Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129179 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
“Have your pretty little nipples missed the way I tease them?”
I clench my legs against his sides as I nod. I never knew just how sensitive my nipples were before Mason came along.
“Take off your sweater and show me how you played with them while I was gone,” he says gruffly.
I nibble my lower lip nervously and look around to see if the neighbors have a view. “Is it private enough out here?”
“I’d murder a motherfucker before I’d ever let them see what’s mine. It’s safe, angel. There are eight-foot walls all the way around,” he assures me.
When I nod, he sits up and then helps me do the same. The look of lust on his face takes away any nerves, so I quickly pull my sweater up and over my head. I then fold it before setting it off to the side. Looking up, I find Mason watching me like a hawk, his jaw clenching like something is bothering him.
“Did you fucking wear this for your date?”
5
I frown as I look down at the plum-colored lace bra he’s currently glaring at like it shit in his Cheerios. Only now do I realize I’m wearing one of the bra and panty sets he bought me from Agent Provocateur. Mason has a tendency to shred underwear, hence the gifting of the lingerie.
“Ew! No. Jesus, Mason. I don’t make a habit of showing my dates my bra on the first…” I wince and trail off when it occurs to me that Mason and I had sex on our first date.
“Like I was saying, I don’t make a habit of it. I was with two other guys before you, and there have been none since. Besides, that nightmare with Ham tonight was most definitely not a date.”
He blows out a breath of obvious relief. “It wasn’t?”
I shake my head. “No. Carly harassed me like a maniac until I caved and agreed to go. Supposedly, he was a really nice guy who needed emergency assistance to feel comfortable dating. Not sure what level of hell she got him from, but the bottom line is I wasn’t there to be romanced. When you snapped about it being a date, the only reason I didn’t immediately disabuse you of the idea was my pride.”
“Angel,” he groans, “I hate that the last eleven weeks even happened.”
“Me too. The good news is, Carly’s machinations got us back onto the same page pretty much as soon as you got home. The bad news is, she threw me under a bus to do it.”
I see the moment he realizes what I mean. “Jesus, she fucking set you up with that psycho just to fuck with you, didn’t she?”
I narrow my eyes as I think of what she set me up to endure when she sent me off to meet Ham. “She definitely knew he was a dick, but I doubt she knew he’d go after me the way he did. Still, she’s going to pay for subjecting me to that shit show,” I vow.
“You’re sexy as fuck when you’re pissed,” he growls.
I raise a brow and give him a look. “Oh, are we back to sexy times?” I joke. “I was afraid the mood was effectively killed when you got all territorial about my bra.”
“The thought of you wearing lingerie for another man definitely fucked with my head,” he admits.
I could give him more shit, but I get it—especially since I spent the last eleven weeks wondering if he’d move on within hours of arriving in Italy. He’s hot, smart, and rich, so it’s not like women don’t fall all over themselves to get to him. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes on more than one occasion.
“When I put this on earlier, it was just for me, but I guess now it’s for you too,” I say, my voice husky.
The expression of desire on Mason’s face overrides all thought of the crappy start to this night.
“It’s perfect. I’ll like it even more when it’s no longer covering you,” he rasps.
I hold his gaze as I reach behind me and undo the clasps. When they’re free, I move my shoulders so the straps slide down my arms. I make a production of taking the bra off the rest of the way before I playfully toss it at him. He catches it one-handed, chuckling huskily as he lifts it to his nose. “Lemon verbena,” he murmurs. “I fucking love the way you smell. At the end of every miserable fucking day in Italy, I’d hole up in my suite, take out your black scarf, and fuck my hand while I thought back to all the ways I’ve taken you. My assistant thought I was losing my shit when I made him get me a bottle of your perfume from L’Occitane during the fourth week of the shoot. I didn’t tell him that I needed it to spray the scarf because your scent had faded.”