His smile was instantaneous, wide, gloating, and downright indecent.
“Good luck, pal,” he called over his shoulder, wrapping his arms around her.
They swayed to the rhythm as the sun dipped low, casting a golden light on everything and creating a romantic haze. The atmosphere was pure magic, as was his embrace.
Shonda refused to worry about tomorrow or his earlier behavior. All that mattered was savoring the moment.
Mason claimed her mouth, kissing her again and again in his sensual, mind-drugging way. Unhurried and dangerously seductive, punctuated with teasing little nips. Every brush of his lips whispered promises she shouldn’t believe.
The beat increased with the next song, and Mason spun her out and reeled her back in, making her giggle. Using skills straight out of Dancing With the Stars, he twirled her across the patio, right back to her original table, and drew out her chair with a dramatic flourish.
“Don’t pick up any more men while I’m gone,” he said in a low warning growl.
“I didn’t pick him up. He picked me up.”
Her retort earned her a look. The thundercloud formed.
Shit!
“What I meant was… nobody picked anybody up. We were only having fun.”
His mouth firmed, and their earlier romantic vibe vanished. Again.
“Stay.” He pointed at the table and strode off toward the bar.
“I’m not a dog,” she called after his retreating back.
Who the hell did he think he was? Leaving with no explanation, chasing off her dancing partner like an aggressive mongrel, and issuing commands?
None of it sat well, and the anger she’d stuffed down resurfaced in a rush. She grabbed her purse, spun on her heel, and stormed out the side door.
Mason wasn’t sure what demon had possessed him earlier. He was fairly certain it had more to do with how he was starting to feel about Shonda and absolutely nothing to do with the driver’s question. The realization that he actually liked her was disconcerting. Added to his insatiable need for her, well, the old hemmed-in feeling had grabbed hold. He’d needed space to get his head back on straight and break the spell she’d cast on him.
When he’d arrived back at her hotel room to apologize and she hadn’t answered, he assumed she was either pouting or had set out for the afternoon to find entertainment on her own. Because the latter sounded more plausible, he wandered down to the tiki bar.
He’d lingered in the shadows, sipping a scotch, content to watch her enjoy herself. The face she’d made after each tequila shot was side-splitting funny. When the mood shifted, causing couples to pair up, Surfer Boy’s intention became clear. With no other recourse, Mason had stepped in.
A sick sort of relief flooded Mason the instant Shonda chose him. After his disappearing act, he’d been doubtful of the outcome. Had she been a little less intoxicated, he doubted he’d have stood a chance.
As he waited to settle her tab, he observed the people two rows deep, all vying for the bartender’s attention. His gaze lit on a blonde opposite him, leaning over the counter to get a better look at the main room.
Shonda?
How the hell had she reached the bar before him?
The woman cast a glance toward the table where they’d been seated, and then spoke to a man on her right. Gold glinted against her neck, and Mason frowned at the wrongness.
Shonda was wearing dangling silver necklaces.
He glanced back toward their table in time to see her loop her purse strap over her neck.
Stunned, he stared at her retreating back. By the time he recovered his wits, the woman on the other side of the room was gone and Shonda was sailing out the door.
Frustrated at the bartender’s slowness, he tapped out his temper on the bar. He’d never moved so fast in his life once the bill was settled. As he shoved his way through the thick wall of bodies to give chase, his mind churned with all the possibilities of Shonda’s doppelgänger.
7
“Shonda, wait!” Mason caught her in the hallway.
