Chapter 8
Charlotte
I hit send onmy email, my body wilting into the chair. I did it.
I didn’t have as many pictures as I’d hoped but I’d creative a visual arts campaign on the dark side of Vegas.
Sure, I was a marketing major, and these pictures would never be featured in any glossy advertisement for the city, but that wasn’t the purpose of this class anyway.
We were supposed to tell a story with our pictures. I’d started with glossy shots of the strip and then I’d transitioned to grittier and more derelict images, ending with the homeless. I’d even taken one trip down into the tunnel to show the tunnel people. It was a true portrait of all walks of life in the City of Sin.
I know I’ve nailed the assignment and all I can hope is that Professor Burke passes me based on the merit of my work.
The disgusting pig had cornered me in his office and went so far as to tell me I didn’t need to do the assignment at all if I did some other things instead.
When I said no, I went from getting A’s in his class to F’s, so it’s not guaranteed that he’ll do the right thing now.
But I did my part…
I look up, realizing the sun has set, the lights of the strip filling the view out the windows.
Stretching, I check the kitchen clock, amazed that it’s nearly nine. My stomach gives a hungry growl even as the elevator lights up, alerting me someone is on their way to the penthouse.
Mason appears a moment later with a bag in hand. “Tacos?” he says lifting the bag.
“Yum,” I answer closing my laptop and heading for my room to put the device away.
“What were you doing?” he asks. I can hear him pulling out plates, opening the bag. I still. Was he worried that I was sending messages to people I shouldn’t?
I pick up the device again, returning to the kitchen where I open the computer. I fire up my presentation, putting it on slideshow. “The purpose of the assignment was to tell a story with only visuals,” I say as he serves me a shrimp taco that looks absolutely delicious. Fresh avocado, bright red tomatoes, and crisp romaine decorate the large pink shrimp.
“We’re back to the agenda?” he asks, grabbing the plates and bringing them to the table. Then he returns to the kitchen, pulling a bottle of white wine from the fridge and snags two glasses.
I sigh as I wait, knowing the wine will be as amazing as the food in front of me.
His eyes flash to the screen, watching several pictures slide by before he returns to the table. “Your eye is exceptional.”
“Thank you,” I blush as I look down, listening to the delicate splash of the wine into the glass.
If most of the world is an assault to my senses, Mason’s home is a salve.
“But I wasn’t showing you the slideshow to start on my agenda, I just wanted you to know what I was using the laptop for. I didn’t message anyone other than an email to my professor to turn in my assignment.”
He pauses before he sets the glass in front of me. “I appreciate the update, and though you have proven yourself trustworthy, certain developments do require us to be extra careful.”
I tense at his words, fingering the stem of my glass. “Developments?”
Mason looks tired. “Let’s eat first.”
I pick up my taco then, taking a bite as flavor explodes in my mouth. But I don’t enjoy it the way I would have a few minutes before. What’s happened?
Mason eats slowly, carefully, taking several sips of his wine. When he’s done, he gets up to get another taco. It can’t be too bad, can it?
“Another?” he calls to me.
“No, thank you.” I wouldn’t eat a second either way. I don’t have a big appetite. But now, I’m nervous.
He sits back down. “Does that project mark the end of your college career?”
“Yep. And provided I pass, I will be the first person in my family to graduate from college.”
He looks up at me then. “There are a few bits to unpack there. Why wouldn’t you pass?”
I grimace, not sure how much to tell him. He’s already dealing with a really big problem of mine.
But I’ve done that thing where I’ve looked down at my plate and Mason knows that means something is wrong. A finger under my chin makes me look up, our eyes meeting. “Tell me, Charlotte.”
“My professor doesn’t like me.” I start but it isn’t true. “Actually, he liked me enough to suggest that I…”
I don’t finish because Mason lets out a rumbling growl that hums through me. I’m not scared though. I called Mason a predator, and I meant it. But he’s my animal in this moment, and I appreciate having a beast in my corner.
“And you said no.”
“I did. And I’ve been getting F’s ever since.”
Mason stares at me, his gaze dark and unreadable. “Let him give you an F on that project. He’ll answer to me.”
A smile creeps onto my lips. I’ve been afraid of Mason for a long time. Attracted too…but still afraid.
I never considered what it might be like to have the predator work for me…
It was interesting.
“Agenda item one accomplished,” he said, sounding far more like the CEO and less like a gangster who cleaned up bloody scenes at clubs.
I have no idea what happened that night, and I’m not asking. “The other item we said we’d discuss is the cost of protection…” My face heats at my words. Fear aside, I’ve got a few bucket list items. If my life is in danger, graduating was one big one. But having sex with a man like Mason…
It’s a definite do-before-I-die kind of task. Who wants to die a virgin?
Mason sits back in his chair. “The men who committed the murder you witnessed recognized Roman.”
My gasp fills the space between us. This is bad. Really bad. “Is he all right?”
Mason gives me a small smile. “Roman is more than all right. He’s growing into a man fit for a kingdom.”
My shoulders deflate, relief moving through me. While my feelings about Mason are somewhat gray, I’m well aware that Roman saved my life and has asked for nothing in return. “Thank goodness.”
“The men who contacted him don’t know who you are, but they want to find out.”
“Oh,” I whisper. I was right to be worried.
Mason reaches out then, taking a strand of my long brown hair between his fingers. “It’s time for a makeover, I think.”
“Makeover?” This completely confuses me.
“Mmm,” he rubs the hair between his thumb and forefinger. “Revamping your image can confuse your enemies and disguise your intentions. And in this case…hide your very identity.”
My eyes go wide as I hold my breath, waiting for his next words.
“No more Rebel’s waitress, which is what those men saw. You are now the posh and sophisticated girlfriend of Mason Kincaid.”
My brows rise. Instead of turning me over to them, he’s going to give me a makeover? He’s always been full of surprises, but this one shocks me still. “You can’t mean to pass me off as your girlfriend?”
“You’re right. Not enough…”
I just stare, my lips parting. That’s not what I meant at all.
“I’ll have a hairdresser and makeup artist here first thing tomorrow morning. And that shopping trip we had planned for today?—”
I hadn’t planned anything. “You don’t need to buy me more clothes.”
He raises up one hand. “We’ve been dating for six months. You’ve been living with me for two and things have gotten serious. Very serious.”
I blink at him, attempting to keep up. We really are going to play house. But are we going to play it all the way? “Mason, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he leans forward then, his hand slipping down my shoulder, over my arm, to grasp my hand. “If we’re going to do this, we need to appear like a very intimate couple.”
My blood rushes in my ears as I wait.
He’s touching me again, his fingertips skimming up the inside of my arm toward my elbow. “You were right. There is a price for my protection.”
“What is it?” I ask, hardly able to breath.
“I want your virginity.”
And I want to give it to him. But somehow, him speaking those words has me shifted in my seat.
It’s so transactional. This whole thing makes me uncomfortable. “Mason.”
He laces his fingers into mine, leaning even closer. He knows when to speak and when to be quiet. Mason is impeccably perfect with even the smallest choices, and I find myself gripping his hand tighter.
There isn’t even really a choice. Have sex with the sexiest man alive or be thrown to a rival group of gangsters and certain death. Hmmm. Let me think.
I cast my doubts aside as I square my shoulders. By way of answer, I loosen my fingers from his and push back from the chair.
Standing in front of him, I pull my shirt over my head.
I’m wearing one of the bras he bought for me, black lace demi cup that shows the smallest peak of nipple and pushes my boobs up and together for all sorts of cleavage.
Mason stands too, stepping closer to me, his eyes sparking, the tension and power rolling off him as he hooks his hand around my waist and pulls our bodies tight together. “Is that a yes?”
Tentatively, I jerk my chin in confirmation. I know I want this. But I’m scared too. I just found out that those men are one step closer to knowing who I am, and let’s be honest, I’ve just agreed to have sex with the man I’ve been trying to escape from for two years. That’s been different for all of two days.
He swoops his head down, capturing my lips with his in a kiss that sends my head spinning. It commands, it claims, and my body melts into his, wanting to belong to him.
His other arm is around me, his hands spread out on the bare skin of my back. His strong touch helps me to forget my fear.
But before I know it, he pulls his mouth away again. I stare up at him confused as he leans down and places a feather light kiss on my collarbone.
Then he slowly lets me go, taking a step back. I stare at him in confusion, my arms dropping to my sides. “I don’t understand.”
“When I fuck you, sweetheart, you won’t be afraid.” His eyes are dark and possessive, his hands clenched into fists at his side. “When I fuck you, you will beg me to be inside you and then you’ll beg me to make you cum.”
And then he stalks off, stomping into his bedroom, leaving the food and the dishes out.
I stare at them, trying to process all that just happened. Why does he care about my pleasure if I’m just giving myself to him as payment?
Slowly, I pick up my T-shirt and put it back on. Then I carry the plates to the sink, rinsing them and loading them in the dishwasher. I take the leftover tacos and pack them in the refrigerator because I’m too poor to waste food.
When I’m done, I wipe the counter and straighten the kitchen before I pick up my laptop and head to my room.
I’ve stayed busy all this time because I can’t even process his words. Mason is a contradiction that I can’t puzzle out. Is he my greatest danger or my one salvation?
What was it about him walking away that makes me want him even more?
Would he take me if I begged right now? I think I might be ready.