Page 39 of Ronen
Mason pursed his lips, shifting slightly on the soft couch cushions.
The man was wearing a pair of plaid sleep shorts, his long legs bare, except for the boot on one foot. His thighs were thick, covered in a thin sheen of red hair, a shade lighter than the hair on his head. His calves were muscular and well-shaped, and his bare foot–the one I could see fully–was long. Really long.
Big feet, big dick, my badger chortled in my ear.
I was not going to stare at the man’s legs, especially his thighs. I was not.
Thighs were my weakness, I didn’t know why. But an alpha’s thighs were like a hot trigger for me.
It all started when my Papa had been watching a rerun of a really old show. A detective had been running down a beach in Hawaii, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts that were really short, a smile and a thick mustache. The man’s thighs had been powerful, the muscles rippling as he ran, and that had been it for me.
Thigh kink had taken root and never left.
“I can’t tell you,” he told me, his lips pressed together in a thin line.
“Why not?” I demanded, not liking his evasive answer.
“Because I’m only allowed to share that with my mate,” he raised one red brow at me, “and we haven’t discussed what happened earlier. Or how we plan to proceed.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about? The only thing that happened earlier was you tripping on your own two feet and falling down the library stairs.”
Mason snorted loudly, pursing his lips even more than they already were. His eyes were dim, lines of pain bracketing his mouth, and I resisted the strange urge to reach out and soothe them away. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep tonight.”
Heat flashed through my body again, and I wondered if I was getting sick.
Moving fully into the room, I came around the back of the couch, not sure if I should sit, or stand, or….my eyes fell onto a wide bookcase that took up the entire wall in front of me. It was filled completely with books. There was a matching one that took up half the wall space on the other side, leaving room for the wide window to let in light.
Instantly seeing something that ignited a fire in me that had nothing to do with the warmth of the house–it was really hot in here–I moved past Mason’s outstretched leg to get a closer look.
The case was filled from top to bottom with books. There had to be over a hundred or more. I knew Mason was a voracious reader. The man came into the library practically every day, bringing back books and checking out more.
Staring at a row of books, each with a white band on the spine, with typed numbers on them, I spun around to glare at him.
Seeing what I was looking at, Mason held up his hands, his eyes pleading. “Ronen, I know what this looks like, but I promise you I have a reasonable explanation.”
“These are library books,” I said slowly, my voice tight with restrained emotion.
“Yes,” he admitted slowly.
Well, at least he wasn’t trying to deny it.
“Sweet Alps public library books.”
“Yes.”
I bent to read some of the titles, before turning angry eyes back to him. “These are the books you said you lost.”
“Yes,” Mason agreed, “but I did pay for them all to be replaced.”
My mouth opened but nothing came out. Not one single word.
Finally, I managed, “Why? I don’t understand. What’s going on, Mason? Why did you lie about losing these books? Who does that?” With each word, I could hear my voice rising an octave.
Mason pushed himself off the couch–or tried to–yelping when the movement jarred his ankle and he banged it against the table. “Fucking hell!”
Wincing in sympathy, I ordered, “Don’t move, just explain. Make this make sense to me.”
He bit his lower lip and looked like a kid that had gotten caught stealing cookies from the jar. His hair was all disheveled, and the tight navy T-shirt he was wearing was stretched across his wide chest.
