The KinKaid Wolf Pack Trilogy (3 page)

Mason scribbled his name and handed the pen back. "Just passing through."

"On your way back to Seattle?"

Easing his wallet back into his jeans pocket, Mason muttered a "that's right," turned, and headed toward his car.

"Have a safe trip," the clerk added. Mason threw his hand up and gave the older gentleman a smile as he stepped outside.

One week. That was all he had left before he had to return to work and grad school. Damn. How had his vacation flown by so fast? Mason slid onto the leather driver's seat of his convertible, pulled the door shut, and secured his seat belt. He glanced over at the passenger floorboard, where a dark case housed his most prized possession: his guitar. Mason couldn't help the smirk he knew sat on his face. His father may have been able to guilt him into obtaining an MBA, but he couldn't take away Mason's passion for music, no matter how damn hard he tried to mold him into a reproduction of himself.

Mason pressed the Start button, pulled away from the gas pump, and turned back onto the two-lane country road, heading west. He should have stayed on the main highway; it would have been faster. But God knew he was in no hurry to get home. So why not enjoy some of the countryside?

Playtime had been over too soon, and his father expected him to promptly return to his junior executive position at TGI. And what Mason Thorne the first wanted, he never failed to get. If it couldn't be bought, then guilt and manipulation were his tools of persuasion.

Even against his own son.

A deep, tree-lined bend in the road loomed ahead, and Mason tapped the brake as he headed into the curve. He glanced down at the black leather briefcase propped on the passenger seat, its bronze
TGI
emblem encircled by a graphic of the world shined in the dappled sunlight. His stomach clenched at the sight. Mason swung his gaze back to the road, and his heart leaped into his throat.

"Shit!" A large white wolf stood in his lane.

Mason stomped on the brakes and yanked a hard right on the steering wheel. He veered wide, missing the wolf, but his tires dropped off the low shoulder of the road. Instinct had him pulling back left, but velocity careened the car out of control. His car shot across the centerline and slammed him into a ditch.

Dazed, Mason ran his hands over his face as he sat staring at the large
BMW
letters in the center of the steering wheel. A long, deep breath slowly released from his lungs. Damn. That was too close.
The wolf... Where...?
Mason glanced to his left, then right.

Large blue eyes locked with his on the other side of the passenger door. His breath hitched, and he gripped the leather-wrapped wheel. He'd never seen a real, live wolf this close. Wow, it was beautiful. Mason squirmed in his seat, reaching for his cell that had fallen onto the floorboard. The animal jerked, stepped back, then dashed into the dense tree line.

Two hours and a tow truck ride later, Mason was still in Dover. He watched from the lobby as his Bimmer was hobbled into the bay of a local mechanic’s shop. Mason pushed on the double doors of the waiting area and slowly followed the progression of his car onto the pit rack. This being a small town, no signs were posted that stated customers had to remain out of the work area, like one would find at a large dealership.

A young redheaded man popped out from behind the wheel, chocked the rear tire, and called out to another technician beneath the car. "She's all yours, Evin."

"Thanks, Doug," a smooth, deep voice replied from the pit. Mason's brows lifted.
Nice.

The junior tech stepped toward the office, giving Mason a dismissive glance over his shoulder as he approached the rear bumper. With a
click
then a
thump
, followed by the sound of compressed air surging through the hose lines, the convertible's front tires lifted from the plate racks. Mason moved in and crouched by the front wheel that appeared to have taken the worst of the damage.

"How bad does it look?" Mason rested his forearms on the linen pants that covered his thighs and peered around the displaced tire at the shadowed figure moving beneath the front end.

"You've definitely got some bent parts here," the tech known as Evin replied in the same deep voice that skated across Mason's skin and lifted the hairs on his arms. "The good news is I think the damage is isolated to parts only, meaning it doesn’t appear you have any frame damage." Sexy Voice stepped from underneath the car and rounded the wheel.

And Mason forgot to breathe.

Damn. No man had the right to look that delicious.

Straight and black-as-sin hair brushed the top of one shoulder, with the other side tucked behind his ear. Eyes the color of a clear summer sky captured his gaze and, in that moment, had Mason wanting to drop to his knees. Because every instinct told him that if he ever got to watch this man lose control, it would be fucking amazing.

He wore a snug-fitting dark blue T-shirt that barely contained his biceps. Mason licked his lips.

"Hi, I'm Evin," Delicious said, climbing the concrete steps that brought him onto the same level with Mason. The air he forgot he'd been holding rushed from his lungs as the other man moved in his direction. Evin's long stride took him to Mason's side with only a few steps. Mason straightened as he neared, but his gaze lowered to the faded blue jeans wrapped around thighs that should belong to an athlete. Evin was built like a runner, but at the same time possessed broad shoulders and arms made for strength—a combination that made Mason's palms itch to touch and his dick more than interested.

With a smile, Evin wiped his hands on a shop towel and then held his right out in offering. Mason swallowed, then wrapped his fingers around Evin's.

Electric.

No other word could describe the tingling sensation that began where their skin met, igniting the nerve endings that arrowed straight to his cock.

"And you are...?"

"What?" Mason glanced up from where their hands were still joined. If Evin had felt what he did, he hid it well. His expression gave away nothing but a grin.

"Your name. I'll be happy to put together an estimate for you, and if you choose to proceed, I’ll order your parts. But I'll need your name first."

"Oh. Of course." Mason slid his palm free and gave him a smile in return. "Mason Thorne."

"Mason...nice name," he said, then curled one side of his mouth into a smile that showcased a dimple.

God, Mason loved the way his name rolled off Evin's tongue. It heated his blood like a hot brandy on a cold night.

"If you follow me, we'll go inside, and I can get that estimate for you." Evin indicated the side door with a tilt of his head.

"Sure. Let me get something out of here first." Mason turned, reached over into his car, and grabbed his guitar and briefcase. "I just want to secure these..." He swung back around at the same time Evin's gaze jumped from where it looked like he’d been perusing Mason's ass.

Well, fuck...me. Please.

Could his sex-on-a-stick auto tech be gay?
This accident might turn out not to be such a bad thing after all.
Mason's guitar slipped in his hand, reminding him of what he'd been about to do. "Yeah, let me put these in the trunk, and I'll be right there."

After a few phone calls, Evin had put a plan of action together for Mason. He appeared good at his job, which Mason respected. And he was a pleasure to watch in action. Evin was thorough, quick, and moved around the office with a fluidity that once again reminded him of an athlete. No—wait. More like a predatory animal whose stealth meant his survival. Yeah, that was it.

"Well, I have good news and bad news," Evin said as he approached the counter where Mason waited on the other side. "Which would you like first?" Evin rested his forearms on the laminated top and leaned in, paperwork in hand.

"Let's start with the good." Mason gave a halfhearted attempt at a laugh, propped his elbow on the countertop, then rested his chin in the palm of his hand as he studied the figures Evin presented.

"I found the parts you need."

"That's good to hear."

"That's your good news."

Mason glanced up. "And the bad?"

"Since this is Friday, they can't get them here until at least Tuesday."

"Tuesday?" Mason pushed back from the counter and groaned. He'd counted on being home by tomorrow and having a few days to himself before he had to return to the hellhole he called a job.
Shit.
What was he going to do in this town with no ca and stuck in a hotel for the next four days?

"I'm sorry, man. Wish I could do more, but that's the best option I found."

"I know." Mason nodded. "I know you've done all you can. I'm just not from around here, and with no car, I'm stranded until that's repaired."

"Dover's not so bad. I moved here last year myself. It's kind of nice. Peaceful."

Mason met Evin's soft blue gaze and couldn't help but feel there was a lot more to the story as to why Evin had ended up in Dover.

"In fact," Evin began and handed the estimate over to Mason. "I'm getting ready to close up and grab a bite to eat. How about I take you over to Bruno's and introduce you to the best steak you'll ever find in the Pacific Northwest?"

"The best, huh?" Mason raised a brow and grinned.

"It'll make you growl." He sent Mason a look that promised a dinner he wouldn't forget. And Mason had a feeling Evin made good on his promises.

"Now how can I pass on an offer like that?"

* * *

E
vin was absolutely right.

The steak had been amazing, as well as the company.

Mason didn't want to think about how long it had been since he'd been out to dinner with a man. Back home, everyone knew him as Mason Thorne II, heir to a multimillion-dollar fortune. Finding someone who was more interested in him than his bank account was nearly impossible. So most of Mason's evenings were spent with his arms around his guitar rather than a lover.

Dinner with Evin was like breathing: refreshing and easy. They'd talked about anything and everything as if they'd known each other for years. He'd discovered that Evin and he shared the same passion for motorcycles and fast cars. Evin had assured him that the back roads around Dover were a bike lover's wet dream.

"I take it you liked your steak?" Evin smirked, his gaze landing on Mason's empty plate.

"You could say that." Mason laughed, reached for his beer, and lifted it to his lips. "It was delicious," he said over the lip of the glass bottle before taking a swig, his gaze never leaving his dinner partner.

"I'm glad you approve," Evin replied and took a swallow of his own brew.

At that moment, their server chose to appear and offered a selection of desserts she was sure they would enjoy. She leaned over Evin's shoulder, allowing her full breasts to brush across his arm as she lifted his empty plate. When Evin declined anything extra, she looked to Mason.

"How about you, hon?" She tossed Mason a wink.

"I'm good. I think the steak and potato were plenty."

"Okay, then...but I don't think you two know what you're missing," she added with a provocative smile, then pivoted with a roll of her hips and headed back toward the kitchen.

"I think our server has the hots for blonds," Evin muttered over his beer and glanced in Mason's direction.

"Uh, think again. That redhead nearly shoved her breasts in your face." Mason chuckled and lifted his Sam Adams. "I think you're the one she's after."

"Yeah?" Evin shrugged. "Not really interested, though."

Mason cocked his head at Evin. "You prefer brunettes?" he asked before taking another swig.

Evin's gaze snagged Mason's, and he leaned in at his ear. "I prefer cock," he said, the words accompanied by the rasp of his deep voice sent a shiver down Mason's spine and stalled the beer in his throat.

Mason swallowed hard, forcing the liquid the rest of the way down his esophagus on a choking cough. He lunged forward in his chair, plopped the bottle back on the table, and grabbed a napkin to cover his mouth. Evin delivered a hard pat to his back.

"You okay?" Evin's smooth voice whispered again near his ear.

Mason took a deep breath, then cleared his throat once more. "Fine. Sorry about that. That last swallow went down the wrong way." Mason glanced over at his dinner partner, who'd leaned back in his chair, a slight smile curling the edge of his lips. Dammit, he was sexy as hell. He had hoped—even suspected—Evin was gay, but he hadn't anticipated such a colorful announcement. One that about had him spewing beer across the table.

"About what I said..." Evin began, rotating his beer bottle with his fingers. His gaze drifted from his hand to Mason. "Does that bother you?"

"I have your checks all ready," their server stated, interrupting the moment. She placed a register receipt next to each of them. "I'll be back in a moment." She wheeled around and headed in the direction of her next table.

"So does it bother you?" Evin picked up their conversation where he'd left off.

"That you're gay?" Mason placed his elbows on the table and leaned in, matching the intense blue-eyed stare that made his cock ache, his heart pound, and a fierce need to do anything but talk.

"Yeah. That," Evin said, one black slash of a brow lifting.

"Absolutely not."

Dimples appeared in both cheeks as Evin flashed Mason a smile. He lifted his beer and took a long swig, then topped if off with a slow swirl of his tongue around the lip of the bottle.
Fuck.
Mason couldn't take his eyes off the way Evin worked the rounded curve of the glass. Inside and out. Blood surged to his groin, bringing his dick to rock-hard attention. Mason dragged his stare from Evin's expert maneuvers up to his face. The air seized in his lungs when he caught the sight of Evin's hooded gaze. One that said,
I want to fuck you, and you can be sure it'll be the best damn ride you've ever had
.

And God help him, but Mason wanted to find out.

The server returned moments later, collected their payment, and then Evin led Mason back to his yellow '69 Chevelle SS convertible.