The Summer Getaway: A Novel(77)
“I’ve missed you, too. I love you, Mom. You’re my rock.”
“And you’re my little pebble.”
* * *
Mason sat at his desk until nine in the morning, then called Lillian’s lawyer. After about thirty seconds on hold, he was put through and was able to ask the list of questions he’d come up with last night, while he wasn’t sleeping. Thirty minutes later, he hung up and carefully put his cell phone down in front of him.
He’d been shot at more than once in his life. He’d parachuted out of a flying plane twice, had been in a Humvee that had overturned. He’d been married and divorced twice. He’d scared the shit out of kids to turn them into soldiers, and he’d told sobbing recruits it was time to go home.
But he’d never faced anything remotely like what Robyn had so blithely mentioned yesterday and that Gregory had just confirmed. He, Mason Alexander Bishop, born in a house that barely had running water, whose family had spent a couple of generations in the coal mines, was going to inherit a house that would be sold to the historical society for twelve-point-seven million dollars.
The lawyer had made it clear Mason could get triple that amount from a developer. Maybe more. But Lillian was hoping he would agree to the deal with the historical society so the house could be saved.
There had also been a discussion of tax implications, which would reduce the amount Mason would eventually put in his bank account, but he was okay with that. Ending up with eight million was still something he couldn’t wrap his mind around.
Him. Eight million in cash money. How was that possible?
He went in search of the one person he could talk to. He found Robyn in the pantry, studying the shelves. She looked up at him.
“I’m planning menus. I figure Salvia has enough to do with the sudden influx of guests. You’re right about Lillian’s love of salads and soups for meals. Between you and kids, we’re going to need more substantial food.” She stopped talking. “Are you all right?”
“No. I spoke to Gregory.”
She nodded and led the way through the kitchen and out to the far back little patio area where he stored the barbecue. They settled on chairs opposite each other. Mason leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs.
“I never thought it was real,” he admitted. “Any of this. When Lillian first started writing me, I thought she was a loon.”
“Who owned a three-bedroom rambler,” she teased.
He glanced at her and smiled. “Yeah, that. When I first got here, I couldn’t take it in. Not really. As for inheriting, that was a concept. Nothing real. Then Lillian mentioned me keeping some land for myself, and I liked that idea.”
He’d come to love the area and could see himself settling here. He didn’t need much—a small house with a view of the ocean would be more than he’d ever expected.
“Gregory said Lillian and the historical society have agreed on twelve-point-seven. After taxes, I’d end up with about eight million.” He looked at her. “Dollars.” He ran a hand over his hair. “That’s not me. That’s not my life.”
“It doesn’t have to change much, Mason. You’ll build a house and write your books and maybe get a car you’ve always dreamed about.” Her tone was gentle. “It’s a lot to take in. Give yourself a little time.”
“I want her to live forever. I like her. I’d rather have her than the money.”
Her expression softened. “Now you’re just trying to make me throw myself at you, and it’s working.”
“She’s the only family I have.” He thought about all the time he’d wasted. “Why didn’t I answer her right away? I could have gotten to know her years ago.”
“You know her now.”
Feelings churned inside of him. “I don’t know how to deal with this.”
“Just let the information sit. Nothing’s going to happen for a while.”
She stood and held out her hand. When he took it, she pulled him to his feet, then stepped into his embrace.
Holding her felt good, he thought, breathing in the scent of her hair. She’d used shampoo scented like coconut and vanilla. Her curves pressed into his body, distracting him from his swirling mind.
Giving in to the impulse, he tangled one of his hands in her long, blond hair and pulled her head back just enough for him to kiss her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and sank into him. Her lips parted, then her tongue welcomed his with a sensual dance that had him hard and hungry in seconds.
He released her hair and dropped his hands to her rear. Her breath caught, and she rubbed against him, groaning slightly as she moved. Unable to help himself, he moved from her mouth to her jaw, then nibbled his way down her neck.
The sound of her faint moans nearly made him come in his pants. She shocked the shit out of him by pulling his hands around to her breasts. They kissed and he explored her curves until they were both breathing hard.
“Touch me.”
The whispered command had him fumbling with her jeans. Need made him clumsy, but he managed to get the zipper down. She parted her legs even as he slipped his hand against the warm skin of her belly before sliding it into her slick, swollen heat.
She stared at him, her need raw and exposed, her mouth parted. The image of her so aroused, because of him, burned in his brain. He would die remembering this moment, and everyone in the room would wonder why he was smiling.