but I can’t look away from him.
“Drink?” he rasps.
The hostess suddenly appears beside me with a tray holding a cocktail I immediately recognize—a Studded Reverse Cowboy—my favorite cocktail. Aside from that seriously stalkerish vibe, which slams into me again, I’m also thrown by the fact that I hadn’t realized the hostess had been present the whole time. Had she overheard the exchange between Mason and I?
I look up to read her expression and find her attention once more riveted to Mason’s face.
Irritation churns in my belly. I pluck the glass from the tray with a curt thanks and down half of its contents. I tell myself I don’t care that she’s eye-fucking Mason. The admission echoes hollowly inside me.
Truth is I care a little too fucking much.
I shake my head when he leans forward to offer me another mouthful. “I’ve had enough, thanks.”
I mean it not just with regard to the food. Whatever this is, it’s got me so unbalanced I fear if I don’t claw back some control, he’ll steam roller me with the sheer force of his personality.
His eyes narrow at my tone, and he watches me set down the glass.
“Was this your idea of bringing me round to your way of thinking? A few mouthfuls of my favorite food and a drink or two before I decide to happily spread my legs for you?”
His face hardens. “Isn’t that what you said you wanted? Some non-sexual attention before you’re comfortable with this?”
“If I want that, I’ll happily pay for a gigolo, or one of those escort services you use.”
He looks genuinely puzzled. “Explain.”
“You’re right. I’m attracted to you.” His frown smooths out and his eyes gleam, but I shake my head. “Before you crow about it, let me finish. I’m not just attracted to you physically. I’m attracted to your brain. If I’m to entertain the idea of dropping my panties for you, I want to be stimulated mentally , not just physically.”
He regards me for endless seconds before his sneers. “You mean you want something meaningful to slot under the banner of relationship ? Sorry, princess, that’s not going to work for me.”
He dismisses me with a look and drops the half-finished plate on the table. He picks up the pristine napkin and proceeds to wipe his fingers with a bored look on his face.
Anger and some unknown charge of emotion send me to my feet.
“You know what? Fuck you, Mason. I don’t know why the hell I’m so drawn to you, but fuck if I’m going to keep letting you talk to me as if I’m some piece of meat you can take or leave. I don’t care if we have to work together for the next two weeks, or that you’re a friend of Zach’s. Come near me again and I’ll rip your fucking—”
The expletive barely leaves my lips before he grabs me. My gasp strangles in my lungs as I’m pulled forward and flung across his knees. I throw my hands out and barely catch myself from tipping forward onto my face. I try to twist away from him, but his hand wedges in the small of my back, pinning me down.
The other yanks my hem up. For a moment I’m confused when cool air hits my bare ass, then I buck, my senses reeling at what I anticipate is coming.
“Mason, don’t you fucking dare—Ah!”
His left hand smacks my bare backside six times in quick succession, three on each cheek.
There’s no mercy in the act. No hesitation. My eyes sting with tears, and my ass tingles with shock and pain. I’m so dizzy with the emotions tumbling through me, I can’t catch my breath. The hands I braced on the floor tremble as shudders roll through my body. Moisture brims my eyes and falls off my lashes. And with it, anger surges.
“You motherfucker!”
I start to rise, but he easily holds me down and delivers two more smacks. I gasp in horror, and my body locks in complete shock. It occurs to me then that while I can totally take care of myself on a New York street corner or a dark alley, I’m completely out of my depth with this dark, relentless
“Drink?” he rasps.
The hostess suddenly appears beside me with a tray holding a cocktail I immediately recognize—a Studded Reverse Cowboy—my favorite cocktail. Aside from that seriously stalkerish vibe, which slams into me again, I’m also thrown by the fact that I hadn’t realized the hostess had been present the whole time. Had she overheard the exchange between Mason and I?
I look up to read her expression and find her attention once more riveted to Mason’s face.
Irritation churns in my belly. I pluck the glass from the tray with a curt thanks and down half of its contents. I tell myself I don’t care that she’s eye-fucking Mason. The admission echoes hollowly inside me.
Truth is I care a little too fucking much.
I shake my head when he leans forward to offer me another mouthful. “I’ve had enough, thanks.”
I mean it not just with regard to the food. Whatever this is, it’s got me so unbalanced I fear if I don’t claw back some control, he’ll steam roller me with the sheer force of his personality.
His eyes narrow at my tone, and he watches me set down the glass.
“Was this your idea of bringing me round to your way of thinking? A few mouthfuls of my favorite food and a drink or two before I decide to happily spread my legs for you?”
His face hardens. “Isn’t that what you said you wanted? Some non-sexual attention before you’re comfortable with this?”
“If I want that, I’ll happily pay for a gigolo, or one of those escort services you use.”
He looks genuinely puzzled. “Explain.”
“You’re right. I’m attracted to you.” His frown smooths out and his eyes gleam, but I shake my head. “Before you crow about it, let me finish. I’m not just attracted to you physically. I’m attracted to your brain. If I’m to entertain the idea of dropping my panties for you, I want to be stimulated mentally , not just physically.”
He regards me for endless seconds before his sneers. “You mean you want something meaningful to slot under the banner of relationship ? Sorry, princess, that’s not going to work for me.”
He dismisses me with a look and drops the half-finished plate on the table. He picks up the pristine napkin and proceeds to wipe his fingers with a bored look on his face.
Anger and some unknown charge of emotion send me to my feet.
“You know what? Fuck you, Mason. I don’t know why the hell I’m so drawn to you, but fuck if I’m going to keep letting you talk to me as if I’m some piece of meat you can take or leave. I don’t care if we have to work together for the next two weeks, or that you’re a friend of Zach’s. Come near me again and I’ll rip your fucking—”
The expletive barely leaves my lips before he grabs me. My gasp strangles in my lungs as I’m pulled forward and flung across his knees. I throw my hands out and barely catch myself from tipping forward onto my face. I try to twist away from him, but his hand wedges in the small of my back, pinning me down.
The other yanks my hem up. For a moment I’m confused when cool air hits my bare ass, then I buck, my senses reeling at what I anticipate is coming.
“Mason, don’t you fucking dare—Ah!”
His left hand smacks my bare backside six times in quick succession, three on each cheek.
There’s no mercy in the act. No hesitation. My eyes sting with tears, and my ass tingles with shock and pain. I’m so dizzy with the emotions tumbling through me, I can’t catch my breath. The hands I braced on the floor tremble as shudders roll through my body. Moisture brims my eyes and falls off my lashes. And with it, anger surges.
“You motherfucker!”
I start to rise, but he easily holds me down and delivers two more smacks. I gasp in horror, and my body locks in complete shock. It occurs to me then that while I can totally take care of myself on a New York street corner or a dark alley, I’m completely out of my depth with this dark, relentless
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