Read Online Boarlander Beast Boar (Boarlander Bears Book 4) by T. S. Joyce - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: T. S. Joyce
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enjoyed being together. That’s if they ignored Clinton’s scowl and the soft snarls that occurred when someone got too close to one of the predator shifter’s food. She supposed big, burly loggers required a lot of calories.
Beck had barely heard a word throughout dinner. She was too enamored with watching the curve of Mason’s lips as he talked through that slight smile that dumped a whole heap of mushy feelings into her middle. What she wouldn’t give to see him under that beard.
She touched her lips with her fingertips and remembered the kiss he’d surprised her with. It was one of those life-altering moments. It was a kiss she would compare every other one to from here on. No man had ever kissed her like that. Like he wasn’t trying to get into her pants, but was just content to taste her and touch her instead. She’d always wished desperately for Robbie to be affectionate with her. Showing love wasn’t his style, though, or maybe he hadn’t ever really loved her. She’d assumed Mason’s aversion to touch meant he was the same, but it was plain and clear that he was nothing like Robbie. She could tell by the way his lips had softened against hers, by the way he’d held her tight, as if he didn’t want to let her go. She could tell by the way he had filled her plate without even asking before his own while he talked with Bash. She could tell by the way his thumb rubbed soothing circles on her back every once in a while just to let her know he was there, right beside her.
As if he could hear her thoughts, he ran his fingertips against her bare arm, trailing fire with his touch.
When she went to grab a sip of her beer, Clinton was frowning at her from across the table, his head canted as if he’d never seen her before. His eyes narrowed to little slits. When Audrey said something funny down the table, Mason laughed beside her, but Clinton lowered his voice and said, “Your eyes sure look strange in this lighting.”
Shit! Beck dropped her gaze immediately. She’d lost herself in Mason’s affection and hadn’t realized he was drawing her animal to the surface. She was usually much better at concealing herself than this.
“What did you say your name was again?” Clinton asked low.
Beck ignored him and rested her elbow on the table, cupped her neck, and avoided his curious gaze.
“Oh, I remember now. Rebecca Anderson.”
“What are you doing?” Mason asked in a hard tone.
Clinton was apparently too busy tapping away on his cell phone to answer.
A soft rumble sounded from Mason. He turned to her, drew her closer, and whispered right up against her ear, “Don’t let him get to you.” His bottom lip brushed her sensitive earlobe, and she sighed as heat pooled between her legs. And now there would be no hiding her eyes because her animal was desperate to drink in more of her mate.
Beck closed her eyes and clutched onto his shirt. Mason slipped his hand over her fist, squeezed her gently, and left his cheek against hers. His beard was rough against her soft skin. “I’ve never kissed a man with a beard before,” she whispered.
His chest was heaving curiously under her hand, and he pressed her palm against his drumming heart, content to stay near her. Beck was shaking now, her muscles twitching to be even closer to him, and somehow, in the busy restaurant, the chaos fell away, and it was just her and Mason.
Eyes tightly closed, she whispered, “You make me feel…” What could she say that wouldn’t send him scattered to the wind? Happy, normal, hopeful, like she could be good at love, like she didn’t have to be alone, like she could share her whole self with someone for the first time in her life…
“I make you feel what?”
She could do this— be brave . She didn’t want to hide from Mason like she had with Robbie. Mason was like her. He wouldn’t judge her or look at her like she was disgusting. He wouldn’t be disappointed. Slowly, she eased back, determined to let him see
Beck had barely heard a word throughout dinner. She was too enamored with watching the curve of Mason’s lips as he talked through that slight smile that dumped a whole heap of mushy feelings into her middle. What she wouldn’t give to see him under that beard.
She touched her lips with her fingertips and remembered the kiss he’d surprised her with. It was one of those life-altering moments. It was a kiss she would compare every other one to from here on. No man had ever kissed her like that. Like he wasn’t trying to get into her pants, but was just content to taste her and touch her instead. She’d always wished desperately for Robbie to be affectionate with her. Showing love wasn’t his style, though, or maybe he hadn’t ever really loved her. She’d assumed Mason’s aversion to touch meant he was the same, but it was plain and clear that he was nothing like Robbie. She could tell by the way his lips had softened against hers, by the way he’d held her tight, as if he didn’t want to let her go. She could tell by the way he had filled her plate without even asking before his own while he talked with Bash. She could tell by the way his thumb rubbed soothing circles on her back every once in a while just to let her know he was there, right beside her.
As if he could hear her thoughts, he ran his fingertips against her bare arm, trailing fire with his touch.
When she went to grab a sip of her beer, Clinton was frowning at her from across the table, his head canted as if he’d never seen her before. His eyes narrowed to little slits. When Audrey said something funny down the table, Mason laughed beside her, but Clinton lowered his voice and said, “Your eyes sure look strange in this lighting.”
Shit! Beck dropped her gaze immediately. She’d lost herself in Mason’s affection and hadn’t realized he was drawing her animal to the surface. She was usually much better at concealing herself than this.
“What did you say your name was again?” Clinton asked low.
Beck ignored him and rested her elbow on the table, cupped her neck, and avoided his curious gaze.
“Oh, I remember now. Rebecca Anderson.”
“What are you doing?” Mason asked in a hard tone.
Clinton was apparently too busy tapping away on his cell phone to answer.
A soft rumble sounded from Mason. He turned to her, drew her closer, and whispered right up against her ear, “Don’t let him get to you.” His bottom lip brushed her sensitive earlobe, and she sighed as heat pooled between her legs. And now there would be no hiding her eyes because her animal was desperate to drink in more of her mate.
Beck closed her eyes and clutched onto his shirt. Mason slipped his hand over her fist, squeezed her gently, and left his cheek against hers. His beard was rough against her soft skin. “I’ve never kissed a man with a beard before,” she whispered.
His chest was heaving curiously under her hand, and he pressed her palm against his drumming heart, content to stay near her. Beck was shaking now, her muscles twitching to be even closer to him, and somehow, in the busy restaurant, the chaos fell away, and it was just her and Mason.
Eyes tightly closed, she whispered, “You make me feel…” What could she say that wouldn’t send him scattered to the wind? Happy, normal, hopeful, like she could be good at love, like she didn’t have to be alone, like she could share her whole self with someone for the first time in her life…
“I make you feel what?”
She could do this— be brave . She didn’t want to hide from Mason like she had with Robbie. Mason was like her. He wouldn’t judge her or look at her like she was disgusting. He wouldn’t be disappointed. Slowly, she eased back, determined to let him see
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