Page 1 of Hidden Resolution (Stonebrooke #2)

M ason Sharp slung his carry-on into the overhead bin and collapsed into his first-class seat with a contented sigh. In a few hours, he’d be soaking up the sun and diving into the Caribbean’s crystal-clear waters.

Christ, he needed it.

Ten glorious days. Zero responsibilities. No work, no drama, no bullshit.

All he required was a peaceful flight without Chatty Kathy next to him. A scotch and a long nap would work nicely, helping the resort-level relaxation kick in.

His phone buzzed, and he debated whether to ignore it. After a glance at the screen, he grinned and changed his mind. Seemed his brother Zack, who was also his business partner and best friend, was excited about their newest client.

You wouldn’t believe who signed up for a membership today! ERICA SUTTON! Remember her from high school?

Mason stared at the name, gears turning. Erica Sutton didn’t ring any be—ah! He vaguely remembered a shy, soft-spoken girl who’d spent more time staring at her shoes than making eye contact.

The mousy chick with the glasses who tutored you?

Yep. Not mousy anymore.

Mason smirked.

See? Told you New Year’s Day was prime for sign-ups.

Seriously? I drop a nostalgia bomb, and you go full business mode? I thought you were on vacation.

Exactly. Turning off my phone now. Buy her a smoothie and stop bothering me.

Whatever. Enjoy your overpriced drinks, asshat.

Yeah, up yours, dickhead. And thanks, I will.

Mason was powering down his phone when a sultry voice interrupted him. “Excuse me. I think that’s my seat.”

Honest to God, he tried to look up, but his gaze stalled, captivated by a pair of high-octane, centerfold-worthy breasts that were one sneeze away from liberating themselves from her deep V-neck. Full, round, and absolutely mesmerizing.

“Up here, buddy,” the woman said, her sultry voice dry with humor.

Mason tore his gaze away and swept over her face. Sweet hell, her visage was just as breathtaking. Moss-green eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes, twinkled with amusement. The kind that suggested she was used to turning heads.

“Pardon?” he asked, more rattled than he’d ever admit. He met beautiful women all the time. Hell, he co-owned three gyms, for crying out loud. So why was this one throwing him off his game?

“Lady, you’re holding up the line,” groused an impatient jackass behind her.

She half turned, fixing him with a glare so lethal it should’ve come with a warning label. Mason grinned, delighted, as the dickhead blanched, muttered an apology, and scrambled to lift her carry-on into the overhead like an obedient schoolboy.

Dismissing him, she returned her attention to Mason. “Do you mind letting me by? I’m in 3D. Says so right here,” she said, flashing her boarding pass.

Feeling like a dumbass, he stood and promptly smacked his head on the overhead bin.

“Goddammit!”

Seriously, could manufacturers make airplanes any less friendly to the vertically gifted? At six-four, even first class was a cramped shoebox. He rubbed his head, then cut her a sharp glance when she tsked.

“Sorry.”

She didn’t look the least bit sorry. In fact, she appeared downright gleeful and on the verge of laughter. If he hadn’t been the one suffering, he’d have thought her reaction almost cute.

Shifting into the aisle, Mason had little choice but to brush against her as he maneuvered out of their row.

She sucked in a breath, and their gazes collided. 3D wasn’t as cool and collected as she pretended.

After she was situated, he took his seat and waited for the rest of the passengers to trickle through first class to their economy accommodations. It wasn’t long before the boarding was complete and the flight attendant asked for their drink requests.

“Scotch. Neat,” he said.

“White wine,” his seatmate requested.

After their beverages were delivered, Mason took a large, appreciative swallow. How long had it been since he took time for himself or indulged?

Too long.

He debated the merits of conversing with the beddable bombshell next to him. Most days, he was up for mild flirtation, but it had been a helluva week, and he wanted to relax without any distractions.

“I’m Shonda.”

The decision was taken away from him, and he could either be rude or introduce himself. Although he leaned toward the first option, his upbringing required the second.

“Mason.”

“Where are you heading?”

“St. Thomas. You?”

“St. Thomas,” she replied with a breathy laugh.

Her voice was the kind of sexy that curled around a man’s dick and settled in low.

Phone-sex operators only wished they were as gifted.

Speaking of sex… If he didn’t get his mind out of the gutter, he’d suffer the consequences.

But the forever-horny bastard inside refused to listen and took his thoughts straight to Fantasyland.

He was deeply entrenched and almost missed her following words.

“So, are you part of the Mile-High Club?” She gave him an expectant smile.

Caught mid-sip, he choked, spraying the seat back in front of him.

“Excuse me?” he croaked when his throat and lungs stopped burning enough to respond.

She tilted her head. “The Mile-High Club. I’d assume you’d be a member if you fly often. Isn’t that what it’s called when you’re a frequent flyer?”

Oh, sweet, innocent Shonda!

Her curiosity appeared guileless, if a little misguided. After an internal debate about letting it go, Mason decided the question deserved honesty.

“Yes, I am a member,” he replied. “And no, it’s not for frequent flyers.”

He desperately wanted to go a step further and offer to initiate her, but the plane was taking off, and they were a long way from the Islands. Sleep beckoned.

She blinked, and her flash of uncertainty caused him to lean forward and whisper against the shell of her ear, “To be a member means you’ve had sex during a flight.”

Then he sat back and waited.

As soon as his comment registered, her skin flushed.

The sight made him grin.

“Oh my God!”

Shonda was mortified.

Too late.

She had heard the term before.

Her only excuse was fatigue and how bootylicious Mason was. With his midnight-colored hair, dark slashing brows, and light-blue eyes, he’d scrambled her brains more thoroughly than a granny’s farm-fresh eggs in a cast-iron skillet.

Taking a sip of her wine, Shonda frantically sought another topic, but came up empty. Giving up all hope of a normal conversation, she reached for the Sky Mall magazine in the seat pocket and flipped through. Odds were he viewed her as a complete ditz.

Pretending interest wasn’t difficult. As a marketing director, she liked perusing fliers, magazines, and advertisements to discover new trends. And the doorknob security bar for only $24.99 was a steal.

She whipped out her phone and captured a snapshot of the ad. When she reached her destination, she intended to order one for her apartment.

“You live in a bad section of town?” asked Mason.

She looked his way to find his eyes closed and his head tilted back. How had he known what she was looking at? Easing up her hand, she waved it in front of his face, careful not to create a breeze. When he didn’t react, she shook her head.

“No,” she replied, returning to thumbing through the magazine. “But a girl can’t ever be too careful.”

“Think that’s going to stop someone who truly wants in?”

When she glanced back, he was watching her intently.

“Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping or something?” She gave him a pointed stare.

The lines beside those incredible sky-blue eyes deepened with his amusement. “I’m just saying if you think that little piece of junk will keep anyone out…” He trailed off with a dismissive shrug.

The disparagement of her soon-to-be-added security measure was irritating. If the stick could buy time for the homeowner—or, in her case, apartment dweller—to call the police, then it did the job.

“My friend will help me test it when I get home.”

“Save your money. Get an alarm,” he advised, closing his eyes again as if his word was final.

“I have an alarm.” She didn’t, but he didn’t need to know. “I happen to think this is a brilliant product.”

He snorted.

“You know, I don’t believe anyone asked your opinion,” she said, annoyance causing her to scowl.

One eyelid lifted to study her and dropped shut again. When no comment was forthcoming, Shonda’s temper spiked.

Who did this arrogant jerk think he was?

“Asshole,” she muttered.

He came alert and glared at her. “What did you say?”

“I called you an asshole. A-S-S-H-O-L-E. Asshole,” she said as if speaking to the dullest tool in the shed.

If looks could kill, she’d be dead and buried at twice the required depth. But Shonda had taken crap from people all her life and, for whatever reason, decided it stopped there and then. Her bestie, Erica, would be proud.Empowerment in action.

Telling this overbearing, self-entitled, gorgeous— whoa!

Damn, her mind went sideways. It had to be all those manly man pheromones he was emitting.

She leaned in and inhaled.

Mason stared as if she’d spontaneously sprouted a second head. “Did you just sniff me?” he asked incredulously.

Shonda froze mid lean, eyes wide and shocked.

Ohdeargod!

Had she? She had! Her body had responded to his delicious scent, acting purely on animal instinct.

“No!” But she was a bald-faced liar, and they both knew it. Heat flared in her face, betraying her, so she decided coming clean was the best course of action. “Okay, yes . But can I help it if you smell like bottled temptation?”

His obnoxious bark of laughter turned heads.

Face within five seconds of spontaneously combusting, Shonda ducked lower in her seat. An eyeball peeped through the seat crack, and she resisted the urge to poke it, thereby blinding her nosy neighbor and teaching them to mind their own fucking business.

Mr. Egotistical concluded it would be fun to tease her.

“Soooo,” He drawled as if they had all day, and damned if it didn’t sound provocative in his Southern baritone. “You like the way I smell.”

The smirk was uncalled for, though.

She glared. “Yeah, well, I like how cupcakes smell, but it doesn’t mean I indulge.”

“Pity.”

“That I don’t eat cupcakes?”

“That you don’t… indulge.”

“I didn’t say I don’t indulge , indulge.”

“‘ Indulge , indulge’? Code for sex?” he taunted.

“What else would it be code for?” she snapped. “As if you didn’t start it with your sexy bedroom eyes and that voice and your suggestive?—”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she’d done it again! What the hell was this man doing to her brain? Melting it, that’s what. “Stop talking to me now. Please.”

His deep chuckle hit her right between the eyes, dumbfounding her.

“If you change your mind about indulging , I’ll gladly initiate you to the club,” he said with an elevated self-confidence no person should possess.

She shouldn’t have wished for their plane to go down in a fiery crash, but the embarrassment of their stupid conversation was killing her way too slowly. Shonda opened her mouth to retort, with no real idea what she’d say, when a crackling announcement drowned her out.

The passengers were asked to return to their seats and fasten their safety belts. Flight attendants raced to collect cups and other items they’d passed out, urging everyone to put their tray tables upright as they hurried past.

Mason touched the woman’s arm to get her attention. “What’s happening?”

“Just turbulence.” Her pseudo-calm reassurancegave way to a yelp as the plane dipped.

A second announcement directed the crew to find their seats and buckle up. The plane rocked and righted itself, sending a symphony of gasps throughout the first-class cabin.

Shonda gripped Mason’s hand.

When the captain spoke next, it was to inform them of engine failure and the need for an emergency landing.

“Okay,” Shonda blurted.

“Okay, what?” Mason asked her, clearly confused.

“Okay, let’s do the Mile-High thing. If we’re going to die, we might as well go out with a bang.”

For the longest minute, he stared at her.

Unspeaking.

Unmoving.

An instant later, he shoved the divider out of his way and captured her lips with unerring accuracy.

Shonda moaned. If this was to be her last moment on earth—or in the air, as the case may be—she would die happy. And damn! The things Mason could do with his mouth had to be illegal in forty of the fifty US states, but if that were the case, she was subscribing to the criminal life.