“Mase, we’re moving.” I panic at the idea of being discovered in such contrasting outfits and our current state of arousal, me panting and flushed while the bulge in Mase’s trousers that is currently digging into my belly would be evident to a blind man.
“What?”
“Moving, we’re moving, the lift is going up. What the fuck will we look like?”
“Like a woman being chased by her client or a man wondering why his girlfriend was running away in the early hours in formal wear.”
“I was not running away.” Mason doesn’t look convinced. “You think I was running away from you, from us?” As he begins to question his own thoughts, I see his sexual excitement replaced with something else. Oh dear, perplexed is in the building and plastered all over my boyfriend’s face. “Mason, I wasn’t running anywhere, certainly not away from you, quite the opposite.” I sigh, desperate for him to believe me.
“Explain.” His single word demanded an explanation.
“Last night, I spoiled things for us. After I saw my dad I was freaked out. We’d just had some seriously hot sex in the cupboard and then I bump into him. It threw me to say the least. I should have told you who he was straight away rather than brooding over it all night and drinking and dancing while I tried to bury my head in the sand. I knew you knew something was wrong, but I also knew you were getting pissed off with me before you carried me out of there.” I offer him an arched brow and a wry smile.
He shakes his head at the memory.
“You have said to me on more than one occasion that I haven’t allowed my past to stop me making relationships, but last night I let it dictate what we did. We were having a lovely time with the promise of a very interesting night, so I tried to recreate it this morning. To make it up to you.”
Before Mason has the chance to reply the lift doors open allowing a woman to join us. We all look as startled as each other. The other woman is about my age, maybe a little older and wearing a short, glitzy dress with the definite appearance of a woman doing the walk of shame. Thinking back to Mase’s description of how we might look I wonder which category our temporary companion fits into, prostitute or runaway girlfriend.
I find myself speaking to her without any thought and offer her a friendly smile. “Nice dress.”
Mason says nothing, he simply adjusts his position, so he is standing next to me, an arm draped around my middle, his thumb rubbing across my hip, warming me from the outside in.
The woman opposite us is staring at my almost naked boyfriend and me in a bridesmaid’s dress, her eyes lingering much longer on my boyfriend’s chiselled naked body than me or my dress. She doesn’t respond to my words beyond offering a small, tight smile so I blunder on.
“I also like your shoes, they’re sparkly.” I point towards the glittery shoes she’s wearing.
“Thanks,” she manages before transferring her attention back to Mason. “Nice trousers.” She grins and I find myself standing in front of Mase in an attempt to prevent her from looking at him further.
The lift quickly comes to a stop on our floor and disembarking I glance at Mason before sneering at the woman in the lift and loud enough for her to hear but looking at my obviously amused boyfriend I say, “Not being chased but definitely leaving a client.”
I have no idea if she understands what I am saying, accusing her of, but I couldn’t care less. She was ogling my man.
“I like this jealous thing you’re developing but you really are the only girl for me,” Mase reassures me as he leads me to our room.
“I really wasn’t leaving,” I tell him, needing him to believe that.
“You text me saying that last night was not howitshould have ended. I assumed you meant us.”
With a shake of my head I reply, “No, never. I can’t imagine ever wanting us to end.”
“On that we’re agreed. Now, come on. Show me how last night should have ended,” he says with the biggest, brightest grin I might have ever seen as the hotel room door flies open.
Chapter 35
Mason
The weekend is still on my mind as I begin another working week, for several reasons; the wedding itself had been lovely, in no small part due to the sight of my girl in formal wear, a true vision in figure hugging black satin, a vision that tempted me to shag her in a cupboard. Then there was the re-emergence of Olivia’s long-lost father followed by her meltdown that led to me putting her to bed only to find her AWOL when I awoke to her random text message.
I smile as I recall finding her in the lift, redressed in her bridesmaid’s dress, of inadvertently ending up travelling up in that lift and being joined by that woman, the one who looked at me with clear appreciation in her eyes and demeanour, both things my girl picked up on and became pissed off with. I am actually laughing as I remember Olivia standing in front of me to stop the other woman looking at me further and then we returned to our hotel room and made some very happy memories.
That was the calm before the storm though as far as Olivia’s mood was concerned because after we’d woken later that morning and packed up to leave she’d been distant and preoccupied and I know that both of those things are down to her father and this morning she was still pensive, brooding and I don’t like that. It makes my life unpredictable and potentially capricious and that’s without me factoring in the break-in at her flat, subsequent assault and the fucking stepfather and doctor being back on the radar and I have no fucking clue what to do to regain some control and order to my life, our lives.
My thoughts are scattered by the sound of a knock at my door.
“Come in!” I call with frustration so clear in my voice even I can hear it.
“I can come back later if it’s a bad time. Nicola wasn’t at her desk.” A nervous looking Olivia offers me a weak smile.
