Chapter 10
KEELY
I slap my hand against the swing door and, as expected, it gives way to reveal Mason Sinclair.
His thickly muscled arms are flung wide on the seat, his gaze on the dance floor below.
Since his back is to the door, I can only see the back of his head and shoulders, but immediately my nipples tighten and my pussy clenches with a hunger so fierce, I deeply resent him for the effortless power he seems to have over me.
He doesn’t turn around as I approach, although despite the music thumping from below, the room is quiet enough that he should’ve heard me enter.
“Next time you feel the need to summon me, take a beat and remember serfs and overlords are a thing of the past.” I infuse my voice with bite, even though I’m far too enthralled with the black shirt draping his torso and the lights glinting through his vibrant black hair.
Shit, everything about this man is arresting to the point I can’t tell where my interest in one feature ends and the other begins.
“Is it a summons if you were headed here anyway?” he replies in that smoky voice.
“You know very well what I mean.”
“Do I?” He finally turns his head and peruses me from head to toe. The look in his eyes tells me he appreciates what he sees. Most men would tell me I look beautiful after such a scrutiny. I wait for the compliment. It never arrives. “Sit down, Keely.”
“No, thanks. Oh, and I also don’t appreciate you instructing the bouncers to get heavy with Henri.”
I get close enough to see him drum his fingers on his ankle. The action draws my attention to the thigh straining against the material of his trousers. “You’re pissed off because I sent your admirer away?”
“I’m pissed off because you exist, full stop.”
His jaw flexes, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. Then I immediately hate myself for caring one way or the other.
God, he drives me insane!
“Were you planning on sleeping with him?” Tension thrums through his voice, and my hackles rise higher.
“None of your business.”
He turns his head and spears me with sharp hazel eyes, which are insanely effective in pinning me to the spot. “What if I decide to make it my business?”
I affect a careless shrug, despite the electricity zapping through my bloodstream. “You’re welcome to do whatever the fu— the hell you want.”
A tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth is the only indication that he’s caught my hasty correction. The fact that I did pisses me off even more. I turn to walk out, but his voice stops me.
“Come and sit down, Keely. You’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
He returns his attention to the dance floor, his gaze sweeping restlessly over the crowd. I sense he doesn’t want to be here. “At least stay for one drink?”
I look around the room for the first time and although there’s a well-stocked bar, there’s no bartender or wait staff in sight as the write-up promised.
Before I can ask, Mason presses a silver button near his armrest. A dull red light I didn’t notice before in the upper right corner of the room turns green.
A few seconds later, a side door opens and a hostess wheels in a black and chrome trolley teaming with domed platters.
“I thought we’d have some food while we talked?”
“I already ate.” Hours ago, but some instinctive need to keep battling with this man spurs me on.
He says nothing, just nods to the hostess, who begins setting out the food on the low table in front of him. When she’s done, she slips behind the bar and pours him a glass of sparkling water with a twist of lime, which she delivers with a far too intimate smile.
Perhaps it’s that smile that makes up my mind. Perhaps I was doomed the first day I set eyes on Mason Sinclair. All I know is that my feet are rounding the seat and I’m moving toward him. I drop my clutch at the end of the wide semi-circular sofa and perch two seats away.
He doesn’t acknowledge me as he begins unveiling the dishes. Delicious scents waft my way and my stomach reminds me I’ve only eaten a small salade nicoise hours ago. “What can I get you?” he asks.
“An explanation as to why I’m here would be nice,” I reply.
“And while you’re at it, care to tell me how you knew I’d be here in the first place?
” It reeks of the sort of mildly stalkerish shit that Zach Savage pulled with Bethany when they were dating.
It put my back up then, and I’m not entirely okay with it now either.
I watch him and wonder if all billionaires are prone to such behavior. “Did you follow me here?”
He picks up a delicate-looking hors d’oeuvre with his fingers, tosses it into his mouth and chews before he replies.
“No, I didn’t,” is all he says. “I’ve decided to play your game. Or an abbreviated version of it, anyway.”
I open my mouth to press him more on how he knew where I’d be, but I find myself asking instead, “And what game is that?”
“The one where we dance around the fact that we want to fuck each other, because one of us doesn’t know how to take what’s in front of them without the song and dance.”
My pulse kicks up a notch. “What the?—”
His raised hand stops my response and I’m stunned I actually obey.
“You want me, Keely. I sure as hell want you. Call me a bastard for seeing what I want and going after it, but I intend to fuck you very, very soon. I prefer to do it without having to treat you like a bimbo princess who needs guiding into what can be a pleasurable experience for both of us. Frankly, it’s tedious and unattractive, considering you’re intelligent enough to cut the bullshit and admit this is what you want, too. ”
My mouth drops open and I splutter, “Does this brand of crap actually work to get you laid?”
He selects an array of finger foods and places them on a plate. “You assume I’ve ever had to work this hard.”
There’s a compliment in there somewhere, but I can’t see it for the red haze of anger clouding my brain and my judgment. “For someone who’s obviously skilled enough to be the man you are today, you have a shockingly dense outlook on what makes a woman happy.”
He continues to inspect the food on the dishes. “You’re under the misapprehension that I’m in this to make you happy. I’m not. I want to fuck you and keep fucking you until I’m satisfied. Then I have every intention of letting you go.”
I look around, seeking some sort of divine revelation as to why I’m still sitting here listening to this arrogant bastard. “Are you for real?”
“I am. I promise. Eat.” He holds the plate out in front of me. I look from the offering in his hand and back to his face.
Everything about this is wrong. So wrong. And yet my heart hasn’t stopped racing since I entered the room. And each time he mentions fucking me, my body goes crazy hot and my insides churn with blinding excitement.
He moves closer when I don’t take the plate. Long, elegant fingers pluck a sesame seed-covered morsel that he dips into a dark condiment before he holds it to my lips. “Try this. You’ll enjoy it.”
“Because you’re an expert on the things I enjoy?” I snap.
He says nothing, just continues to hold the food a whisper away from my lips until they part of their own accord.
My tongue slides out to help the morsel in, and his gaze drops to my mouth.
He watches me as I chew, and I try not to moan at the sharp and spicy explosion of flavors on my tongue from the Thai food.
I glance down at the dishes on the table and realize each one is comprised of delicacies from my favorite food regions—Asia and Europe.
Surprise widens my eyes, and I glance back to him to see something shift in his eyes, a hunger so wild it’s almost inhuman. He feeds me another mouthful, and his fingers brush lightly and deliberately over my lips before he withdraws.
My breath catches, and his mouth twitches in a ghost of a smile. He tosses two morsels into his mouth and chews with the ruthless efficiency of a predator. My loins catch fire watching him chew and I try to tear my gaze away, but I can’t look away from him.
“Drink?” he rasps.
The hostess suddenly appears beside me with a tray holding a cocktail I immediately recognize—a Studded Reverse Cowboy—my favorite cocktail.
Aside from that seriously stalkerish vibe, which slams into me again, I’m also thrown by the fact that the hostess has been present the whole time.
Has she overheard the exchange between Mason and me?
I look up to read her expression and find her attention once more riveted to Mason’s face.
Irritation churns in my belly. I pluck the glass from the tray with a curt thanks and down half its contents. I tell myself I don’t care that she’s eye-fucking Mason. The admission echoes hollowly inside me.
Truth is, I care a little too fucking much.
I shake my head when he leans forward to offer me another mouthful. “I’ve had enough, thanks.”
I mean it not just with regard to the food. Whatever this is, it’s got me so unbalanced I fear if I don’t claw back some control, he’ll steamroller me with the sheer force of his personality.
His eyes narrow at my tone, and he watches me set down the glass.
“Was this your idea of bringing me round to your way of thinking? A few mouthfuls of my favorite food and a drink or two before I decide to happily spread my legs for you?”
His face hardens. “Isn’t it what you said you wanted? Some non-sexual attention before you’re comfortable with this?”
“If I want that, I’ll happily pay for a gigolo, or one of those escort services you use.”
He looks genuinely puzzled. “Explain.”
“You’re right. I’m attracted to you.” His frown smooths out and his eyes gleam, but I shake my head.
“Before you crow about it, let me finish. I’m not just attracted to you physically.
I’m attracted to your brain. If I’m to entertain the idea of dropping my panties for you, I want to be stimulated mentally , not just physically. ”