Page 25 of Sugar and Spice (Glitter and Sparkle #3)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The attendant the hotel sent to open the locked door gives us another surreptitious look over his shoulder.

He’s a little older, in his late-forties, and he doesn’t seem to know who Mason is or why he’s important.

But it’s obvious the jean-clad, gray-eyed young man is someone , because why else would he have access to the pool at this time of night?

“Towels are in the changing rooms,” the man says as he holds the door open for us. “Stay as long as you like, but please be aware there is no lifeguard on duty.”

We nod and head into the hallway. Two sleek, stainless steel doors flank either side of the hall. I walk into the ladies’ changing room, and Mason does the same in the mens’ across from me. He flashes me a reassuring smile. “I’ll meet you inside.”

I’ve never seen a changing room inside a hotel’s indoor pool area, but it makes sense. Who wants elite guests wearing flip-flops and dripping water on the highly polished marble floors? That’s just a lawsuit waiting to happen.

Set on a motion sensor, the lights automatically flicker on when I step through the door.

It’s subdued lighting, the kind that’s warm and forgiving.

A potted orchid sits on a small table at the entrance, and the air smells exotic—like jasmine or neroli or whatever those expensive essential oils are that Riley has started to hoard since she began making soap.

I change quickly, and once I’m in my suit, I begin to question my sanity.

What was I thinking? I ran track in high school, and I’m still pretty fit, but Mason spends his time around celebrities.

Those women have personal trainers, silicone implants, and who knows what else.

They’re like Chrissy and Christy, but the work is actually done well.

Scowling, I frown at my swimsuit-clad self in the mirror. It’s a tasteful suit, a cute, hot pink tankini that looks a lot better in the summer when I have a tan. I don’t have a choice now. It will have to do.

After pulling my hair into a quick braided bun so it won’t knot, I wrap one of the plush, luxurious towels around my middle and head to the door.

I stop under the threshold, awed. The lighting is even lower in here, a soft twilight.

A man-made rock ledge towers at the opposite end of the winding pool, and various tiny waterfalls cascade into the water.

The pool itself is turquoise, lit by lights in the perimeter of the water.

The walkways around the pool mimic natural patio pavers, and there is a smattering of flowerbeds holding tropical foliage in each.

A skylight stretches above us, a massive thing that encompasses the entire pool. The sky is black right now, but I imagine it’s quite a sight in the daytime.

Mason lounges in the water, sitting on a stone ledge along the right side. His hair is wet, making me think he dove right in.

“What do you think?” he asks.

I slip off my towel, fighting my discomfort. “It’s beautiful.”

Not wanting to linger on the edge, I step into the water. It’s cool, but not cold. The perfect temperature.

I swim out a little way, and Mason meets me in the middle.

“This is one of my favorite places,” he says, looking around as if he’s taking it in. “I try to come every time I’m in New York, but only when it’s closed.”

It’s so quiet and serene. I can see why Mason likes it here.

“When you’re not on tour, how much do you travel?” I ask.

He seems pensive here, relaxed but thoughtful.

“I’m in LA for long stretches when I’m recording, and my lawyers are based here.”

“But where do you live?”

Mason sets his hand on the surface of the water, splaying out his fingers. “I have a studio in LA, but I’m not sure that’s home. I suppose the road is where I live, or it has been for the last several years.”

“Is it lonely?”

“It can be,” he answers honestly. “It wasn’t too bad when I was traveling with Forever Now—in fact, most of the time I longed for solitude—but it’s going to be different now that I’m on my own.”

I send a tiny splash his way. “Poor rich boy singer.”

“Did you splash me while I was having a manly sensitive moment?” he teases.

“No,” I answer, my face the picture of innocence as I send even more water his way.

He laughs and swims toward me, looking as if he’s about to retaliate. “Tell me, Harper, can you swim?”

I squeal and dart away, but he’s faster than I am.

He grabs me around the middle and tickles my side. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“Yes,” I gasp, pushing against him. It’s becoming difficult not to suck up water because I’m laughing so hard.

“Good.” He then throws me across the pool.

I shriek as I come crashing back to the water. My arms and legs flail in the most ungraceful way, and I make one heck of a splash.

We carry on for a while longer, and it’s terribly therapeutic. The stress of the bake-off is far behind me, back in Colorado where it belongs.

Thoroughly exhausted, we end up in the hot tub, stretching our tired limbs and resting our heads on the ledge. Mason tells me more about his family, and he asks me questions about mine.

We talk about everything and nothing, and I haven’t the slightest idea what time it is until one of the hotel’s night attendants comes to check on us and announces it’s nearing two in the morning.

It’s been so enjoyable, I’m reluctant to leave.

Mason waits for me outside the dressing room, propped up next to the wall. He smiles in an easy way when he sees me, like I’m familiar. Like he’s smiled at me his entire life.

It makes my chest tighten, and my limbs feel light and fluid. Mason escorts me all the way back to my room, and we stop outside the door.

The day catches up with me, and unable to stop myself, I yawn. “Sorry,” I say with a laugh.

He takes my hand and squeezes it. “I’m going to go so you can get to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

My entire attention is on our entwined fingers.

“Will I see you before the show?” I ask.

“Probably not. We have to be there by nine for the stage rehearsal.” He rubs his thumb over mine. “But I have a few surprises for you tomorrow—ones I think you’ll like. Yvonne will bring you backstage after the show.”

It takes a moment for his last words to process. “Backstage? Where is the show?”

He suppresses a grin. “Radio City Music Hall.”

Gaping at him, I whisper, “I actually get to go backstage at the Radio City Music Hall?”

“You sure do.”

“And I can’t tell a soul because I’ll get kicked off the bake-off for ‘fraternizing’ with the host,” I say, groaning.

“Only this time.”

He looks like he’s about to leave. Slowly, testing in the sweetest way, he leans close and brushes a kiss against my cheek.

I blink at Mason, overwhelmed by how right it feels. Before I can overthink my actions, I reach for him. Immediately, he cups the back of my neck, gently pulling me close. My eyes are locked on his, and then they flutter closed. The smell of pool water clings to him, and his hair is still wet.

His lips graze mine, barely touching, and my hands find his sides. I run my palms along the smooth fabric of his T-shirt, feeling his muscular frame underneath.

Just when I worry he’s going to pull back, maybe change his mind, his lips meet mine in the softest kiss imaginable.

It’s short, only a few seconds, but entirely perfect.

Mason pulls back enough to see my eyes, and his fingers brush the skin at the nape of my neck. “Sweet dreams, Harper.”

And then he’s gone, and I’m left battling emotions that are at war with each other. I’m blissfully breathless, a touch giddy, and very, very anxious about the well-being of my heart.