Mace (Cocky Cage Fighter #4)(5)

By: Lane Hart

"So where are you?" I ask, decidin’ to file his sweet and genuine soundin’ offer away for later.

"In the airport."

"It's a rather large and crowded place. Could you be just a little more specific?"

"Ah...I see some planes."

"Fine. You come to me," I tell him on a sigh. What's a few more minutes to wait before I have to get in a car and drive five hours to spend a week watchin’ my baby brother get married, all happy in love while I remain a depressingly single old maid? I'm ecstatic for Linc and Claire, I really am. They are no doubt googly eyed in love with each other. But I'm two years older and just turned twenty-seven. I was supposed to be the first one to get married and settle down, dammit! "I'm at the Greenie Beanie in the General Aviation Terminal. Just call me again when you get here."

"Okay, I'm on my way. Give me like ten minutes or so," he says.

Shakin’ my head, I end the call and toss the phone back into my purse. No reason to keep checkin’ it. My friends all know I'm in North Carolina for a week, so they won't be callin’ to see if I want to go out this weekend. I haven't dated any guys in over three months so nobody will call to say they miss me. And my family is all wrapped up in Wedding Extravaganza 2015. Again, I'm not bitter, but jealous and so damn tired of bein’ alone.

Plenty of men want you; they just all happen to only come up to breast level and have a Bigfoot fetish, the inner bitch who gives me hell pretty much 24/7 says to dampen my mood even more. Yes, I'm a giant of a woman, and with my heels on, I easily stand at over six feet tall. You would think I'd be rail thin since I'm vertically supersized, but nope. There is plenty of meat on my bones, which is why I've always been in the "plus size" or "full figure" categories instead of a couture, runway model. Mainly I do catalog work and some commercials.

“Hi, hon. Can I get a tall cup of the house blend?"

I’m powerless to stop my curious eyes from glancin’ up when I hear the deep, masculine and persuasive voice orderin’ at the counter. Yowza! Mr. Coffee is hot. And really big. Even at my giant, unfeminine height, he makes me feel small. Facin’ his profile, I get a chance to stare at the tribal tats that start at the shoulder of his wife-beater and wrap around and down his entire right arm, endin’ at the top of his hand. There's something about the thick, black markings that resemble a warrior's armor and screams badass. Speaking of asses, mmm-mmm, you could bounce a quarter off his tight, firm one that fills out his rugged jeans nicely. I have a sudden urge to spank it, and then maybe lick it, which is really sayin’ somethin’ since I've never actually thought about lickin’ a man's ass before.

"Thanks, hon. Have a good one," Mr. Coffee says to the teenage cashier. The girl is sportin' second-degree cheek burns when she hands him his cup. She’s also blinkin’ up at him like she’s imaginin’ havin’ his pretty little babies. Rookie.

Oh, but then he slides farther down the counter and turns toward me. As soon as I get the first glimpse of his face, I completely understand the young girl’s fluster. Warm, beautiful green and gold sprinkled eyes meet mine, suckin’ all the air from my lungs.

"Hey," he says softly, sweepin’ his caramel hair out of his eyes to look at me from underneath long, dark lashes. The way he said that one word sounds somewhat hesitant, like we're old friends and he’s worried I’m about to rip him a new one. Hold on. Is he talkin’ to me? I actually glance over my shoulder to make sure there’s no one else around, and then face him again so quickly that my long ponytail slaps me in the face.

"Hey?" My response sounds like a question.

Full, sensual lips quirk up at one corner when he takes a step closer and reaches for a coffee lid in the container behind me. I don’t offer to move out of his way, not certain my limbs would obey the command if I wanted them to. "Hailey, right?" he asks.

Wait, what? How does he know my...who the heck is...

"Mason?" I gasp, and dammit, my cheeks instantly feel warmer. This is what I get for makin’ fun of the blushin’ girl.

“Yeah,” he says givin’ me a full, perfect, megawatt smile. When I imagined Claire’s “little” brother, he was definitely not what I had in mind. He’s not a boy, but a very large, impressive man. When he holds out his huge tattooed hand in offerin’, I slip my palm against his for a quick and awkward handshake, more like holdshake since mine just sits there in his warm, strong grasp. I shiver just thinkin’ of all the badass things he’s probably capable of doin’ with that lethal size and strength. Like my brother, I know he’s also a cage fighter. The confidence in his grip and steady, rich green gaze tells me that he knows exactly how to use that massive body of his to throw men his own size down on the canvas of the octagon and throw a woman into an orgasm coma. Just lookin’ at the tall, sexy man causes a warmth low in my belly and tinglin’ in my panties.