“You’re right.”
We stare at each other, and my desire for her thrums through my veins, a constant tension that’s only growing stronger.
I still don’t know if I can trust her. How much ofthisI can trust. Her words. This feeling coursing between us.
Is she just telling me all these things, presenting this vulnerable front, to manipulate me into letting my guard down? Feeling sorry for her? Letting her have the building?
I don’t know.
All I fucking know for sure right now is how badly I want to kiss those soft, sweet lips.
So instead, I tell her, “You’re a formidable opponent, Sierra Daniels.”
“You know, I’m just gonna go ahead and take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” I get to my feet before I can say anything really fucked-up. This whole conversation has been risky enough. “I need to get back to the bar.”
She looks up at me. “Yeah. I need to lock up the shop.”
I hesitate, transfixed by the way the pier’s few lights skim the curves of her face. “Goodnight, then.”
As I start to walk away, she says, “So ... what does this all mean, Mason? Are we friends now?”
I pause to look back at her. So fucking gorgeous, sitting at the edge of the pier with one knee pulled up under her chin, gazing at me.
“Fuck, no,” I say softly.
She smiles, just a little. And it is not good, how warm it makes me feel.
“You want me to let you have Pier Seven?” she says.
“Yes.”
“Fuck, no. You want to call a truce?” She cocks a sharp eyebrow at me. “Scared I’m gonna outsell you at the festival?”
“No chance, beautiful,” I tell her.
Then I walk away, before I can say anything I’ll really regret.
Chapter 15
Sierra
The night before the festival begins, after a long final day of setup, most of the planning committee goes out for drinks—at Sea Haven Bar & Grill, where apparently the owner is buying.
It wouldn’t be my first choice of venue, considering that no matter how well said bar owner and I occasionally, unexpectedly, get along or how thoroughly he eye-fucks me or how smolderingly he calls me “beautiful,” he still insists we’re not friends, he doesn’t want to call a truce, and hestillhasn’t taken back his ridiculous demand that I stay away from his family.
But hey, there’s really nowhere else to go out drinking in this town after dark. And since he’s buying ...
When I walk in, Mason is behind the bar, helping Oscar, his Brazilian bartender with the big smile and many earrings, get all the drink orders out. I now know all Mason’s staff by name, because I’ve popped in often enough to get to know them a little. The room is filling up with locals as the committee volunteers flood in, but there are tourists, too.
Like the four women sitting along the bar, drooling over Mason in his fitted T-shirt.
Kind of like I did the first time I came in here.
They look like city types, and it weirds me out that I notice. As if they’re outsiders and I’m now one of the locals. When in fact I’m not even sure if I’m allowed to be in here.
I’ve come in here many times, sure. Mainly to fuck with Mason. But I mostly just speak to his staff, ignore him, and leave. I’ve never actually had the audacity to stroll onto enemy turf like any other customer and expect service.
