass judgement on me.”

He put his bottle on the floor and leaned forward. “Those claws are out again, kitten.” I opened my mouth to tell him not to call me that, but he talked right over me. “But you can put them away because I’m not judging you. I’m sure as fuck in no position to judge anyone.”

Shit. I’d done it again, got defensive and snapped, assumed the worst of him. But who could blame me? It was confusing—this was Mase, the guy who had been demanding and rude and pigheaded for months while I decorated his house. But he was also my Adonis, the sexy, sweet guy who had been a safe harbor when I’d needed one. Who’d held me down when I thought I’d fall to pieces and drift away.

I twisted my fingers in my lap, unable to look at him, not when there