Chapter 29
KEELY
The next four days race by.
Mason disappears into whatever area he’s commandeered in the bowels of the yacht to work when he has to. He never tells me what he’s working on, and I don’t ask.
He, on the other hand, questions me about that Friday night six years ago.
Sometimes, he’s subtle. Other times he demands to know every single detail.
I hate myself for withholding that final part of the jagged jigsaw, but I tell myself there’s no need for him to know.
I also know he’s gathering the information I give him.
Most likely to find who’s behind the emails.
I let him. My past will inevitably rise up and slap me in the face. But for now, I’m living in the present.
I also don’t ask why he keeps ignoring Cassie’s phone calls. They’ve graduated from three or four a day to almost hourly now. He always checks to see whether she’s left a message. She never does.
The question of what the hell her deal is looms larger and larger in my mind, but I refuse to give it voice. I want nothing to take up extra room in the Mason & Keely Temporary Bliss Shuttle .
Our routine is simple. Fuck. Eat. Fuck. Sleep. Fuck. Debate about the world and about nothing. Fuck .
A couple of times, he’s ventured out to meet me for dinner or drinks on the boat or at whatever venue I happen to be escorting my guests. After that time at the club in Mallorca, I’ve learned not to flirt when he’s around.
Titus-Asshole-Morton, however, hasn’t learned his lesson. His nose wasn’t broken after all—much to my regret—and his leers have taken a dirty angle, especially when Mason isn’t around.
I wondered what he meant when he referred to him and Mason as fishing from the same pool.
Well, I found my answer when I stepped into the elevator after a long afternoon of thermal baths and cocktails at Vulcano, Sicily.
The hostess I scheduled to take the guests came down with food poisoning, so I was left with no choice but to step in and head the trip. The healthy mud bath wasn’t too bad, but the constant bickering of Titus’ pets gave me a piercing headache.
Finding the man himself, lounging against the wall of the elevator, doesn’t improve my mood. I stab for the lower deck and do my best to ignore him.
Of course, he’s obnoxious enough to disregard my pointed signal and moves into my eye line.
“Enjoy your day of rolling around in the mud?” he jibes. “I’m more than willing to dirty you some more if you want?” he adds with a chuckle.
I turn and stare into his pale blue eyes. “I don’t want, asshole. And I see your nose is still bent out of shape. Maybe you want me to bend it some more, finish what Mason started?”
Cold rage fills his eyes. “I paid a fuck load of money for this trip. I was promised an experience that’s so far been severely lacking.
Isn’t this gig supposed to be a free-for-all?
And as for Sinclair, I don’t know what his fucking problem is.
We’ve both fucked the same girls from Hani’s stable.
He suddenly doesn’t want to share, that’s fine.
” His sleazy gaze slithers over me, and I’m glad I’m wearing the kimono-like gown that covers me from neck to feet.
“You’re not super-hot, but I see the appeal.
Sinclair got a free pass the last time. If he so much as points a finger at me, my lawyers will turn him into chump. ”
The elevator door opens. I walk through it, then turn and cock my head invitingly. “He’s right this way. Care to come and tell him all of that bullshit in person?”
Fear crawls through his eyes, but he snaps, “Not worth my time. I have somewhere else to be.” He stabs the button for the floor below repeatedly until the door starts to shut.
I smile. “Enjoy your evening, you fucking coward.”
Outraged anger is the last thing I see before I turn and head down the hallway. At the door, I pause and take a deep breath.
I tell myself I’m a modern woman, that I’m okay with whichever way Mason chose to get his rocks off before he met me.
But… I’m not okay being confused for a member of Hani’s stable, whoever the hell she is.
I jump when the door is yanked open. “You plan to stand there all night?” Mason glares at me.
He wasn’t happy when I abandoned our lunch and fuck plans to go on the excursion. Clearly, his mood hasn’t improved in my absence.
I walk past him into the room, careful to avoid his gaze in case he sees my agitation, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me into a rough hug.
“You were supposed to be back an hour ago,” he gripes as he buries his face in the crook of my neck.
“Sorry, the mixologist who accompanied us was a little too good at his job. Either that or serving decadent cocktails while indulging in an ancient mud bath is something no woman can get enough of.”
“Hmm,” he grunts, his mouth sliding to my collarbone. “Did you have a mud bath, too? Is that why you’re wearing this dirty, delightful stink I want to roll around in?”
I tilt my head to give him better access, all the while trying to get my brain to erase Titus Morton’s words. “The sulphur’s supposed to be good for my skin.”
“I’m good for your skin,” he growls softly. “You want me to demonstrate?”
I open my mouth to say yes. Instead, different words emerge. “Who’s Hani?”
Mason tenses against me, then lifts his head. “Who told you her name?”
I stare back at him. “Does it matter? Apparently, I’m good enough to be one of the many girls from her stable.”
His features harden from granite to titanium. “Morton.” The word is a death sentence.
I shiver but plow on. “I have to ask, Mason. Is this information public knowledge?”
His eyes narrow. “Why?”
My shoulders lift in a shrug that feels as if it’s weighted by the world. “I just want a heads up if anyone who sees me with you will automatically think I’m a prostitute.”
“They wouldn’t dare.”
“Umm… sorry, but they kinda already did.”
“I’ll deal with Morton.”
I place a hand on his chest and shake my head. “No need, I already did. He’s probably thick enough to try something again, but I can handle him.”
Mason watches me, trying to gauge my mood. His phone starts to ring and relief punches through me.
Of course, I realize a moment later, it’s probably Cassie. And he’s not going to answer it.
“I’m going to take a shower,” I say.
He frowns. “Keely?—”
“You’re right. I stink. And I’m starving. You mind ordering me some food?”
Still watching me, he nods.
“Thanks. I’d love a juicy Indulgence burger. The chef tops the meat with a mean mango salsa I can’t get enough of. Oh, and I want an extra-large portion of fries with it, please.”
One brow lifts. “Anything else?”
“No, that should about cover it. See you in a few.”
I bolt for the bathroom and jump into the shower. Despite having used the spa facilities on board the yacht when I returned, I scrub myself again from head to toe.
Two truths smack me in the face as I’m drying myself.
The first is, I don’t care what anyone who sees me with Mason labels me as. All I want is to be with him.
I also possess a rampantly alive and kicking fountain of jealousy and possessiveness. Enough to equal or even surpass Zach Savage’s. I want to throat-punch each and every woman that Mason has ever fucked.
The first observation fills me with even more dread. The second I accept with weary resignation. I wasn’t joking when I told Mason I was already fucked up. Learning this new dimension of myself only adds to my unique quirkiness.
I’m chuckling cruelly at myself as I leave Mason’s bedroom, wearing nothing but a short silk robe. When I hear voices, I think it’s the restaurant’s concierge, delivering my food.
My feet slam to a halt when I enter the living room. “Bethany?”
She turns and smiles when she sees me. “There you are! Was thinking I might need to barge in there and pull you out of that shower.”
She reaches me and tugs me into a hug. Beyond her shoulder, I see Zach talking to Mason.
A sense of déjà vu fills me. The last time I was in this position was in Zach and Bethany’s kitchen in Montauk. Now, as then, I’m filled with turmoil and dread. It’s strange to think so much, and so little, has changed since that day.
Bethany pulls back and stares into my face. I see the concern and anxiety in her blue eyes, and my heart catches.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Her eyes widen. “Nothing. I’m fine. But I was about to ask you the same question.”
A knock on the door stops further conversation. I let the bellboy in and direct him where to leave the trolley.
The moment he leaves, Bethany grabs my hand and clutches it tight. “We need to talk. Can we go to your suite?” There’s tension in her body, and I notice that she’s not doing her usual devour-Zach-from-across-the-room routine.
In fact, her body is precisely and deliberately turned away from the two men on the balcony.
“Bethany, what the hell’s going on?”
She shuts her eyes for a fortifying second, before she stares sadly at me. “I promised Zach I wouldn’t say anything. He’ll kill me if he knows I’m even thinking about it. But?—”
“Stop fucking with me, girl, and spill.” Whispering the dirty word brings a ridiculous swell of shame, as if I’m betraying Mason.
Compelled by his name ricocheting though my mind, my gaze finds his. He’s staring right back at me, intense speculation narrowing his eyes.
“Not here,” Bethany pleads.
I drag my gaze from Mason’s and nod. Plastering a fake smile on my face, I stride to the trolley and grip the handle.
“Hey, we’re going over to my suite to catch up on wedding stuff,” I lie to Mason without looking him in the eye. “I’ll see you later.”
He jerks straight from the cross-legged, cross-armed position he adopted while talking to Zach. I wonder whether he’ll stop me from leaving. I wonder what I’ll do if he does.
“Keely.”
Heart hammering, I turn. He comes to me and catches my face in his hands. His kiss is hard, but brief. Hazel eyes probe mine for a heart-stopping second before he releases me.
“Hurry back.”
I swallow and nod. “Okay.”
Bethany holds the door open, and I wheel the trolley through like a bank robber hightailing it out of a heist.
I don’t know why I’m in a hurry to hear what my best friend has to say.
Because I do know that whatever it is will bat my fucked-up-ness into the next century.