“Am I? Safe here?”
“That depends,” he deliberates, playfully weighing up the options.
I choose to humour him, wanting—needing to know. “On what?”
“If you are going to continue to look at me like that.”
I frown, rolling my eyes. “Like what?” I’m aware I am playing directly into his hands.
He has me right where he wants me. Our faces are only millimetres apart, and with each passing second, I can see him starting to relent. His fingers clench around my waist, then instantly smooth over the fabric. I sway on the spot, my eyes fluttering closed as he inches in closer.
“Drunk,” he breathes out across my lips. He pauses, taking a deep breath. “Come on, out.”
He nods his head in the direction of the apartment that stands before me. Only it’s not an apartment like I first thought. No, we are standing in the foyer of the penthouse. It’s enormous, rich… It’s sohim.
Stepping out after Mason, my eyes are immediately captivated by the floor-to-ceiling windows that give way to the most incredible view of the city. Like a moth drawn to a flame, my feet carry me on their own accord, lost in the visual sensation before me.
“It looks different from up here. Lit up in its slumber.” I speak my mind, forgetting where I am and the man at my back. I spin, seeking him out, only to find him watching me with an intense fascination. “It’s like I’m seeing it for the first time.”
“Yeah,” he says, his throat working on a swallow as his brows pull in farther.
My eyes scan the rest of the room, only confirming my thoughts that Mason is a lot richer than I first thought, and judging by the look in his eye, maybe—for some reason—he doesn’t see the beauty in the world that surrounds him.
Large, grey sectional sofas surround the television, which is mounted on the wall. Magazines litter a rectangular padded footstool that sits on a rug in the centre.
A dining table is on the opposite side of the room, a large open space laying bare between the two areas. It would be the most beautiful spot to dance in as the city looked on.
“It’s beautiful, Mason,” I tell him.
“Thank you,” he says in earnest as he approaches me. “Would you like a drink?”
“Not of alcohol.” I waggle my eyebrows at him.
“Ah, of course. Wouldn’t want you intoxicated now, would we?”
I smile wide, feeling my dimple pop in my cheek. “Absolutely not. Water. Lots of water, please.”
He laughs as he leaves me, and I follow after him through to the state-of-the-art kitchen. He busies himself in the cupboards as I hop up onto the kitchen island, the cool marble teasing my bare thighs.
Handing me my water, he uses his hips to widen my legs, stepping between them and giving me a look that dares me to challenge him on the move. I lick my lips slowly, giving him the best come-fuck-me look I can muster.
I hardly know this man, yet he’s making me act more brazen than I have in years—maybe even ever. I don’t know what it is, but I’m drawn to him.
Reaching up, I run my finger across his split lip. He winces slightly, darting his tongue out across my finger.
“I’m sorry about Joey. Elliot already chased him off tonight,” I admit.
“He did?” Mason looks surprised but wears a knowing smirk.
“Yup, testosterone-filled teenage boys,” I say, shaking my head.
He smiles up at me, his hands sliding up my thighs to grasp my hips. “What is it you do for a living?”
“I’m a dancer. I own my own studio and gym.”
“In the city?”
“Yeah, in the city.” I smile as his brows rise in surprise. I love being able to tell people that at the age of twenty-eight, I own my own business. Pride spreads through me.
