He nodded to her father and started whistling a jaunty tune as he stepped out of the clinic.
“Boyfriend?” The owner of the black dog—a wizened elderly man in a dapper plaid peaked hat with matching coat—asked her father.
“Yes, that’s Daisy’s boyfriend,” her father said.
“Ey ey ey! You tell him he must pay big lobola for Dr. Daisy, she’s a good girl. Twenty, thirty cows maybe,” the man cried, causing Daisy’s blush to deepen, and her father chuckled. Lobola was a traditional bride price, and it was still a common practice among certain tribes in the country. Thirty cows by any standard was a pretty hefty price.
“That many, hey?” her father mused, and the old man chuckled.
“She is a useful daughter.”
“I agree,” her father said with a grin.
“We’re not getting married, Mr. Mahlangu. So there’s no need for lobola.” Her protestation fell on deaf ears as her father and Mr. Mahlangu continued to discuss her worth in cattle. She gave up and summoned her next patient. Soon all of Inkululeko would think she was dating Mason too. Talk about a situation getting more and more ridiculous.
Mason escorted them back to town as promised. What he had done all morning while waiting for them to finish was anyone’s guess. She didn’t want him to have lunch with her family; things were already problematic enough, especially with her mother and Lia singing his praises after his “help” last night. Both had contacted her after she got home to thank her for bringing Mason, to say how wonderful he was and how happy they were for her. And yet, the reality—and inequality—of their deception ate at her more and more each day. The man had her entire family, with the exception of Daff, wrapped around his little finger while she had barely exchanged a single word with his brother.
The guilt, fear, and frustration continued to wrap around Daisy like an ever-tightening shroud, and she couldn’t wait for the next two weeks to just be over.
“Why did you really come out to the township today?” Daisy asked Mason hours later, after what seemed like an endless lunch. The family had tactfully retreated while she walked him to his car to say good-bye.
“I really want to make a donation to the clinic,” he said sincerely, and she lifted a brow, waiting. His lips quirked. “And I wanted to see how safe it was.”
“I told you it was fine,” she said, aggravated that he had deliberately ignored her. Again.
“I don’t think it is,” he said.
“It’s none of your business,” she flared, infuriated, and he brushed her cheek with his knuckles. The infinitely tender gesture made her pause.
“On the contrary, it is my business. I know more about danger than you ever could. Trust me when I tell you it’s a disaster waiting to happen. I can protect you; please let me.” It was hard to resist him when he was so obviously sincere about wanting to keep her safe. It made her feel . . . cherished. And she hated that. Hated that he made her feel so special, when it was all just pretend.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
“Mason, your performance needs extend only so far,” she said, forcing a laugh into her voice. “As method acting goes, this truly exceeds all expectation, but it’s really better to keep things superficial. Just enough to make it credible.”
He swore, the expletive ripe and vicious, and she jumped in fright.
“Fuck that, Daisy! This is your life we’re talking about. It has nothing to do with this stupid game you’re playing with your family.”
“Why do you care?” she whispered, and he reeled back as if she had hit him.
“Why do I care?” he repeated in disbelief. “You’re an unbelievable piece of work, aren’t you? What kind of prick do you think I am?”
“Mason, I didn’t mean . . .” He made a slashing motion with his hand, shutting her up.
“You want ‘credible’? Fine. Here’s something for your family to speculate over.” He grabbed her face between his palms and planted his hard, angry mouth over hers, painfully grinding her lips against her teeth before gentling the kiss. His tongue plunged between her lips and stroked the roof of her mouth, and she groaned and willingly acquiesced to his touch. She locked her hands behind his neck; his hair had grown just enough for her to run her restless fingers through. The intensity of the kiss was both shocking and welcome, and it allowed Daisy a brief moment of respite from her usual turbulent thoughts. A peace within which there was nothing to do but enjoy his closeness, his scent, and his taste. She was dangerously close to allowing him to breach her defensive walls again. It was a sobering realization and one that finally drove her out of his embrace. He resisted her retreat, his hands refusing to release her until she pulled her head back and her lips away from him.
“Stop.” The word was breathless, husky, and reluctant.
“I want you.” The words were hoarse and sounded like they’d been tortured from him.
“You don’t. You can’t,” she protested.
“Why the fuck not?” She flinched, but his gaze remained fixed and unrepentant.
“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” she whispered. “You’re not supposed to want me; I’m not supposed to like you. It was all supposed to remain neat and clinical.”
“Where do you come up with these bullshit rules?”
“They’re not my rules. They’re the dictates of modern society. You’re supposed to be with someone like Shar,” she burst out desperately, and he reared back in horror.
“You would wish a bitch like that on me?”
“Daff or Lia, then; you’re supposed to be with someone like them.”
“Will you stop trying to foist me off on to your friends and family? Shar’s a malevolent bitch. Your sisters are both completely insane, and they bore me to tears.”
Mason wasn’t sure why he was trying so hard to convince her that he wanted her. He considered it for a moment—the dull throbbing in his groin punctuating his every thought—and concluded that he was trying so hard because he was so hard. There was no logic to desire; it simply happened, sometimes between the unlikeliest of people. And it was occurring in spades between Mason and this contrary armful of femininity.
It would be better if she continued to believe that he didn’t want her. But, consequences be damned, he was tired of fighting his powerful attraction to her. And he now found himself wishing it weren’t so damned difficult to convince her of his sincerity, even while he knew that it was his reward for approaching her under false pretenses that first night. He was paying for that dumb move in spades. She didn’t give her trust easily, and he wasn’t sure how to earn it back.
“Good-bye, Mason,” she whispered, finality in her voice, and bowing his head, he admitted defeat.
For now.
CHAPTER NINE
“I can’t believe you’re actually going through with this,” Spencer said, shaking his head. Mason looked up from his duffel bag and glared at his nonplussed brother. The other man was dog sitting for the weekend and was there to pick Cooper up.
“Did you expect me to back out at the last second?” He shoved his shaving kit into the bag and followed it up with his brush—not really needed after he’d shorn his hair again last night—and aftershave. The expensive stuff.
“Well, yeah.”
“Why would I leave her in the lurch like that?” Mason glared at him.
“She forced you to do this. It was a sad and desperate attempt to get a guy like you to go out with her, and I doubt she’d be surprised if you bailed on her.”
“I’m going to say this once only, Spence, slowly so that it’ll penetrate even your thick skull.”
“Hey.”
“I like her, and after this farce of a weekend is over, I’m going to ask her out. For real. Got that?”
“You’re going to ask her out?”
“And she’s going to say no,” Mason predicted bitterly.
“Sometimes I don’t get you at all,” Spencer complained.
&nbs
p; “Yeah? Join the fucking club.”
“Miss me?” The flippant question was the first thing Mason asked when Daisy climbed into his car just before midday. She smiled at him, keeping her expression painfully polite in an attempt to prevent him from seeing just how very much she had missed him. She hadn’t seen him since that afternoon at her parents’ place. He’d called her at work, sent her flowers, and kept up the pretense of their fake relationship, even while Daisy had barely put any effort into it herself. She scrupulously avoided her family as much as possible to evade any questions about the nature of her relationship with Mason.
The only person she could speak to with any honesty was Daff, and that wasn’t ever pleasant or reassuring because of her sister’s tendency to overdramatize and make everything about her.
“It’s not my place to miss you,” she said rigidly, and he removed his sunglasses specifically so that he could roll his eyes at her.
“Get that stick out of your ass, Dr. Daisy. It’s going to be a long journey, and I’d prefer it were a pleasant one.”
He had a fair point, and she tried her best to look chastened.
“Maybe I missed you a little,” she conceded, and he grinned broadly.
“I missed you too.” He pushed his sunglasses back up his nose, and Daisy drank him in furtively. He had cut his hair again, the waves that she had enjoyed just a week ago ruthlessly shorn away to leave only short spikes in its wake. He was wearing an open-necked white dress shirt, with those faded jeans she liked so much. She really had missed him. Everything about him: his irreverent sense of humor, his laughter, and his insightful observations. The way he tilted his head slightly when he was listening to her, as if her every word was interesting. He glanced around and raised a quizzical brow.
“No Peaches?” She shook her head.
“She’s staying with Lucinda this weekend. What about Cooper?”
“He’s with Spencer.” He watched as she clicked the seat belt into place.
“What does Spencer think about our so-called blossoming romance?” It was something she had been meaning to ask for a while. He shot her a chagrined look.
“He guessed the truth almost immediately.”
“Jeez, if Spencer could guess, then I don’t know how much chance we have of convincing everybody else,” she said with a wince.
“What are you trying to say about my brother?” Mason’s tone was inadvertently defensive, and her eyes widened in alarm.
“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, that sounded worse than I intended; I just mean that he doesn’t strike me as very—”
“Intelligent? Who’s guilty of judging by appearances now, Daisy?” he chided, genuinely disappointed in her, and she exhaled impatiently.
“I was going to say observant. Your brother’s intelligence has never been in doubt. The man owns a successful business; he completed a master’s degree, for heaven’s sake. You and he are very much alike.” A curl of warmth unfurled in his chest, an unfamiliar feeling that he couldn’t quite identify, but it made him want to puff out his chest and grin like an idiot.
“How so?” he asked softly.
“You know how,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re both good looking, really smart, and determined to succeed. You’re basically the complete package. Thanks for making me spell that out, mister. Like your ego isn’t big enough as it is.”
Pride. That was what he was feeling. Pride that this wonderful woman saw him in such a flattering light. He couldn’t help it; the grin broke free and his chest expanded just a little.
“You think I’m hot and clever with a great package? Dr. Daisy, you’re such a flatterer.” His words were teasing, but Daisy could see a spark of sincere appreciation in his eyes. Something told her that Mason was even less used to honest compliments than she was. It was an astonishing revelation, and it completely melted her heart.
“Ready?” he asked, and Daisy nodded, suddenly feeling inappropriately ebullient as if she wasn’t on her way to orchestrate the biggest deception of her entire life.
It was a six-and-a-half-hour drive to Morgan’s Bay in the Wild Coast on the national highway, and they had long periods of silence followed by spurts of lively conversation. They debated about everything from politics to religion. Sometimes the arguments were less topical and about favorite movies, music, and even reality shows. They were also playing an ongoing, cutthroat game. The winner was the person who had spotted the most red cars by the end of the journey. It got hilariously ugly and argumentative really fast. Especially when they were driving through the tiny towns en route to their destination.
“Why doesn’t that one count?” Mason asked heatedly, as they were passing through yet another small cluster of shops and homes that posed as a town.
“It’s parked,” Daisy said smugly, and he shot her a look so incredulous she could read it even through the sunglasses.
“Bullshit,” he snapped. “That wasn’t a rule when we passed through the last town and you called out three dozen parked cars.”
“I didn’t,” she denied smoothly. It had only been three. “You’re driving, so I don’t blame you for not being one hundred percent focused on the game, but there’s no reason to make stuff up.”
“That isn’t a rule,” he maintained.
“Well, it should be. In fact, I think it is. Now.”
“You’re such a cheat. Fine, whatever, no parked cars. You were the one earning the most points on parked cars anyway, so it’s no skin off my nose!”
“Great. So that’s twenty-three to you and thirty-five to me.” He swore under his breath and shook his head.
The game continued.
On long, isolated stretches of road, when there were hardly any other cars, they talked about other more personal topics, and Daisy found herself confiding things she had never admitted to another soul.
“I was convinced unicorns existed. I was embarrassingly persistent about it,” she confessed. “Up until the age of twelve I was determined to prove their existence. I was so gullible, and the Internet didn’t help. There are so many ‘true accounts’ of unicorn sightings, unicorn fossils, unicorn videos on YouTube, and grainy ‘found’ images. I was going to be the person to definitively prove that unicorns were an actual animal species. I thought it was a legitimate branch of research.”
She shook her head wryly and a little sadly as she recalled it.
“It added to my reputation as the ‘weird, other McGregor sister.’ In fact, I think that’s probably what started it. It didn’t help that I was a plump, frizzy-haired misfit without a single friend and that it looked like a unicorn factory had exploded over every item I possessed. We’re talking clothing, bags, books . . . I even had a frickin’ unicorn Alice band.” Mason winced at that revelation.
“At some point your mom had to have said something, right?”
“You’ve met my mother, of course she said something. She was absolutely appalled. At first, for about five seconds, she thought it was adorable. Until it became an obsession. I was a mouthy brat about it too. If she threw anything out, I’d whine to my dad about it, and he saw nothing wrong with it. Told my mother I was just being creative and creativity should be nurtured and not stifled. So every time after that, whenever she said anything about my unicorns, I’d throw those words back at her: ‘You’re stifling my creativity, Mother!’
“God, I was such an obnoxious brat. I knew my dad would take my side, he always did, and I think that’s when my mother and I started drifting apart.” She sighed and then laughed bitterly. “All this time I blamed the country club while I’d been pushing my mom and sisters away for years. Always aware of how different I was and practically blaming them for it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being different, Daisy.”
“But I shoved it in their faces, and then when I realized how far out of reach they were, it was difficult to breach the gap.”
“But not impossible. They love you and you love them. And you’re not the same bratty, unic
orn-collecting kid anymore.”
“Nah, I collect caterpillars now,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, I remember,” he said with a grimace. “I’ve been meaning to ask, why caterpillars? Why not butterflies?”
“Butterflies are boring,” she said. “They’ve already achieved the pinnacle of their existence. Caterpillars are beautiful and yet still have so much potential locked inside them. Weird, I know.”
“Maybe a little weird, but fascinating too.” And telling. Of course she collected caterpillars; a psychoanalyst would have a field day with Daisy and how she dealt with her many insecurities. Even her hobbies were a reflection of her self-doubt.
“Think about it, inside every single butterfly or moth there’s a contented little caterpillar,” she muttered smugly.
“Don’t you mean there’s a butterfly waiting to emerge from every caterpillar?”
“Meh, I prefer my interpretation. So much more fun to think that every pretty butterfly was once a fat, greedy little grub.” She chuckled wickedly, and he laughed at the pure malice in the sound.
“What were you like as a boy?” she asked, changing the subject abruptly.
“Pretty much what you’d expect. Spencer and I got into all kinds of trouble; luckily it was all petty shit that didn’t have life-altering repercussions.”
Daisy recalled something her father had said.
“Did you vandalize Mr. Richards’s store?”
“No, but I know who did.” She poked him on one hard bicep when he didn’t elaborate.
“Well?”
“Timmy Jr. did it.”
“Mr. Richards’s own son?” Well, that was news.
“Yeah, the little bastard figured Spencer and I would be blamed, and he was pissed off with his dad about something and trashed the place.” He shook his head in disgust. “The cops questioned us for three hours, and we were only thirteen and fifteen at the time. We both had solid alibis that night, though. Our mother was in hospital, and we didn’t leave her side until she died.”