Page 7 of Risk

“Just the check, please.” I grab my purse to dig out my wallet.

“It’s on me, Leah.”

Of course, Carson would want to pay. He does whenever we go out. “Can’t I pay just this once?”

“Nope.” He takes the bill from the waiter before I have the chance.

My gaze drifts back to Mason one more time and my stomach drops when I see he’s no longer sitting there. Where did he go?

A few minutes later, Carson escorts Mak and I out of the restaurant. I never feel like a third wheel with them. They’re family to me. But it makes me almost wish I had someone to go home with every night.

I said almost.

I’m not really a relationship kind of girl.

Valet brings Carson’s car around first, and I give them both a hug goodbye. Standing at the curb, I smooth out my dress and dream about how great my bed’s going to feel when I crawl into it. It’s been a long day and I’m ready for it to be over.

This is definitely a double bath bomb, hottest-water-I-can-stand in the tub kind of night. I’ve earned it.

“No more whiskers?” asks a man behind me.

I spin around to find Mason with his hands in his pockets and a sexy smile plastered on his face. God, he’s gorgeous. Jet black hair, stormy grey eyes, clean shaven, sharp jawline. This man’s the epitome of main character energy in a romance novel. My brain immediately fills in the image of what’s under his three-piece suit.

The vision of his abs and dick this morning is going to live rent free in my head for life.

“Ummm. Ha. Ha. Nope, no whiskers.”

“That’s a shame. They looked adorable on you.”

I’m good at spinning things around to make me more, or less, the object of attention. “Nice suit. I see you left the towel at home. That’s a shame. It looked so good off you.”

Wait, that’s not what I meant to say! My brain, pussy, and mouth aren’t on the same page. There’s been a miscommunication. A glitch. I need to back away, or maintain professionalism, or at least play hard to get for crying out loud. “Come here often?”

Fuck. My. Life.

Why am I botching this so badly? And where the hell is my car, damnit? This valet guy sucks.

Mason stands next to me, almost brushing my arm, and a wicked little smile plays on his mouth. “Unfortunately, I don’t come anywhere often.”

“Only when you’re alone in your room,” I mumble under my breath as I face away from him.

Yes, I heard him jerk off earlier. I couldn’t help myself! Besides, I swear he was being loud in there on purpose. It was almost like he wanted me to hear him.

Okay, fine, I might have peeked too. Not that he noticed. Mason was so caught up in his orgasm, he blew his load all over the place and let me tell you, it was molten lava hotness to watch. I’ve been wet from it all day.

So when he came back into the bathroom, I immediately felt like a criminal who got caught. It made me panic. Apologize. Get desperate. I’m just glad it all worked out, and he didn’t have a clue I spied on his self-love moment.

Except now I feel like I’ve violated his privacy and part of me feels terrible about it.

Not enough to out myself, though. Fuck that.

After Mason left the condo and I straightened his barely touched bedroom. There were ropes of white across the front of his dresser and faint wet spots on the carpet too that he must have missed while cleaning up. Or maybe he hadn’t cleaned any of it up and left it there on purpose for me to find. Thinking that was a likely possibility also had me hot and bothered all day.

He frowns. “Alone in my room?” Then it dawns on him.

My cheeks blaze because I know I shouldn’t have said that. I also shouldn’t have watched. And I definitely shouldn’t have relived it on repeat all day long.

“You saw me.” Mason’s not asking.