CHAPTER TWENTY
LEXI
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Damn him!
I wake with my hand between my thighs, and my scorching hot dream front and center in my mind. Mason was the star of the overnight show, and I’ve been circling my clit for god knows how long.
I’m soaked, so I kick off my sleep shorts and reach for my vibrator.
Goddamn it. I’ll go back to semi-hating him after this. Right now, I need relief, and after dreaming that he strode across the room instead of closing the door behind him, it has to happen right now.
Scooping me up, dream Mason carried me down the short hall and dumped me on the bed. Then tore off my clothes and cupped one of my breasts harshly.
I do the same now as the vibrator turns on and presses between my flesh.
Yes.
I ripped at his sweater, and he took over and did that sexy one handed over the shoulder tug and rid himself of his clothing.
Mamma Mia, I hope his chest looks like this in real life. I’ve had peeks at his muscular body and spotted a couple of tattoos, but I haven’t yet seen him fully naked.
Not yet?
Ugh.
My point is, despite the way last night ended, with desire pulsing through my veins, we are just friends.
I’ve decided to forgive him for the sake of our friends and get on with my life. Johnathan is the villain in this story, not Mason.
I move the sex toy in circles, lifting my hips, eager to come, flashing back to where dream Mason drops his knees on the bed and shuffles me further up.
Then his eyes lock with mine as he stretches out his tongue and swipes it slowly through my pussy.
Oh, god.
Pleasure rockets through me as I speed up the device. Yes, yes, more.
“Do you like your wet little cunt eaten, Ms. Grant?”
“Hmm yes. Keep going.”
Stop talking, dream Mason.
“Do you like my fingers filling your sex?” He slides two thick digits in, and my hips, in real life, shoot up again, eagerly wishing this was real.
I pinch my nipples, as he did in my dream, reaching up with a grin as he clamps down on my clit.
“Good girl,” he purrs.
Oh, dear lord.
His wide shoulders push my thighs apart, his sexy blue eyes and that clever dream mouth tipping me over the edge.
God knows how long that dream went for, but I think I want to go back to sleep.
Dream Mason is much nicer.
But alas, I can’t.
I have to get groceries and start work at On The Rocks bar tonight. It’s going to cut into my time with Emily, but at least I’m earning money.
“Grab a size smaller,” Sam, the manager from On The Rocks advises. “That is, if you want bigger tips.”
Right. Got it.
Tits equals tips.
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WIPING THE BAR towel over the wet wood, I try not to glare at the man in the maroon sweater again.
Apparently, that’s not allowed.
Yet he can stare at my breasts and make crude remarks all evening.
FML.
I hate working here, and it’s only been five hours.
Fuck Johnathan. Fuck him for trying to assault me in the stairwell and then setting me up so I lost my job. For making Mr. Harrow believe I was guilty. For him then telling Mason whatever he told him and making him doubt my honesty.
I’m not sure if I’m sadder about losing my job or over the loss of whatever might have grown between us. Because after his visit, I don’t think I’m imagining it anymore.
I know our chemistry was real.
But there’s more. When I’m with him, even while fighting, there’s a familiarity and closeness that feels more than just friends or colleagues.
The way my body craves more of him, even when he’s being a defensive jerk, as if he belongs inside me.
I’ll never know.
That’s clear.
And just another thing that Johnathan has taken from me.
What did I do to deserve this? Simply reject his advances and offend him? It can’t be the first time he’s done something like this. Surely.
I don’t know much about stealing money from an organization, but it must take some planning.
Perhaps he was setting me up for a long time.
A better lawyer might have cleared my name. I’m grateful—which everyone involved reminded me of—that this didn’t go to court.
The only thing I’m guilty of is trusting someone and giving him my login. Which was wrong. I see how stupid it was now, but never in a million years would I think Johnathan would steal from Mr. Harrow.
I just wanted everyone to get paid.
Surely a good lawyer could dig into my financial transactions and see that I don’t have a few hundred pounds tucked away. Search my mattress or wherever money launderers put the damn stuff.
Ugh.
“Vodka rocks, please.”
I nod, mumble gotcha and grab a glass.
“Lexi?”
I lift my eyes and come face to face with Terrance and a friend of his.
My cheeks heat with shame.
There’s nothing wrong with working in a bar, but let’s face it, it’s not exactly the same as being a personal assistant to the CEO of a billion-dollar tech company.
“Hey.” I whip the towel over my shoulder.
When in Rome.
Might as well look like a professional while I’m at it. The fact I’ve broken two glasses already tonight says otherwise.
“What are you doing here? I heard you quit.” Terrance glances around as if looking for a Lexi’s Bar sign.
He won’t find one.
I’ve fallen from grace, and we might as well just call it what it is.
“Yeah, didn’t work out.”
“Is Mason a jerk or something? He’s always been good to me, but if you need some help...?” Terrance leans closer, looking concerned.
That’s sweet.
“No, nothing like that. I’m heading back to the UK, so he’s going to find someone permanent.” I slide the drinks over and shoot his buddy a smile.
He’s looking at my tits, so doesn’t see it.
I could start a diatribe about how Mason is a jerk, but he’s not really. He struggles to trust—the opposite of my problem—and perhaps I can still hear his good girl purr from my dream last night.
Goodnight, Lexi.
The softness of his face is hard to forget. To wonder what it meant. To wonder if...
Forget it, Lexi.
I know I have Emily, but I feel so alone in this big city. Sure, I was raised in London, but New York is a whole other level of bustling, tourist madness. The sidewalks are bigger, wider, the noise is louder, the lights brighter.
It’s the Big Apple.
Emily is getting married, she’s in love and growing a tiny human inside her. Busy creating her new life.
“That’s a shame. I was going to see if you wanted to get dinner again next week.” Terrance sips the vodka while his buddy turns to survey the room. “Maybe I can convince you to stay.”
Shit.
Mason’s response when I told him I’d gone out with Terrance springs back into my mind. He was jealous, but it no longer means anything.
So, do I go?
I’m not that into Terrance, but what harm can it do? It’s better than spending the entire week alone. Em’s studying Catherine has her kids. Terri is out of town.
“I only have Wednesday off.”
“It’s a date,” he smirks. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
He backs away smoothly, in a way that would make another girl’s heart beat faster. It does nothing for me. I don’t want to rip his clothes off, and if he tried to kiss me, I think I’d slap him.
There have certainly not been any sexy dreams about Terrance like there have a certain other American. The one who has my core clenching and my mind going to naughty places.
There’s apparently only one man who seems capable of making me react like that, and we are now just friends.
The horrible F word.
At least I won’t be in the country long and have to witness him falling in love or hitting on other women.
But the price I pay for that is not seeing my best friend every day.
Speaking of, Emily said she might pop in for a quick drink tonight. I glance at the clock, and it’s getting a little late. She probably changed her mind.
I would too if I had a man like Sebastian.
Terrance orders another drink thirty minutes later and heads back to his group.
Mr. Maroon Sweater is getting increasingly liquored, and his comments cruder.
“Why haven’t I seen you here before?” His eyes drift across my tits as he wipes his mouth across the back of his hand.
Yuck.
“Just started.” I say as I dry a glass.
“You’re British.”
Wow. He has ears. Well done, my dude.
“I am.”
“Not much of a conversationalist, are you?” His beady red eyes watch my every move as he takes a sip.
“No, but I make a good drink,”
I bet you have a small dick.
“Takes more than that,” He drops his glass onto the bar harder than necessary. “Girls like you need to put out a bit. Smile. Flirt. Show more of the good stuff.”
Snap.
I turn and prepare for battle. “And what good stuff would that be? If I was a man—”
“Surprise!” Emily announces, and I do a double take.
Around her stand Sebastian and five other large alpha men. Gorgeous, six-foot-four, broad-shouldered billionaires who know all the women in the bar are watching them.
Zander, Colt, Drew and...Mason.
Goddamn you, Emily.
If the earth could swallow me whole right now, that would be super great. I can’t believe she told him.
“Yes. I am surprised.” I give her the pointed friend look that promises I’m going to kick her ass later. “What are you all doing here?”
Mason doesn’t look like he wants to be here.
“Emily thought you’d love our support,” Colt drawls, the sarcasm rich in his tone. “I can see you are as thrilled as I said you’d be.”
“I told you,” Mason mutters.
“I told her, too,” Sebastian rubs his jaw.
“You were all just going to hang at Colt’s bar, so this way we help Lexi. Be nice.” Emily frowns at them.
“Amazing.” I avert my eyes then snap back just as quickly. “Wait, you have a bar?”
He grins. “Yes, and if you’d like a job—"
“No.”
We all turn to Mason after that singular word leaves his lips with immense force.
Whoa.
“Five Macallans and a water for Emily.” Mason tugs out his wallet, ignoring the response.
I turn back to Colt, who runs his tongue over his teeth like he’s holding back words. I have a feeling if I pushed, he would give me a job. Then again, if Mason drinks there regularly, it’s unlikely to be a good idea.
“It’s a sex club.” Emily waves her hand.
“What?” I gasp.
“Like I said, you are not working there,” Mason repeats.
Holy hell. I had no idea he owned a sex club. I’m blinking as a thousand questions fill my mind. Zander and Drew are chuckling.
Terrance decides this is a good time to lean in and wave. “See you Wednesday, Lex.”
Mason slowly turns.
“Oh, hey, Mr. Kingsley.”
Terrance waves and disappears while Mason gives me a dark look that could make a grown man cry.
Fuck him.
It sounds like he has access to all kinds of women at Colt’s bar. He’s never mentioned it before, and I suspect he spends a lot of time there. Why else wouldn’t he want me working there?
I’m about to tell him we are out of Macallan and maybe he should fly in his fancy helicopter to Colt’s bar when a loud laugh has us all turning.
“Looks like those tits of yours are working well for you,” Mr. Maroon Sweater slurs.
Oh shit.
“WHAT DID YOU SAY?”