“It’s a very comfortable bed.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’re going to have to sleep somewhere tonight, firebird.”
That damn nickname makes something in my chest flutter, which only makes me angrier. I stomp to the loveseat since it’s only surface not currently occupied by an insufferable alpha and throw myself onto the cushioned surface.
It’s more comfortable than it looks. There’s a view of the harbor, lights twinkling on the water, boats bobbing gently at their moorings. Under different circumstances, it might even be peaceful.
Instead, I’m acutely aware of every sound from the bathroom. Water running. Mason moving around. The soft swishes of fabric as he gets dressed. My brain helpfully supplies images to accompany each sound, filling in details I definitely didn’t memorize in those three-point-five seconds I was absolutely not staring.
“So,” Atticus says conversationally. “Mason.”
“Don’t.”
“He’s been holding out on us. I caught a glimpse when you opened the door. Who knew all that competence came with a six-pack?”
“I said don’t.”
“I’m just making an observation?—“
“And I’m just telling you to shut the fuck up before I throw you out the window.”
He holds up his hands in surrender, but his eyes are still dancing with amusement. “Touchy.”
“Exhausted.”
“Seems like the two pretty much go hand in hand for you.”
The bathroom door opens, and Mason emerges in gray sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt that clings to his still-damp chest in a way that is absolutely not fair. His glasses are slightly fogged from the steam, and he’s toweling off his hair with one hand while avoiding eye contact with everyone.
“Shower’s free.”
“Thanks.” My voice comes out squeaky. I clear my throat. “Thanks.”
Mason crosses to the loveseat and sits down, immediately pulling out his phone and staring at the screen with intense concentration. His ears are still red.
The bathroom door closes behind me and I slump against it, pressing my cool palms to my burning cheeks.
Get it together, Phoenix.
The bathroom still smells like that indescribable scent, like the freshly ground herbs of an Old World apothecary shop. It might be the most interesting scent I’ve ever experienced. Which makes sense, seeing as Mason is the most interesting person I’ve ever met.
I turn on the water as hot as it will go and strip out of my clothes, letting them fall to the floor in a heap that Mason would probably lecture me about. The tub is ancient but surprisingly comfortable, and I sink into it like I’m trying to drown my own thoughts.
He’s your assistant, I remind myself firmly.Your friend. Your employee. Off limits in every possible way.
But the image of him—water streaming down his chest, surprise widening those gray eyes, the way his hands looked gripping that towel—won’t leave me alone.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, a smaller voice whispers:When did you start thinking of him as off limits?
When did you start thinking of him at all?
I dunk my head under the water and hold my breath until the questions stop.
NINE
MASON
