Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(103)

She snorted, because leaping in was exactly what she wanted to do.

Instead, she scooped ice cream into three dishes. Even males of the species could have their moods smoothed out with fat and sugar, right? And if not, at least she’d feel better.

As she set the dishes on the coffee table, a knock sounded from the front door. “It’s open. Come on in.”

Holt stepped in, and her heart once again gave a quivery leap like a drunken antelope. Was it because of the way his muscular chest and shoulders filled out a T-shirt? Or the shadow of stubble along his strong jaw. Or…that intimidating self-possession.

When his intent gaze trapped hers, her intoxicated heart did another bound.

“Hey,” she said, brilliant conversationalist that she was.

Releasing her from his gaze, he shook his head as if trying to dismiss his thoughts. “Hey to you.” Gripping her upper arms, he pulled her onto her tiptoes, and kissed her.

Oh, his lips were firm, velvety, demanding, and when he wrapped her in his iron-hard arms, every bone in her body turned to water. She put her arms around his neck—just to hold on, of course—and if that rubbed her breasts over his chest, well, she’d have to put up with the inconvenience.

God, he felt good. She ran her fingers through his thick, soft hair.

“Mmm. I missed you.” He nuzzled her temple, and his hands curled under her ass cheeks, pulling her up against his thickening shaft.

Her thoughts scattered everywhere. Why did he have to be so…so devastating? Pulling in a breath, she stepped back.

With one finger, he traced a line down her cheek, and his masculine chuckle didn’t help her rising lust at all. “When you look at me like that, I want to tie you to this coffee table and fuck you for a long…long time.”

Every drop of moisture in her mouth disappeared.

His gaze focused on something behind her, and his smile disappeared. “Unfortunately, I’m here for something much less fun.”

“What do you mean?”

He walked to the couch, bent to look at Carson’s backpack, and traced the silver tape lettering. “Interesting script.”

“It’s Carson’s name in Elvish—well, Tolkien’s idea of Elvish. I wanted the backpack to have something reflective in case he was out at night.”

“Beautiful work.” Holt’s jaw clenched. His tone darkened as he said, “Josie, I need to talk with Carson. With you present.”

“What’s wrong?”

He tilted his head toward the bedrooms. “Call him, please?”

Her stomach pitched. “Carson, can you come out? Holt is here.”

“Coming!” Carson trotted out of his room, saw the coffee table, and grinned. “Ice cream! Awesome. You should come over more often, Holt.” He grabbed a bowl and dropped into a chair.

Holt didn’t answer. Or smile.

God, what was wrong? Unclenching her hands with an effort, Josie leaned her hip against Carson’s chair.

Taking a seat on the couch, Holt scrubbed his hands over his face. Concern stabbed through Josie at the shadows under his eyes. “Carson, you know there’ve been fires at your middle school and around this area.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.”

Josie frowned at Carson’s dismissive tone. “Around the area? What do you mean?”

“There was one at a student’s home.” The way Holt’s gaze remained on Carson was starting to bother her. “Someone is deliberately setting those fires.”

She straightened, anger joining the worry. “What does this have to do with Carson?”

“Just before the classroom fire—on a Sunday—a jogger saw boys hide their bikes in the bushes. One boy had reflective script on his backpack.” Holt glanced at Carson’s daypack.

“No.” Outrage filled Josie so full that her voice rose. “You’re not accusing Carson of being a…a…firebug. An arsonist.”

Holt’s mouth pressed flat. “Josie, starting a fire is more than a childish prank. People die. If Carson—”

“My son would never do anything like that.” A hard knot formed in her stomach. She thought Holt knew her, knew Carson—cared for Carson. How could he attack her baby?

Face white, Carson stood, his dish dropping from his lap. “I’m not any fire-starter.”

“Listen, ace.” Holt also rose. “I’ve heard the science teacher is a jerk, but starting a fire”—his voice grew rough and dark—“a fire in a school where there are children is—”

“I said I didn’t do it.” Carson glared at Holt. “You-you just want me in trouble, because you got the hots for Mom.”

Josie shook her head. “Honey, that’s not why—”

“It is why. He’s an asshole, Mom.” Tears were in her baby’s eyes, running down his flushed cheeks. Hands in fists, he shouted at Holt at the top of his voice. “I hate you. Go away!”

Swiping at his face, Carson ran. The door of his room slammed shut.

Oh. My. God.

“Fuck. That could have gone better,” Holt muttered.

Better? Better? He’d accused her baby of being a criminal. The betrayal ripped into her heart until the pain was unbearable. After Everett had thrown Carson away, her son found Holt. Was starting to love Holt like she was—and the bastard had stomped all over Carson’s heart.