Page 3 of Hidden Resolution (Stonebrooke #2)

O ne kiss, and Mason was toast. What the hell was that about?

Shonda’s soft, supple mouth so willing to open to him.

Her slender waist, seemingly made for his hands.

The subtle, fruity scent clinging to her silky skin.

Sure, all of it was a turn-on, but another sensation, more tangible, tugged at him.

The pull wasn’t anything he could explain.

It was primal and possessive, leaving him feeling as if his soul wanted to stake a claim on hers.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

The dangerous urge cooled his reactor real quick.

He set her away, but his eyes refused to obey and lingered on her mesmerizing face. Flushed, dazed, her lips swollen and glistening, she was a vision.

Her lashes fluttered open, as if waking from a dream. “Um, wow,” she muttered, voice all husky and sex-kitten soft.

Apparently, a purr came out when she was turned on.

Great. Just great.

Lust was going to wreck him. She had him by the short hairs, and she didn’t even know it.

“Dinner,” he bit out. It was sharper than intended, and she blinked her surprise. Trying to soften the blow, he said, “Let’s head down, get a bite.”

Bite her, more like, his inner devil urged.

He clamped down on his wayward thought. Later. Maybe. For now, he needed to rein that shit in.

Her stomach grumbled, and his roared back louder, making them laugh.

“Let me grab my purse.”

Mason took her hand on the way to the elevator and again when they entered the restaurant.

A show, he reminded himself, for appearances only, to warn the vultures off.

It had absolutely nothing to do with how naturally her fingers laced with his or how good it felt when he kissed her inner wrist while seating her.

Her glowing smile disconcerted him, causing him to freeze mid-motion.

An unintentional frown drew his brows together before he could stop it, and hesitation flashed across her features.

When her apprehension filtered into his sluggish brain, he shook off his momentary lapse and took a seat across the small, intimate table.

“Sorry.” It was his only concession to hovering and unintentionally intimidating her with his commanding height. He hated when other men dominated with their size, and he felt like a complete ass.

She nodded, gracious as ever, and perused a menu.

Once the orders were placed and drinks arrived, small talk picked up.

“So, what do you do?” she asked.

“I co-own Workout World with my brothers, Zack and Dane. Three locations as of this year: Stonebrooke, Wisteria Heights, and Sagefield. I handle the marketing.” He tilted his chin toward her. “You?”

“Marketing director for WTKO news. I oversee all the stations statewide. Periodically, I get drawn in for national stuff, since our parent company is in Miami.”

He accepted a salad plate from their server with a smile and “thank you” before returning to their conversational thread. “That must keep you busy,” he said.

“Ten-hour days minimum, half-days on Saturdays. I love it, but it’s exhausting.” Her shy, self-effacing smile told him she was downplaying how much work she put in.

“WTKO? We have an account with them for our local commercials.”

“Yes. I’ve run across it. Amber Harrington is your rep, I believe.”

“Yes.” He sipped his wine. “I know Amber.”

The slight hesitancy in his voice must have tipped her off.

“Ah.” Her brows arched as she forked another bite of salad, and her gaze skimmed past him.

Did he detect censure? He would be disappointed if it were. As a grown-ass adult, he didn’t need to justify a handful of forgettable dates, damn it. Especially not to a woman he’d met today.

But she pivoted the conversation before he could get defensive.

“How long are you in St. Thomas?” she asked brightly.

“Ten days, and I’m really looking forward to it.” He smiled in the face of her unspoken curiosity. “This is my first real vacation since we opened four years ago. I’ve taken some weekend trips here or there, but nothing for any extended length of time. It’s overdue.”

“Same. I was supposed to come with my best friend, Erica, but she got hit with an unexpected deadline. She’s an author, and it happens, but a girls’ trip would have been fun.”

“Erica?” The coincidence was too great. “Not Erica Sutton?”

“You know Erica? Don’t tell me you read romance, because I won’t believe you.”

He snorted. “Not hardly. My brother sent me a text to say she’d just joined our gym. He knew her as a kid.”

“Erica? Joining a gym? We can’t be talking about the same woman here. She hates exercise.”

Mason chuckled at her emphatic use of the word hate, suspecting she’d said it for entertainment value. “The average person doesn’t like to work out. They do it to stay healthy.”

“You don’t understand. Erica lives on donuts and coffee. She wouldn’t set foot in a gym if her life depended on it. Even then, it would be to escape out the back door.” Shonda lifted her wine for a quick sip. “I’m pretty sure she breaks out in hives at the mention of a treadmill.”

She launched into additional stories about her friend, animated, funny, and utterly unaware that Mason couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her husky laugh and the way she lit up with each tale were magnetic.

The plates were eventually cleared, and yet they lingered, trading stories and laughter like old friends. It struck him how much he enjoyed her lively state. She was luminescent, and her sparkling wit enhanced her beauty.

And that was the problem. It wasn’t just attraction anymore.

Shonda wasn’t acknowledging any of his flirtation cues, and it was pretty damn clear she wasn’t a casual-fling kind of woman. Which meant if he wanted to protect both of them from complications, he needed to pull back. Fast.

Damn it.

It was too bad, really. Tonight was the most fun he’d had in years. But it was the dangerous kind, hinting at his deep-down loneliness, tempting him with the possibility of true companionship, and reminding him he was sick to death of meaningless hookups and one-note conversations.

Perilous thinking for a man who intended to avoid forever.

Sure, he’d hoped for a few nights of mutual pleasure, but the truth was spelled out in neon. He needed to distance himself, no matter how much his dry spell protested. Emotional entanglements were too difficult.

Abruptly, he stood, startling a wide-eyed gasp from Shonda.

“Time to call it a night. It’s been a long day.”

“Oh. Yes. Sure,” she replied, a bit off-balance.

By the time they reached her room, he almost caved and asked if she was up for a walk on the beach. The expectation on her face suggested she was hopeful, but he merely kissed her cheek, promising to check in the next day so they could coordinate their schedules.

Then he walked away before he changed his mind and did something truly stupid.

Shonda stood frozen in her suite, replaying the night and wondering what went wrong. She wasn’t crazy. Their chemistry had been off the charts. And his pre-dinner kiss wasn’t at all polite. Nope, it was pure, bone-melting fire. So what the hell happened?

Maybe in dragging Mason into her hare-brained fake-boyfriend scheme, she’d killed the mood.

The chaste kiss to her cheek and polite, “ I’ll check in tomorrow so we can sync schedules ,” wasn’t exactly the behavior of a man dying to get her into bed.

Clearly, he wasn’t interested in more, and there was little point in forcing things.

After all, there were plenty of solo travelers at dinner.

Surely she could survive a week on her own without inventing a relationship?

With a sigh, she changed into shorts and a tank, then wandered out to the balcony. The ocean breeze whispered sweet nothings, brushing across her skin and tempting her to dip her toes in the gently lapping waves.

And there he was.

Mason.

Backlit, he stood at the railing of his balcony, drink in hand, and stared out at the sea as if it held all the answers. His silhouette was carved from moonlight and shadow. Broad shoulders. Bare arms. He didn’t fidget; he simply leaned there, stoic, remote, and devastating.

Her lungs tightened.

His presence was electrifying in ways she could never describe. God help her fanciful imagination, but he belonged to the night. If vampires existed, he’d be the one to have women lining up and volunteering to be bitten.

Mason had presence. Gravity.

She couldn’t figure out why he, of all people, had her tangled up in knots.

Plenty of men were more handsome than Mason Arrogance-is-my-middle-name Sharp.

She’d dated the polished, pretty, and charming.

None of them had ever left her weak-kneed or lit her up like he did with a single look.

The memory of his kiss made her cheeks burn, and the evening breeze did nothing to cool the heat simmering beneath her skin or the hum in her blood.

Right as she shifted away, she caught it. A flicker of stark loneliness on his face. But it was gone in a flash, masked by a sip of his drink.

Her pulse sped up as her mind was inundated with questions. The primary one: Why would someone so charismatic choose solitude?

Shonda ran through everything she'd heard about the Sharp family. Aside from their father leaving when the boys were young, there hadn’t been any whispered tragedies. At least none she could recall.

Mason straightened, raised his glass in a silent salute to the stars, and turned.

“Good night, Shonda,” he said, his voice low and clear across the courtyard.

She wasn’t surprised he’d known she was watching the whole time. Hell, she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t.

“Good night, Mason,” she replied, but he was already gone.

The magic of the night vanished with him, leaving her chilly and flat.

She was being ridiculously fanciful. If she wasn’t careful, she’d start spinning fantasies around a man who didn’t want her. A man who’d made it very clear, intentionally or not, that she was better off keeping her distance.

She needed to sleep this fascination off.

And if that didn’t work, well, her battery-operated backup never failed.