by Amy Brent
“Lemon-basil chicken stuffed with brie, feta, and bacon with lemon-crusted roasted vegetables and garlic potatoes.”
“I’m already salivating,” I said as I stepped inside.
“I’ve set the table. If you’d like to go take a seat, I was just grabbing the wine.”
I shrugged my coat off and he helped it down my arms. Already I could feel the heat from his skin cascading down my back, and I took a step away from him. I dropped my purse to the floor, and he picked it up, his eyes never leaving mine as he hooked both of my items up onto his coat rack.
“You look stunning, Sarah,” he said.
“Oh, this old thing? It was stuffed in the back of my closet,” I said.
“Some of the best things in life are stuffed,” he said, grinning.
I held my breath as my mind conjured an image of him plunging his cock between my legs.
“Like my chicken,” he said, chuckling. “Let me go get our wine.”
“Like your chicken, indeed,” I said, murmuring.
“What was that, beautiful?” he asked.
“I said I bet I’m going to like your chicken,” I called back.
I slowly made my way to his dining room table and sat at one of the place settings. Suddenly, a glass was sat in front of me before his arm extended around my neck. He slowly poured the white wine, filling the glass as his cologne filled my nose. I could feel my body giving way to him, even at the dinner table as I leaned my cheek onto his clothed bicep.
He stopped pouring the wine and stood there for a second, allowing me to soak him up before he moved.
“So,” he said as he poured his wine and sat down. “How was the drive over?”
“Not too bad,” I said as I put my napkin in my lap. “Not as fun as your convertible, but it was pleasant.”
“Well, maybe I could take you on a drive later and let you fly your hair in the wind like you adore so much,” he said.
I watched him take a bite of his vegetables, his lips curling around his fork. The way he moaned, rolling his eyes at his own food, it reminded me of a pride that was there. A pride that was both infuriating and sensual. He was confident in his capabilities, not overly critical when it didn’t matter. His strong jaw chewed his food, savoring the tastes as my eyes cascaded down his body. The candlelight on the table cast sharp shadows around his entire body, and for a moment, all I could do was sit back and take in the beauty of him.
I hadn’t realized how long I was staring until his chuckle graced my ears.
“Enjoying the view?” he asked.
“Sorry. Sorry,” I said as I speared some food. “Just distracted.”
“I can tell,” he said, smirking.
“Oh, my gosh,” I said, moaning. “These vegetables are incredible. Who in the world taught you how to cook like this?”
“My father. He’s a wonderful cook in the kitchen. It was something my mother didn’t know how to do well, so he took it over.”
“Well, it’s incredible. If this technology company goes belly-up, you’ve got a career in food,” I said.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I enjoy cooking, and I hear many a chef complaining about how they don’t enjoy personally cooking at home anymore because of their career choice. I enjoy cooking for others. I enjoy watching the happiness it brings to their faces. Even when people are at their worst, they always seem to be able to set it aside for good food.”
“Isn’t that the truth.”
I took a bite of the chicken and practically melted into my chair. I didn’t care how ridiculous I looked, this was the best dinner I’d ever had in my life. Better than any restaurant in Dallas I’d ever visited, and that was saying something. We ate in relative silence as we both hummed over the luscious foods, but then I felt something underneath the table.
Mason’s foot slowly scooting toward mine.
All of this was so romantic and so wonderfully cooked that I had completely forgotten about the purpose of this dinner. Mason was trying to show me we had chemistry, and I was trying to show him we didn’t.
And the flush creeping up into my cheeks wasn’t doing my argument any favors.
“Care for some more wine?” he asked.
“If I have any more wine, I’m going to have to camp out on your couch,” I said, giggling.
“I would most certainly not allow you to sleep on my couch,” he said. “You would sleep in my bed.”
“Yeah, with you right next to me.”
“Oh, that would most certainly be the plan, yes.”
I looked up into his shining eyes, those eyes that whispered of mischief and magic. I was looking back into the demon’s eyes. His tempting muscles and his long neck were begging for my teeth. My fingernails. My marks as I writhed against his skin. I watched him pour me another glass of wine as the skin on my arms began to prickle. The heat his body was emitting drenched me in his presence, and I shivered physically as he backed away and sat down.
“Feeling cold?” he asked.
“Not at all,” I said as I grabbed the wine glass.
“How were your interviews this week?” he asked. “Anything interesting?”
“You mean any of them as interesting as yours?” I asked.
“Actually, no, believe it or not. Were any of them interesting to you?”
I looked up at him in surprise. Was he serious? Was he actually wondering how work was going for me so far this week?
“Well, um. Yeah. Yeah, I take an interest in all my interviews. The firemen one was especially important to me because I think that business and building owners are becoming lackadaisical in their responsibilities to their tenants.”
“I actually watched that interview, and I agree with you. It’s despicable that the fire could’ve been completely prevented had they updated the wiring. Priced out roughly, it would’ve only cost them around one-hundred and fifty-thousand dollars. For the whole building. If you’re budgeting your business right, and even if that is the only building they own, they should’ve had more than enough money to do it.”
“Exactly. I mean, downtown Dallas is full of apartments. That’s all it is. How many more of those buildings aren’t up to code? How many people’s lives are in—wait. Did you say you watched the interview?” I asked.
“I did,” he said.
“Just that one?” I asked.
“Nope. I’ve watched a few of them, actually. You’re the only talk show on daytime television right now that isn’t full of drunk women gossiping or fake doctors yelling at their audience to be healthier.”
“You watch my show to make sure I’m not flirting with anyone else, right?” I asked.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you flirted with me in my interview, and you’re trying to lay claim to me,” I said.
“Sarah, you’re not property. I don’t own you. I merely want to get to know you better. In every way possible.”
I saw the grin on his face, and I felt his hand descend onto my knee. I felt that churning in my stomach as I saw him slowly get out of his chair. I watched as he scooted his chair closer, sitting right beside me as his thumb traced mindless pictures on my naked skin. I needed to pull away, to scoot away from him before his magnetic force became too much for me to overpower.
But I was still stuck on the fact that he actually watched my fucking show.
“I watch your show because I get a little glimpse into what’s important to you,” he said. “Like the comment you made about child trafficking when you were interviewing me.”
“Yeah,” I said breathlessly.
“Your show is wonderfully educating while still being entertaining. That’s the point of it, right? To engage people with humor and entertainment while providing them with things to think about.”
“Yes,” I said.
“You’re doing a perfect job of that, Sarah. And I mean it.”
I saw the sincerity in his eyes and I caved. I’d been doing this show for three years, a
nd in the process, no one had ever told me I was actually doing a good job. They told me I had good interviews, they told me I looked good for the camera, but never had anyone told me I nailed it. No one had ever told me that I had hit the nail on the head with my own show.
And it shut out the voices in my head as I threw myself onto his lap.
My lips crashed into his as his arms wrapped around my body. He stroked my back, pulling me desperately into his as our tongues and teeth clattered together. I could feel our lips swelling underneath the pressure as my fingertips clamored for his tie. I ripped it from around his neck before I slid his jacket off his shoulders, feeling his massive cock growing against the inside of my leg.
It wasn’t until his hand wrapped into my hair and pulled my head back, exposing my neck as his tongue raked up my skin, that I realized what was happening.
I allowed myself to be weak with him again.
I wanted him. I wanted all of him. I wanted that cock throbbing against my skin to rip my body in half. I wanted Mason to pin me to every single surface of this home of his we were breaking just so my memory could be painted on it. I wanted to tangle up in his body all night long and wake up to the birds chirping and his chest rising underneath my cheek.
I wanted all of it, but I couldn’t have it.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said breathlessly.
“What? Sarah, what’s wrong? What’s wrong with this?” he asked.
“You know exactly what’s wrong with it,” I said, looking him in his eyes.
They danced around my face as he sighed in defeat. I could see the wanton lust slowly evaporating as it was replaced by confusion and desperation. His hands slid up and down my legs, trying to coax me back toward him as I pushed down onto his chest.
“I can’t. I-I can’t do this, Mason. I just can’t.”
I slid from his body and strode for my stuff as I plucked it from the coat rack. I reached for the door to open it, but Mason’s hand reached out and shut it closed. I threw my coat over my arms as I tried to open the door again, but he pushed it closed again.
“I’m not letting you go until you look up at me.”
Trembling as my knees clacked together, I slowly looked up at him. Tears were cresting my eyes, giving away my weakness for the situation. I wanted his body. I wanted his soul. I wanted everything about him, and I had no fucking clue why. I wanted to throw myself at him and stumble up the stairs as he told me stories of why I was beautiful in my ear all night long. I wanted the devil to penetrate my body as he made me shake, preparing me for his hot seat of lust as we ruined our bodies with each other.
But as I held his gaze, I watched him slowly back down as his hand drifted to the doorknob. His lips were soft against my cheek as he kissed me, and a tear I didn’t know would be shed dribbled down my cheek as his lips soaked it up.
“Drive safely,” he said, whispering.
Chapter 16
Mason
I couldn’t believe she walked out on me again. She threw herself at me, finally giving into what we were both feeling, and then she stopped it and tried to leave. I tried stopping her, tried getting her to stay and talk with me. I knew if she looked up into my eyes and saw how much I wanted her, it would convince her of how much she wanted me.
And how that wasn’t a fucking big deal.
But there was fear behind her eyes, and I didn’t like it when people were afraid of me. There was fear and apprehension and guilt. I knew what it felt like to feel guilty about something. To want something so badly but be riddled with guilt the entire time you were engaging in whatever it was you wanted. I didn’t want that for us. I didn’t want our passion to be tainted with her guilt.
So, I gave her a kiss and told her to drive safely.
She didn’t text me when she got home, so I called her when I got up. She didn’t answer, which wasn’t shocking, but I needed to make sure she’d gotten home all right. With her in the emotional state she was, it would’ve clouded her ability to concentrate on the drive home. I was worried about her, so I called again.
And again, she didn’t pick up.
We had unbelievable chemistry, and I knew she felt that. It was the reason she fucking sprang into my lap last night. I just didn’t know how I was going to prove to her that it was all right. That us fucking and having dinners didn’t mean we had a relationship. I knew that’s why she was afraid, and it made sense. All her relationships with men burned her in some way. Well, I wasn’t after a fucking relationship. I just wanted to get to know her better. To sink my dick into her body. To make both of us smile and laugh and orgasm. We didn’t need anyone’s permission, not even my fucking sister’s.
It wasn’t like we were getting married. We were just having fun.
And I was trying to figure out why the fuck she had me on her hook.
I called her one last time before lunch and she still didn’t pick up. Now, I was worried. I needed to know she’d gotten back home all right. She wasn’t answering my text messages, and she wasn’t answering my phone calls. For all I knew, she was in a ditch somewhere trying to crawl herself out of her fucking car.
I got dressed and raced out to my car. I drove into town, speeding through yellow lights and taking turns much sharper than I should’ve. I tried calling Sarah again as I hit downtown Dallas, but when it still went to voice mail, I wasted no time in parking my car. I got out and waved to the paparazzi, smiling for the cameras as I made my way to the backstage door. They were all asking if I was being interviewed again, and I simply smiled and kept my mouth shut. The security guard at the door opened it for me to get me away from the growing crowd, but the moment we were inside, he turned around and grabbed my arm.
“What brings you around, Mr. Baker?”
“I heard Miss Williams wasn’t feeling well. She hasn’t been answering her phone, and I wanted to come check in on her. Is she around?” I asked.
“Mason!”
I heard one of the producers of the show calling my name, and the security guard released me. I shook his hand before he embraced me in a hug, and I knew the moment he let me go that I’d be able to easily slip in to see Sarah.
“How’s that product of mine working for you?” I asked.
“Oh, it’s going really well. Gives me a piece of mind about my daughter driving around now,” he said.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. What about your wife’s pesky phone problem?” I asked.
“Not a problem anymore, especially since we can load that software onto a computer. We’re actually on time to places now. That shit hasn’t happened in years.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” I said, smiling. “Listen, is Sarah around?”
“She just went back for her lunch break. Is everything all right?”
“Well, I heard she wasn’t feeling well, and I wanted to stop by. Is there anything I can get for her?” I asked.
“She’s a coffee nut. Come on, I’ll walk you to the stand. I’m sure there are people who want to shake your hand anyway,” he said.
We walked over to the indoor coffee kiosk, and I got Sarah a cup of coffee and a sandwich. The easiest way to get on someone’s good side when you’re rich is to give them a sample of your product. Mac, the producer I was talking to, had been complaining about his wife always losing her cell phone, so I surprised him by shipping out my latest product update to him. That got me on his good side, which got me through the doors of this studio.
Which got me closer to Sarah.
Carrying her coffee and a sandwich, we wove our way to her dressing room. Mac knocked on her door, and when she whipped it open, I could see the shock on her face. Relief flooded my body when I saw she was okay, but I could tell she was immensely tired.
“Mac?” she asked. “What’s going on?”
“Had I known you weren’t feeling well, we could’ve found a stand-in for the interview today, Sarah.”
Her eyes flickered over to mine and held my stare for quite a while before she cleared h
er throat.
“I’m just a bit tired. Nothing Angie’s makeup magic can’t fix,” she said.
“Well, a surprise guest wanted to get you something to eat and drink so he could check up on you. Mason, I’ll leave you to it.”
“Thank you so much, Mac. You’ve been so very helpful,” I said.
“Yeah, a bit too helpful,” I heard Sarah murmur.
Mac walked off, and I stood there, holding her coffee out for her. She took it before she grabbed for the sandwich, but I held it above my head and grinned.
“Let me in so we can talk.”
“Fine. I don’t have it in me to argue today anyway,” she said.
She stepped aside, and I handed her the sandwich. I walked into her dressing room, and I could already tell she had the room darkened for a reason. I heard the door shut behind us before she sighed, and as I turned around to take her in, I saw her pinching the bridge of her nose.
“So, I wasn’t going crazy. You’re not feeling well,” I said.
“What the fuck are you doing here, you pompous windbag?” she asked.
“Pompous windbag. That’s a new one,” I said. “I didn’t know if you’d gotten home safe last night. I wanted to come by and make sure you were all right.”
“How the fuck did you waltz in here? Again.”
“Well, when we had our little show, I heard Mac complaining about his wife’s pesky cell phone problem. I shipped him a free sample of our latest updated product.”
