I subtly tug at the bottom of my shirt below the table. My breasts swell. More skin is revealed.

Mason clears his throat.

I have no idea if he is growing hard in his jeans, until he drops a hand to his lap and inhales sharply through his nose.

My smile broadens. His disappears entirely.

But just like that, the aura around him shifts. All signs of a man starving to throw me on top of this table and feast vanishes the second our plates arrive.

I glare at the waiter. Can you let the chef know his promptness is annoying?

He merely smiles at my silent instruction, murmurs something in Italian, and steps away.

I look down at the dish placed in front of me. Seafood pasta, with scallops and shrimp over a bed of linguini. Mason’s plate has a lobster tail, a generous cut of steak, and some greens on the side.

Everything looks incredible. I was set on climaxing before I dined but I suppose it can wait.

I twirl some pasta onto my fork and bring it up to my mouth.

“I always sleep naked, Brooke,” Mason mumbles quietly.

I nearly drop my fork.

Oh, you gorgeous bastard.

He laughs around his bite of steak as our eyes meet. He looks delighted, reveling in my reaction and clearly thinking he’s won this round.

Did I mention how much I love a little friendly competition?

I shoot him my sweetest, most innocent smile as my mind begins calculating my next move.

Silly man. You have no idea who you’re up against.

MASON

Dinner with Brooke is . . . interesting, to say the least.

I’ve never watched a woman so completely focused on my undoing before. So casually sexual with every little movement and shift of her body. Fucking brilliant, on her part. I’m finding it hard to concentrate, which I believe is her every intention. She’s had to repeat a question or two. My voice has grown a bit thick at times, leading me to tug at my already unbuttoned collar. I’ve thought about every way I could possibly get her off at this restaurant, how concealed I would be if I were to crawl under this table and feel her orgasm against my tongue. After thorough investigation of the white cloth stopping well off the floor, my horny arse remains planted in my chair.

What she’s doing, it’s calculated, and fucking torture not to react to. I can hide my erection but I can’t keep that bloody thing under control. Even the placement of her hands while I speak of my classes from earlier today is suggestive.

“I think I’ve established a good client base,” I tell her, tossing my napkin on the table. “I’m seeing some familiar faces come around now and pop in again. That’s encouraging. I was worried about that.”

Her fingers brush against the smooth dip between her collarbones, then trail lower, openly teasing the swell of her tits.

Fuck. What I wouldn’t give to bury my face in there.

She grins. “I don’t know why you were worried. I hate exercising and enjoyed your class. Not just the view either.”

Her voice remains completely neutral, friendly, delightfully engaged in this conversation. That’s the only thing about her that isn’t screaming for me to bend her over that chair she’s sitting in and fuck her senseless.

I discreetly adjust my cock, again. I’m surprised I’m still able to form coherent responses at this point. There can’t be much blood flow still heading to my brain.

“You should come to another one,” I suggest, keeping my hand in my lap, a smile tugging the corner of my mouth.

Her eyes dance with mischief. She drinks the last of her wine. “That’s a fantastic idea. I would love to come.”

And there’s that. So much for innocent banter. I walked her and my throbbing cock right into that one.

Brooke chuckles, arching her back to gather her hair over one shoulder, pressing her chest forward, watching me watch her, because unless this building caught on fire right now I’m not looking anywhere else.

“How old are you?”

My eyes snap up to hers. I almost laugh. She goes from suggesting I get her off to verifying my age? How adorably odd.

“Twenty-nine. You?”

“Guess.”

This time, I do laugh, nodding at the waiter as he returns with my credit card and slip to sign. I shake my head. “I have seven sisters, Brooke. I know better than to guess a woman’s age, and I rather like my testicles. How about you just tell me.”

“Oh, come on,” she chides. “Aim low.”

“Sixteen.”

“What?” She clamps a hand to her mouth, muffling her laugher.

I sit back in my chair after signing the slip, watching the vibrant glow move over her cheeks as she slowly eases her hand away.

“Be serious.” She pinches her lips together, fighting the playful smile threatening.

I shrug, standing and offering her my hand. “You said guess. I did. Now, please fill me in on your actual age before I start feeling like a pedo.”

She allows me to help her to her feet and we move together through the restaurant. Her elbow gently connects with my side. “Mm. Nah. I rather like you squirmy and nervous like this. Shame on you for taking out a minor and shoving booze in her face.”

“Brooke,” I press.

“Really, Mason. What will my parents say?”

We step outside and I freeze on the footpath. She spins around to look at me.

I reach for my keys, shrugging. “All right then. I was planning on driving around and finding a dark spot so I could plant my face between your legs. But, I suppose that’s off now. I should get you home. It’s probably past your curfew and I’m not interested in finding out what prison is like.”

“Twenty-five.” She grabs my wrist, tugging me closer until we’re chest to chest, her breaths suddenly coming hurried. “I’m twenty-five. Legal. Very much a fan of dark spaces and heads between my legs. Yours, specifically. I’m sure it looks lovely down there.” Her body vibrates with a quick burst of laughter.

As I slide my hands to her hips, she keeps her head down, staring at my chest, my neck, almost bashfully trying to avoid my eyes while her hands tease the bottom of my shirt.

I like her like this, gentled, and what seems to be a bit unconventional for her. I like imagining that Brooke’s only been this way with me, and that maybe I make her feel a bit undone and out of sorts, unsure of what’s possibly happening between us.

I bend to kiss her forehead. “Shall we find that spot then? I want your taste in my throat.”

She seems to weave a bit on her feet, then mumbles a hoarse, “yes,” taking my hand and leading me down the footpath.

I slowly slide my fingers between hers as we pass a few shops, and my Denali. Interesting. “Have something in mind?” I ask.

She seems on a mission to get me somewhere specific. Determination leading her, along with desire.

Her shoulder jerks the slightest bit. “Maybe.”

She smiles at me. The moonlight slides across her face, a shadow pooling in her dimple.

“I was here a few months ago, down in this part of the city with Dylan and everyone. Juls and her kids were there. Anyway, we took them to this place down the street a bit and I’d like to go there with you.”

“Yeah?”

I can’t hide the delighted lift in my voice, the overwhelming warmth that seems to spread up my spine.