His deep chuckle warms me. “Pretending to be someone you’re not takes a lot of energy. Why not just read what makes you happy? Life is too short to worry about what other people think.”
“I like the way you think, Mason Black.” I grin at him and his eyebrows shoot up.
“I don’t remember telling you my name, Doc. Is this some kind of black magic?” His mouth quirks to one side.
“No. You gave your name to the nurse this morning. She told me. No tricks, I promise.”
“I see. I never caught your first name, though. I’m guessing it isn’t just ‘Doctor.’ ”
“It’s Callie. Callie Nicolo.” I hold out my hand as if we’ve just been introduced. He takes it and the squeeze of his fingers around mine evokes an unexpected longing deep inside. I meet his eyes for a beat, and his gaze is so intense I can’t help but feel as if he sees straight through me. I have to tear my eyes away and find myself staring at our hands, then frown and turn his over in mine.
“What happened?” I say, gingerly touching his mangled knuckles with the fingers of my other hand. Every single one is scabbed over, but the wounds can’t be more than a day old, just like the shiner around his eye, I realize.
He releases me and clenches his fist, dropping it into his lap, then turns away when he realizes I’m staring not into his eyes, but at the dark bruise that surrounds one of them. He shakes his head.
“Trust me, it’s nothing.”
“Bullshit.” I bend down to grab my purse from under the seat and pull out a pen light, then firmly yet gently grip his chin and turn him toward me again. I flick the light across both eyes, and it isn’t until I’m satisfied nothing’s amiss that I realize he’s smirking at me. “What?”
“I am down for playing doctor, but I don’t think this is the place for it.”
My eyes widen and I huff. “I’m not playing,” I hiss. “You’re injured, in case you haven’t noticed. If you fractured your occipital bone, you could have serious damage.”
“You didn’t seem concerned enough to check this morning.”
“Well, I might have, if you hadn’t disappeared. One second you were there, the next, poof. Did Marcella’s son ever find you?”
“Yeah, he caught up with me. It’s all good. What the . . .” He tilts his head away from my gently probing fingers. “What now?”
“You should ice this,” I say, then reach up and hit the call button.
“Christ,” he mutters, slouching in his seat. “I iced it earlier.”
“So ice it again.” When the flight attended arrives, I ask for a bag of crushed ice if they have it. She nods and slips off down the aisle, returning a moment later with a plastic baggie filled with cubes. I take it and hold it up to Mason. “On your face.”
“You’re the boss, Doc,” he says, obeying my order with a grin so infectious I can’t help but smile back. And it feels good. It feels good to be noticed by a man, to allow myself the freedom to notice him back. For the past five years, I’ve only allowed myself an abstract awareness of the level of attractiveness of the men I interact with. But now I’m fully conscious of Mason’s raw magnetism. He’s big, fit—good-looking, aside from the bruises. The tattoos scream “bad boy.” He’s exactly the wrong man to get involved with, which is also probably what makes him perfect. I feel the same way I felt three years ago when a certain doomed patient propositioned me. Maybe the universe is giving me a second chance to follow through.
Except I have no idea how to do this. Under the circumstances, it doesn’t exactly make sense to just proposition him. I’m not sure I could take a rejection right now anyway. I can’t do anything for the time being besides talk to him, since the plane is finally moving toward the runway to prepare for takeoff.
The cabin lights dim and a subtle scent of jet exhaust filters in as the engines ramp up, the power humming through the floor beneath us. The aircraft surges forward and I sit back, closing my eyes and forcing myself to think of less terrifying things than being launched into the air inside an enormous steel tube.
Surgery is less terrifying.
The prospect of somehow putting myself out there and asking a relative stranger if he’s interested in sex is probably the most terrifying thing of all. Yet somehow that is the thing my mind settles on. By the time I realize the avenue my mind has gone down, it’s too late to get the images out of my head.
A big hand pries my fingers off the armrest and I open my eyes, blinking in confusion as Mason threads his ice-chilled fingers through mine and squeezes tight.
“I’ve got you, Callie. Hold onto me and everything will be okay.”
I don’t think he realizes how dangerous his touch is to my psyche right now. I am so far from okay it isn’t funny, and it has nothing to do with flying.
9 Mason
I’m not sure what compels me to hold Callie’s hand. She looks scared, I guess, and after feeling too impotent to protect any of the women in my life, I can finally do something to help this one. She doesn’t look grateful, though she clings to me like I’ve just thrown her a lifeline.
If anything, she looks more frightened. More out of her element, and nothing like the confident, capable woman in the white coat I met early this morning. She practically vibrates with barely suppressed energy, the fingers of her free hand fussing with the hem of the
