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Shit, everything about this man is arresting to the point I can’t tell where my interest in one feature ends and the other begins.

“Is it a summons if you were headed here anyway?” he replies in that smoky voice.

“You know very well what I mean.”

“Do I?” He finally turns his head and peruses me from head to toe. The look in his eyes tells me he appreciates what he sees. Most men would tell me I look beautiful after such a scrutiny. I wait for the compliment. It never arrives. “Sit down, Keely.”

“No, thanks. Oh, and I also don’t appreciate you instructing the bouncers to get heavy with Henri.”

I get close enough to see him drum his fingers on his ankle. The action draws my attention to the thigh straining against the material of his trousers. “You’re pissed off because I sent your admirer away?”

“I’m pissed off because you exist, full stop.”

His jaw flexes, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far. Then I immediately hate myself for caring one way or the other.

God, he drives me insane!

“Were you planning on sleeping with him?” Tension thrums through his voice, and my hackles rise higher.

“None of your business.”

He turns his head and spears me with sharp hazel eyes, which are insanely effective in pinning me to the spot. “What if I decide to make it my business?”

I affect a careless shrug, despite the electricity zapping through my bloodstream. “You’re welcome to do whatever the fu— the hell you want.”

A tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth is the only indication that he’s caught my hasty correction. The fact that I did pisses me off even more. I turn to walk out, but his voice stops me.

“Come and sit down, Keely. You’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

“I seriously doubt that.”

He returns his attention to the dance floor, his gaze sweeping restlessly over the crowd. I sense he doesn’t want to be here. “At least stay for one drink?”

I look around the room for the first time and although there’s a well-stocked bar, there’s no bartender or wait staff in sight as the write-up promised. Before I can ask, Mason presses a silver button near his armrest. A dull red light I didn’t notice before in the upper right corner of the room turns green. A few seconds later, a side door opens and a hostess wheels in a black and chrome trolley teaming with domed platters.

“I thought we’d have some food while we talked?”

“I already ate.” Hours ago, but some instinctive need to keep battling with this man spurs me on.

He says nothing, just nods to the hostess, who begins setting out the food on the low table in front of him. When she’s done, she slips behind the bar and pours him a glass of sparkling water with a twist of lime, which she delivers with a far too intimate smile.

Perhaps it’s that smile that makes up my mind. Perhaps I was doomed the first day I set eyes on Mason Sinclair. All I know is that my feet are rounding the seat and I’m moving toward him. I drop my clutch at the end of the wide semi-circular sofa and perch two seats away.

He doesn’t acknowledge me as he begins unveiling the dishes. Delicious scents waft my way and my stomach reminds me I’ve only eaten a small salade nicoise hours ago. “What can I get you?” he asks.

“An explanation as to why I’m here would be nice,” I reply. “And while you’re at it, care to tell me how you knew I’d be here in the first place?” It reeks of the sort of mildly stalkerish shit that Zach Savage pulled with Bethany when they were dating. It put my back up then, and I’m not entirely okay with it now either. I watch him and wonder if all billionaires are prone to such behavior. “Did you follow me here?”

He picks up a delicate-looking hors d’oeuvre with his fingers, tosses it into his mouth and chews before he replies.

“No, I didn’t,” is all he says. “I’ve decided to play your game. Or an abbreviated version of it, anyway.”

I open my mouth to press him more on how he knew where I’d be, but I find myself asking instead, “And what game is that?”

“The one where we dance around the fact that we want to fuck each other, because one of us doesn’t know how to take what’s in front of them without the song and dance.”

My pulse kicks up a notch. “What the?—”

His raised hand stops my response and I’m stunned I actually obey. “You want me, Keely. I sure as hell want you. Call me a bastard for seeing what I want and going after it, but I intend to fuck you very, very soon. I prefer to do it without having to treat you like a bimbo princess who needs guiding into what can be a pleasurable experience for both of us. Frankly, it’s tedious and unattractive, considering you’re intelligent enough to cut the bullshit and admit this is what you want, too.”