Broken (Book 1, The Watcher Chronicles, Paranormal Romance) (17 page)

Mason grins.  “Ok, be right back.”

He phases and I wonder what he plans to bring for me to eat.  In less than ten minutes, he reappears with a nondescript brown paper bag in his hands.

“You do like Chinese take out
, right?” he asks.

I nod.  “Especially if you thought to bring back some egg drop soup.”

“Got it handled.  Let me put it in a proper bowl for you though.”  He heads out of the room and I soon hear the rattling of dishes in the kitchen.  A few minutes later Mason reappears with one of the fold out trays Mama Lynn gave me last Christmas.  She gifted me with two of the trays and I always wondered who the second one was supposed to be for.  I assumed it was her subtle way of hinting I should find myself a man.

  Mason
stands the tray across my lap.  The egg drop soup instantly calls my name begging me to eat it.

“That smells
really good,” I say, inhaling the warm vapors rising from the bowl.

“It’s the best I could get on short notice,” Mason says.  “If you’re still sick tomorrow I’ll make you my famous chicken soup.”

“You cook?” I ask, finding it hard to imagine Mason spending time in the kitchen with such a delicate endeavor.

“When you’ve lived as long as I have, you become a master of all trades
,” he shrugs.  “There isn’t much I don’t know how to do if the occasion calls for it.”

Mason walks out of the room and comes back with o
ne of those white take out boxes and a pair of chopsticks.  He takes off his jacket, tie and shoes before lying on the other side of the bed with me to watch the movie.

“Why did you dress up for the party?” I ask him.

Mason’s forehead crinkles.  “It’s what I always wear to parties.  Why? Would it have been inappropriate?”

“Obviously you’ve never been to
a get together in the South,” I say.  “Jeans and a t-shirt would have been fine.  The only time men wear suits down here is if their going to a wedding or a funeral.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Mason grins.  “I’ll remember that next time.”

Mason grabs one of the take out boxes and opens it.  Inside I see what looks like shrimp lo mien.

I point the remote towards the TV.  “Ready?” I ask
before pressing play.

“Ready when you are,” he says, dipping his chopsticks into his noodles and watching the TV screen intently.

And thus began Mason’s indoctrination into the Star Wars universe.  Watching it with someone who has never seen it before is like watching it for the first time.  Covertly, I observe his reaction to certain scenes and more often than not end up finding myself just out right staring at the man in my bed.  It suddenly dawns on me that he is the first man who has ever been granted the privilege. 

By the end of the movie just as Princess Leia
is hanging the medals around our hero’s necks, Mason turns to me and asks, “So who is your favorite character?”

I shake my head.  “He’s not in this first movie.  He doesn’t show up until the second one.”

Mason’s interest seems piqued.  “Do you have it?”

“Silly man,” I tease.  “Of course I have
that movie.  No respectable Star Wars fan would be caught dead not owning a copy.  Would you like to watch it?”

Mason stands up.  “Point me in the direction of where it
is.”

I send Mason to the living room and instruct him to look for the
Empire Strikes Back
DVD in the large entertainment center there.  When he comes back in, he exchanges the DVDs in the player.  Then, he comes over to my side of the bed and puts the palm of his hand on my forehead.

“Hmm, you still seem to be running
a fever,” he assesses.  “Can you wait a minute before starting the movie?  I may have access to something that will make you feel better more quickly than conventional medicine.”

“Ok,” I say, not knowing exactly what type of unconventional medicine he might be referring to.

“Be right back,” he promises and phases away.

Within five minutes, Mason reappears with a bottle of purple liquid in his hands.  He sets the bottle on the nightstand and says, “
One second, I need to get a spoon.”

He goes to my kitchen and returns quickly with
said spoon.

“So, what is that stuff?” I ask
, feeling my left eyebrow rise of its own accord as Mason fills the spoon with the purple elixir.

“Angela and my son give it to their children when they have colds.  It’s made by a fairy friend of ours.”

“Fairy?” I question, sure I’ve heard him wrong.  “Like a Tinkerbelle kind of fairy?”

Mason chuckles and I find the sound makes me feel better than any medicine
I’ve taken so far.

“No, Malik is not that type of fairy.  He knows a lot about
herbal remedies, things modern science hasn’t even discovered yet.  He and Tara started an herbal remedies business which has done quite well from what I’ve heard.  Brand invested in it a few years back and they’ve done a lot of online business so far.”

“
Tara?  Is that Lilly’s best friend?  Because I think I met her today.”

“Oh, is that where Lilly took you? 
Tara’s cabin?”

“It was the first place.  We went inside and then phased to this spot on the side of the mountain her house faces.”

“That’s probably where you caught this cold,” Mason says, shaking his head.  “Lilly should have taken you somewhere warmer.  You’re body isn’t used to cold mountain air.”

“I don’t normally get sick,” I tell him.  “I’ve probably only caught five colds in my
whole entire life.”

“But when you go into a new environment, you’re faced with not only a difference in the weather but different pollens from plants that you’re not normally around.”  Mason holds the spoon towards my mouth and I let him pour the liquid against my tongue.

It’s the best tasting medicine I’ve ever had: a mixture of sweet berry flavors with a hint of tartness.

“Are you sure that’s medicine?” I say.  “It taste
s more like candy.”

Mason smiles which
instantly makes me smile.  “I’ll give you their website if you would like to buy some of their products.  They don’t only sell medicine though.  They have a line of soaps, which I buy from them, and beauty products as well.”

“Is that a hint?” I ask jokingly,
acutely aware I’m not looking my best at the moment.

“No,” Mason says.  His serious tone makes me look into his eyes as he gazes down at me.  “It’s not a hint.  You’re quite beautiful without needing any help.”

I quickly look down at my hands in my lap, not knowing what to say to what felt like a heartfelt compliment.

Mason sets the bottle of medicine on the nightstand and takes the spoon back into the kitchen.  When he returns, he hits play on the DVD player and resumes his position on my bed.

“So,” he says.  “Who is your favorite character?”

“Yoda,” I tell him, snuggling up with my pillow as the movie begins.

“Little green creature with pointy ears, right?”

I look over at Mason and see him looking down at me.  “Right.”

“And here I assumed the dashing Han Solo would be your favorite character.”

“Looks aren’t everything,” I say to him.  “Han’s funny
and dashing, I guess.  But Yoda is wise.  He’s lived a long time and knows just what to tell Luke to make him strive to be a better person.”

“Well, if you prefer wisdom over looks, maybe there’s hope.”

“Hope for what?” I ask, not understanding what he’s implying.

Mason is silent as he looks down at me
.  He quickly looks away and gets comfortable as the movie begins.

“Nothing,” he finally says.  “
It’s not important.”

I want to push him to tell me what he meant but know such a move might make him leave and that’s
the last thing I want to do.  As I lay there watching Mason instead of the movie, I feel an uncontrollable need to reach out and pull him closer to me but force myself to resist the urge.  My tried and true warning siren sounds off in my head telling me to keep my distance from Mason but I mentally tell it to shut the hell up because all I want to do is let myself imagine what it might feel like to have him hold me. 

I feel my eyelids get heavier and finally close just as Mason pulls the comforter up over my shoulders.  A cool hand rests against my forehead and I know he’s checking my temperature again.  Just as I’m about to float into the ether of dreams, I faintly feel the soft touch of his
finger tips glide down my exposed cheek.

“Sweet dreams, Jess,” I hear
him whisper before I fall off the cliff into the realm of dreams.

When I wake up the next morning, I’m faintly aware that I have my body draped a
cross my pillow.  I tighten my arms around its warmth and instantly feel it start to move beneath me.  Even half asleep, I know that’s not supposed to happen.  When I open my eyes, I find myself not looking at the white sheet of my pillow case but a white button down shirt filled not with stuffing but Mason.

I tilt my head up and find Mason looking down at me
with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

“Good morning,” he says
before giving me a small smile.

Fully awake now, I realize that not only is my arm
completely around his chest but one of my legs is sandwiched in between his intimately.  Apparently during my fever induced sleep, I had unintentionally made him into my own personal teddy bear.

I slowly extricate myself from his body
trying to maintain what small amount of dignity I have left and say, “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” he says
gently and I know he means it.

“How long did I have you trapped
like that?” I ask.

“Most of the night,” he reveals.

“You should have just rolled me over,” I say.

“I did,” he
replies, his smile growing wider, “but you would just roll back over and assume the same position.”

I groan and
drop my head in my pillow face down, completely mortified that my subconscious had assumed control of my body while I slept. 

“I’m so sorry,” I say into my pillow
, unable to face him just yet.

“Sorry,” Mason says, I hear the smile in his voice, “didn’t quite catch what you said with half your pillow in your mouth.”

I turn my head on my pillow and look back over at him sheepishly.  “I said I’m sorry.”

He’s silent for a moment.  His eyes caress my face with
an intense gaze as if searching for something before asking, “Are you?” His tone almost sounds like my incessant need to apologize has hurt him in some way.

I sit there staring at him not sure if I shoul
d tell him how I really feel: that I’m not sorry in the slightest that I cuddled with him all night even if I can’t remember it.  Or, if I should do what I always do when I feel myself getting too close to someone else and say something sarcastic which will push him away for good.

Before I get a chance to make a choice, Mason swings his legs
off the bed to the floor and stands, running his fingers agitatedly through his short hair before turning to look back down at me.  His crisp white shirt is now wrinkled as are his pants.  His normally smooth face now has a trace of stubble which only makes him look more ruggedly handsome than usual to me.

“
Your fever seemed to break during the night.  Are you feeling better?” He asks, apparently taking my silence to his previous question in stride and not pushing for an answer.

I lay there and realize I do feel better.  I nod.

“I feel a lot better.  Whatever is in that medicine you gave me seems to have done the job.”

Mason nods.  “Good.  Why don’t you take a bath?
  You were sweating a lot last night.  I’ll go make you some breakfast.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t, Jess,” he says, almost harshly.  “But you need to eat to build your strength back up.”  He starts to walk out of the bedroom.  “I’ll see what you have to cook in the kitchen.”

And he’s gone.

I lay there wondering what I did wrong to change him from the almost happy Mason I woke up with to the taciturn Mason now banging around in my kitchen. All I can think is that he took my silence to his question as meaning I
was
sorry I used him like my own body length pillow.  Even if I had been truly sorry, why was he reacting so badly?  Did I wound his male ego?  Did the women he normally slept with treat him like a God the next morning?  I felt my stomach muscles tighten at the thought of Mason in bed with other women.  Before I can linger on why it upsets me so much, I jump out of bed and go straight to my private bathroom to take a shower.  I had hoped the warm water would rinse away the mental images I was having of Mason sharing the same bed with someone else.