Ride the Tide (Deep Six #3) - Julie Ann Walker Page 0,45

Was that anger?

He was mad at her?

Oh, this is rich!

“Shoulda known I’d find the two of you together,” he growled. His accent made it sound more like the two a yas tahgethah.

“Oh yeah?” Doc arched an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

“Well, after that little display dockside…” Mason didn’t finish the sentence, simply let it die at the end.

Alex opened her mouth, but words failed her and she was reduced to an indignant sputter.

Once again, Doc showed mercy by answering for her. “You mean that little display where you had a brunette hanging off you like a dog tick?”

“Yeah!” Alex found her voice. “If anyone was making a scene, it was you.” She glanced over Mason’s shoulder. “Where is Donna, by the way? Waiting on you to come back to your room with chocolate and champagne? Are you too cheap to spring for room service?”

Mason had the good sense to loosen his stance and look a little conscience-stricken. “She went home,” he mumbled.

Alex made a show of checking the time on her nonexistent watch. “Already? Wow! Who’d have figured you for a two-pump chump?” She turned to Doc while hooking a thumb toward Mason. “Guess I really dodged a bullet with that one, huh?”

Now it was Mason’s turn to sputter. And in a rare gift of perfect timing, Alex’s to-go ordered arrived, along with the check. After peeking at the total, she pulled a wad of cash from the pocket of her robe, slapped it on the bar, and tossed back her double shot of bourbon.

She willed herself not to collapse into a fit of coughs, which would most assuredly ruin her exit. Grabbing her food, she hopped from the stool and strode toward the lobby without ever looking back.

Chapter 12

10:22 p.m.

Mason watched Alex disappear into the crowd and had to will his legs not to stomp after her.

Because…then what? What the hell would he say to her? He had no idea. What the hell would he do with her? He had a few hundred ideas but none of them were in any way advisable.

What he was sure of was that he had a thing or two to discuss with Doc. And even though he wasn’t much for words, more than a few choice ones came to mind as he snagged the stool Alex had vacated.

“I don’t like you sniffing around her.” He blasted Doc with his chilliest stare, surprised when the man didn’t reach up to check if his face had turned into a block of ice.

Ever since the scene by the docks, Mason had been imagining little Alex in bed with the giant from Montana, and he’d grown more furious with each passing second. It’d only gotten worse when, after Donna left, he stopped by Doc’s room and found it empty. His rage had reached a boiling point by the time he knocked on Alex’s door, sure he would find them together.

Truth to tell, however, he hadn’t been precisely sure who he was mad at. Maybe himself for caring when he wasn’t supposed to. Maybe himself for being so relieved when he discovered Alex’s room empty too.

Of course, now, with Doc so close and looking so tall and self-righteous, Mason decided that, no, the person he was mad at was Doc. Because Doc had no business with Alex.

He wasn’t the only one feeling ill will toward an old friend, though. Doc stared at Mason’s nose for so long that Mason got the distinct impression Doc was imagining using his knuckles to smash it in.

Then Doc’s face turned impassive, and he drawled lazily, “Jesus, man. You make me sound like an anteater. I don’t sniff. Much.”

That “much” was said with a hint of a smile. Suddenly, Mason was tempted to put a hitch in Doc’s Sam Elliott swagger.

“You can’t give her what she needs,” Mason said through gritted teeth.

Doc choked on his beer. Unfortunately, he didn’t expire from it. “Are you questioning my ability to please a woman in bed?”

“No, you tool. I’m saying she deserves someone who’ll share more than his body with her. She deserves someone who’ll give her a piece of his heart. And we all know you gave yours away years ago.”

For a moment, Doc said nothing. Then he shrugged. “From what I gather, she’s not after a piece of my heart. She’s after my d—”

“Not,” Mason cut in, that single syllable heavy with barely controlled violence. “Another. Word.”

Doc took a slow sip of his beer. After he swallowed—again, slowly—he said, “Why the hell do you care, man?