Page 21 of Mason

A quick shower to freshen up and erase the scent of chlorine from my pruned skin, and I’ll be ready to tackle more of the evening’s work.

I weave through tourists checking in, and slip past the front desk through to the hallway. Gathering my hair in one fist, I pull it to the side and squeeze out the excess water. The air shifts—tenses—and I know before I even look up that Mason is hovering outside my suite. Our eyes connect, and fuck me if steam isn’t blowing from his ears. He’s pissed.

His eyes are hard, cold. The set of his jaw is rigid. I tighten the robe around me to ease the chill that slips beneath the collar and causes me to shiver. “Hey,” I say, tentative. “Is everything alright?”

“I saw you.”

My voice catches. “In the hot tub?” Unease settles in my chest. Is he upset about me being in there for a few short minutes? “I was waiting for you, but you never called or came by the room. I just took a short break to refresh before my next push. It is a tropical paradise, after all. Right?” I try and take the edge off with a smile.

“You have no business talking to that man,” he replies frostily.

“Which man? That guy in the hot tub? He came over to me.”

He rakes his hand through his hair. “This is a business trip, Miss Landers and I expect you to be professional. Flirting will not be tolerated.”

Anger thrums through me. “Flirting?” My first instinct is to apologize, but it’s quickly quashed by the realization that he has no right to question anything I do. I’m not a slave. I don’t work round the clock. So what if I took a few minutes to unwind? Dock my fucking pay.

It all sounds logical in my mind, but I don’t say those things aloud. “Before you cast further judgment—”

Mason cuts me off with a choppy wave toward my robe. “You’re practically naked,” he says. “If that’s what you consider professional, Miss Landers, perhaps I’ve given you too much leeway here.”

Now I’m pissed. “You bought me the damn bikini,” I say, spitting with rage. “You know full well this isn’t the kind of bathing suit I’d wear, but you bought it anyway. If you didn’t want me to put it on, why the hell did you buy it in the first place?”

I bracket my hands on my hips and the robe falls open.

Mason’s eyes burn into my skin, lingering on the swell of my breasts. My erect nipples poke through the thin lycra that is wet and almost sheer. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

“I’d advise you to watch your tone,” he says.

I bite back a sarcastic reply that would all but secure my fate with Daylight Holdings. My body vibrates with anger and frustration, but I know better than to erupt. It’s obvious Mason is boiling hot over nothing.

“That guy wasn’t hitting on me,” I say. I take out the business card and turn it over in my palm, pointing to Buck’s name. “He’s a reporter with the New York Times.”

Mason’s face turns crimson now. He snatches the card from my hand and crumples it into a ball. He leans in close. “Never,” he says, through grit teeth. “Under any circumstance, talk to reporters.

My stomach twists into knots. “I didn’t say anything to him!”

“But you should have known not to talk to him at all.” His voice is low, ominous.

“Okay.” A pause and then. “Okay.” A tremor of restless anticipation rocks me to the core. My voice softens to barely a whisper. “What happens now?”

Wicked intent flashes behind his eyes, and I know even without confirmation what comes next.

Chapter 13

In one smooth motion, Mason uses his keycard to unlock his suite. He tugs me inside, in the process jerking open my robe to reveal the goose bumps that form ridges along my skin. A shiver rolls up and down my spine.

His eyes darken. “Take it off,” he says, gruffly.

I want to refuse, or at least be the kind of girl who wants to refuse.

But I’m not.

The truth is I’m relieved.

No, I’m beyond relieved.

I’m ecstatic that it’s happening again. I’m soaking wet for it and nothing’s even really occurred yet.