I recognized the hand on the counter. And yet, heat blooms in my chest when my eyes slide up the serpent tattoo, tracing a path across the muscular arm, and find the face towering over me.
Terrifyingly close. Annoyingly attractive. Irritatingly smug.
Mason stands behind me in a Kingsden rugby jersey stretched across his hard muscles. The color is supposed to be green, but it’s slathered in brown. So are parts of his face, neck, and arms, along with wounds and bruises. An earthy scent of wet mud, wood, and smoke wraps around me. His predatory, commanding, unapologetically alpha presence pulls at me like gravity dipped in sin.
Why is he here?
By my calculations, he shouldn’t be around for another halfhour when I’m safely in my class. And don’t they have showers in their changing rooms?
“Boyfriend?” He arches a brow when I don’t answer his question.
“Friend,” I correct and lock my phone as he continues reading my texts, unashamedly.
His eyes slit and zero in on my face, intense and smoldering, like he is offended I dared to protect my privacy. The corner of his mouth twitches, and he reaches for my face. I flinch, lips still aflame with the memory, yet his fingers keep coming. He wipes a little foam from my bottom lip, then licks it off.
One moment. A single second in his magnetic presence and I’m back there, in that room at The Vault.
“What can I get you?” Gretchen comes to my rescue, her voice dipped in two spoons of sugar.
“The usual, love.” He winks at her, making her blush.
Eager to escape the heat emanating off him, I grab my latte from the counter. Gretchen slides the card machine toward me, but before I can scan my phone, Mason pushes it away.
“Put it on my tab,” he orders Gretchen as I stare at him, confused. “No Etheridge money in Fort.”
Seriously? Does he think we have our own currency?
Gretchen shoots me a sorry look when I try to insist, then tiptoes to the brewing machines. Screw it. I’ll pay her later. I decide not to engage and turn around, but he puts his huge body in front of me.
“Did I say you could leave?”
“If you’re here about the other night, I didn’t say anything to Jack.”
“I know you didn’t, little dove. Or I would have paid you a visit sooner.”
Little dove?
“Then how can I help you, Mr. Grant?” I ask with a fake smile.
He chuckles and pulls out a red envelope from his pocket. Seeing both my hands occupied, he reaches for the cross-body bag resting on my hip. I wait patiently as he takes his time tucking the envelope, then working the zip, his fingers grazing the skin above my skirt.
“What isthat?” I ask.
“Invitation,” he responds. “To 99, tonight. You are coming.”
My jaw drops. Is he crazy? Voluntarily go to one of his exclusive venues with a strip club name? No, thanks.
“I-I don’t think I can?—”
“I wasn’t asking,” he cuts me off.
Power radiates off him in waves, dark and dangerous, as he stares at me, eyes drilling holes in mine.
A man you don’t cross.
A man you don’t deny.
For a moment, he holds me in place with his glare. When Gretchen returns with his latte, he flashes her a warm smile, then throws me a warning look, before he turns around and vanishes.
