She wouldn’t have to worry about Malcolm finding her after all. She was obviously going to die any moment. Just as soon as Mason wrapped this beast around one of the support pillars.
Sara snuck a peek when the car straightened out. By some miracle, they’d managed to make it onto the city streets. She glanced over at Mason. His smile was wider than she’d ever seen.
“I take it your parents never invited their getaway drivers over for poker night,” he said.
“Oh, they did.” She braced herself as he whipped the car around a corner. “They just never let them pick me up from school.”
“More’s the pity.”
“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” she said.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked. “Carter doesn’t loan his cars out often, and I like to take advantage of every opportunity. Even if it’s for less than a mile.”
He slowed down at the entrance to one of the city’s newest luxury residential towers. Sara couldn’t swallow the laugh that bubbled up in her throat when he pulled out his passkey and opened the rolling gate that led to the garage.
“Of course, this is where you live,” she muttered.
The soaring glass skyscraper fit him perfectly. It was polished, shiny, trend-setting—a stunning work of modern architecture.
And that was just the outside.
God only knew what awaited inside.
Mason quickly parked his boss’ car and made sure she had the collar of his jacket pulled up around her face as he led her into the lobby. The collar wasn’t so high that she didn’t see the two people behind the concierge desk give him a friendly nod. They didn’t even glance her way.
Sara pressed her lips together as Mason hurried her into a waiting elevator. Once the doors closed she gave him the side-eye.
“So, is security usually that lax in the building, or is everyone just used to you ushering strange women up to your apartment?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said, leaning forward and swiping his passkey in front of the reader. A moment later the elevator started to rise. “I wouldn’t describe you as strange.”
Sara heard his non-answer loud and clear. Not a huge surprise. A man as hot as Mason had to have women hanging all over him. It was only natural that more than a few of them would have followed him home.
And she was willing to bet that he hadn’t been protecting all of them from international crime rings.
Not her business. What Mason did in his free time was his business. Who was she to judge? God knew, she liked to keep her own private life private.
Of course, she usually wasn’t hosting depraved wine-fueled bacchanals, or whatever the hell kind of party Mason threw on his days off, back in her place.
Not that she hadn’t had her share of hook ups. She had. More than she could count on both hands…just barely. But still it counted. Not that she was counting. That would be silly. It wasn’t a competition.
But if that was the case, why couldn’t she shake this feeling of inadequacy?
Sara nervously bit the inside of her cheek as the digital display of numbers went higher and higher. Finally, the elevator stopped on 51, and the doors slid open.
She followed as he led her down the hall to a door at the end. Another flick of his card and the door opened. He held it for her as she stepped inside.
Mason’s apartment was everything that Sara had imagined—open, clean, and spare. The outside walls were floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out on a panoramic view of the bay and the dancing lights of the bridge. The few pieces of furniture neatly arranged in the living room were ultra-modern—gray fabric and polished steel. The marble in the open kitchen was dark, balancing the pearlescent tile that lined the wall behind the stove and counter.
There were a few black and white art photos hanging on the wall, and a couple of smooth, dark wooden statues scattered around. The only color came from a single, tall green plant tucked into a far corner.
“Wow,” she said, stepping deeper into the living room. “This is…nice.”
“Not really your style, is it?” he said from right behind her. It wasn’t really a question.
“Don’t take it personally,” she said, turning around, and nearly bumping right into his chest. “I mean, you’ve seen how I like to live, so it’s not like I’m judging.”
“I didn’t think you were,” he said softly. The bright overhead lights made his eyes sparkle like jewels. Damn, a girl could get lost in eyes like those. He held her gaze for far too long before cocking his chin to the side. “Hungry?”
“E-excuse me?” she asked, not entirely sure what he was asking.
“I was going to make dinner,” he said. A knowing smile played on his lips.
“Oh,” she said, giving her head a little shake. “You don’t have to go to any trouble on my account.”
The low timbre of his laughter washed over her. “Well, unfortunately I don’t have a world class taco truck around the corner, so if we want to eat, I’m going to have to cook.”
“Then at least let me help you,” she said.
“I’ve seen the inside of your fridge.” He arched a brow. “Do you even know how to cook?”
“Not really,” she admitted with a shake of her head. “But I do know how to chop.”
“That’s a start,” he said, his smile widening. “I can teach you how to make a frittata.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she said and followed Mason into the kitchen.
He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a handful of fresh vegetables—a bunch of spinach, a tomato, an onion—and placed them on the counter along with a hunk of gourmet cheese. She pulled a knife out of the wooden block and got to work. Mason cracked eggs into a silver bowl. He added a little cream and salt and pepper, and then whipped the mixture with a fork.
“So, where did you learn to cook?” she asked. She guessed it wasn’t in the Army. Smoked gouda and veggie frittata wasn’t exactly mess hall fare.
“School,” he said. “I started taking classes in high school actually.”
Sara stopped mid-chop and turned to look at him. “I didn’t peg you as a kid who was passionate about food.”
“I wasn’t,” he admitted. That devilish twinkle was back. “But I was passionate about girls, and they were in the cooking classes in school.”
She chuckled. “Now, that I believe.”
“It didn’t take long for me to learn that girls can be very appreciative of a guy who cooks for them.”
Sara turned her attention to the veggies. “And the better the cooking, the more appreciative they can be,” she finished the thought for him.
“Exactly,” Mason said, leaning against the counter next to her.
She shot him a teasing look. “Yeah, like you needed any help in that department.”
“You’d be surprised,” he said. “I wasn’t always the self-assured man that stands before you now.”
Sara thought back to what he’d said about his upbringing. It was hard for her to imagine him as anything other than accomplished, talented, and capable, but at one time he’d been an awkward kid fighting to make his place in the world.
She glanced around his apartment. “So, all of this is just a calculated play to get women.”
“No,” he said, giving a single shake of his head. “Everything I do now is because I like it. No other reason.”
“Really?” That was a little too hard to believe.
“Swear to God,” he said, looking sincere. At least, he did until he leaned closer to Sara and winked. “It’s not my fault if some of the women I meet happen to like it just as much as I do.”
Despite her best intentions, a smile spread across Sara’s face at his admission. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Mason scooped up everything she’d chopped and dropped the vegetables into the hot pan. He sautéed them for a little while then poured in the eggs. Several minutes later he removed the pan from the stovetop and popped it in the oven.
; “So, what now?” she asked.
He reached up into a cabinet above her head and brought down two glasses. “Now, I make us a drink.”
“I take it you don’t have any beer.”
“What do you think?”
Yeah, that was what she thought. Sara’s lips pursed together as she took a seat in a high metal stool. She was probably being unfair, she thought as she settled in. He certainly seemed to be a good cook. Maybe he was a decent bartender as well.
She read the label of one of the bottles he’d placed on the counter.
“Wait,” she said. “You don’t have beer, but you have a bottle of French absinthe?”
He cast her a wicked smile. “Does that really surprise you?”
No, it didn’t. Not even a little.
“I thought that stuff was illegal because it made you hallucinate,” she said.
“The ban ended a few years ago,” he said, as he began to mix their drinks. “And the effects have always been grossly exaggerated.”
Sara gave the bottle a skeptical glance. “Just how grossly?”
“You won’t start seeing green fairies frolicking around my living room. I promise,” he said, sliding a glass her way. “But I should warn you that it is rumored to be a powerful aphrodisiac.”
“Nice try.” Sara let out a little laugh. “There’s no such thing.”
Mason dipped his chin as he lifted his glass. “Is that right?”
“It is,” she said, wrapping her fingers around the delicate stem of her glass. “Nothing can make you desire something you don’t already want. All it can do is provide an excuse when you finally get up the nerve to push past your inhibitions.”
“And I take it that a woman who can freely admit that she’d like to climb all over a man like a grown-up jungle gym doesn’t need any excuses to take what she desires.”
Heat rushed into Sara’s face.
“Of course you’d have to remember that.”
“Remember?” Mason tipped his glass toward her. “I doubt I’ll ever forget.”
Suddenly, Sara didn’t care what was in the glass. She needed a drink, and she needed it now. She took a sip.
Her eyes widened at the potency of the drink. It was strong as hell…but not bad. After a second, the sting faded and the flavors mingled on her tongue—some familiar, some not so much.
“What’s in this?” she asked.
“Vermouth. Benedictine. A little absinthe,” he said. “Do you like it?”
“Honestly, I’m not quite sure,” she admitted. “It’s a little more complex than what I usually drink.”
“But does it put you in a climbing mood?” he teased.
“I’m still in my seat, aren’t I?” she said before risking another sip.
“For now.” He comically waggled his eyebrows.
Sara tried to glare at him, but she couldn’t seem to muster her scowl. Instead, she giggled as Mason moved toward her. He swiveled her stool so she faced him.
“Quit it,” she said through the laughter.
“Quit what?” he asked, his brows shooting up in feigned innocence.
“I thought we agreed last night that you weren’t going to try any more lame seduction attempts.”
“No. I said I would stop trying to seduce any secrets out of you.” He propped his hand on the countertop, and leaned in close. “But now I don’t need to. I already know all your secrets.”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t stop you if you wanted to tell me some,” he said, inching closer. His legs brushed against hers. “It’s just not what I’m after.”
Heat welled deep in her belly. Damn, if that drink really was some kind of aphrodisiac, it worked fast.
“So, what are you hoping to get?” she asked. “You don’t need me to stroke your ego.”
“You’re right.” His wicked smile grew. “It’s not my ego that needs stroking.”
Sara bit her lip, but another bubble of laughter broke through.
“Oh, come on,” she said. “I refuse to believe these are your actual lines. They’re terrible.”
“But effective.”
“Sure,” she shot back. “At making me laugh.”
“And that’s exactly what I want.” His voice dropped down low. “I’m crazy about your laugh, Sara. I love it almost as much as your smile. Mix them both together with that desire shining in your eyes, and you become downright irresistible.”
His words knocked the wind out of her. She stared wide-eyed up at Mason as her mouth worked silently. It took a moment for her to remember how to speak.
“N-now that’s a good line,” she said.
“It’s not a line,” he said. “It’s the truth. I’ve been staring at your mouth all day, wondering what it would be like to kiss you.”
He pressed against her knees and her legs fell slightly open. Mason didn’t waste any time sliding between them. The strange thing was, Sara let him.
“I can’t figure out if a single taste is going to satisfy me or only make me crave you more,” he continued. He swept back her hair until his open palm cradled her head. “But I want to find out.” His eyes darkened. “How about you, Sara? Do you want to find out?”
His voice was a gravelly whisper, so low that she could barely hear it over the pounding of her heart. Somehow she managed a shaky nod.
It wasn’t that the warning bells weren’t sounding in her head. They were, but she ignored them. She tried to tell herself it was because she didn’t see even a trace of deception in his expression, only honest desire. That much was true, but that wasn’t why she wasn’t pushing him away.
She was telling the truth. She wanted to kiss him. God, she wanted him. More than she could say. More than she might be able to handle.
Sara closed her eyes as his warm breath washed over her lips. The pressure of his hand increased, lifting her to meet him.
And then—finally—his mouth pressed against hers. He went slow at first, slow and soft, but that didn’t last.
Soon, the tempo and intensity of his kiss increased. He angled his body so he was flush against her. She squeezed her inner thighs around his legs as he tilted her head further back. Her spine arched, crushing her breasts against the hard muscles of his chest. Still, it didn’t feel like enough. She wanted more of him. More of the amazing sensations sparking to life inside her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on as she deepened the kiss. She explored his mouth, tasting him, feeling him, all the time craving more. He must have felt the same way, because he wrapped his fingers in the tangles of her hair.
She pulled away from his mouth, and trailed her lips down the strong column of his neck. He let out a gasp of air next to her ear—a growl, really. The sound rumbled through Sara’s chest, urging her on.
Who was she to disagree?
She moved her hands down his back, over his sides, along the solid cords of lean muscle underneath the thin layer of his clothes. And once she started it was almost impossible to stop. She wanted to feel every bit of him at once. To take this as far as it could go.
And why not? What was stopping them?
Beep.
Sara barely heard the high-pitched sound through her heavy breaths and thundering heartbeat.
The following beeps were much clearer. They came fast, a half-second after the other.
Somehow, Sara managed to wrench away from Mason’s magnetic pull.
“What’s that sound?” she asked.
Whatever it was, he didn’t seem to mind. He nuzzled his mouth against the juncture of her neck and collarbone. His lips teased the patch of sensitive skin.
“It’s just the oven timer,” he said. “Ignore it.”
A tempting thought.
“B-but your frittata is going to burn,” she said.
“Let it.” His hand slid under the bottom of her shirt.
Sara hissed a sharp breath as his warm palm slowly sli
d up her belly, inching toward her bra.
Yeah, screw the eggs.
Sara let her head fall back. She closed her eyes and waited.
And the phone rang.
Mason’s hand stilled instantly. Sara peeked out through a crack in her eyelids, just enough to see his head hang low. He muttered a curse under his breath before straightening.
Apparently, dinners could wait, but phone calls couldn’t.
“Sorry,” he said as he turned toward the counter and snatched up his cell. “It’s work.”
“N-no problem.” The words rushed out as Sara struggled to right herself on the stool. She tugged her shirt down around her hips. She ran her fingers distractedly through her hair.
“This better be good,” he said into the phone.
Frustration drained from his face, replaced by a look of intense concentration. He didn’t say much, just nodded and made some vague sounds of agreement to whoever he was speaking with.
She took the moment to slide from her stool and turn off the kitchen timer. She grabbed a pair of oven mitts and pulled out the frittata, placing it on the stove top.
“Sounds good,” he said. “Send me the address and we’ll head there.”
Sara raised her eyebrows as he finished the call and put his phone on the counter.
“Well,” she said. “That sounded like news.”
He nodded, but didn’t look at her.
“Charlie, finally tracked down our mystery thief,” he said. “She was able to pinpoint the apartment building he went into off Mission Street.”
“Does she know if he’s still there?” That was the real question.
“Charlie saw video of him entering the building just a few hours ago.”
Sara’s heart pounded for reasons that had nothing to do with the memory of Mason’s touch. She couldn’t believe Charlie found him. It didn’t seem possible. That guy should be long gone. Charlie’s news was nothing short of miraculous.
“Oh my God, that’s great,” she said. “Just let me go get my…I mean your coat, and we can—”
Mason’s hand wrapped around her arm stopping her short. His gaze clashed with hers.
“Don’t get cocky, Sara. We don’t know who this man is.” His voice was firm enough to syphon some of her excitement away. “We don’t know who he’s working for, or how dangerous he is. All we know is that the last few people we’ve come in contact with have tried to kill you.”
Mason: The Sinner Saints #4 Page 11
