Page 7 of Swept Away (Men of War #1)

G EMMA

He goes into the bathroom and cleans himself first, while I throw on a robe, unload the rest of the groceries, and fill up the refrigerator and my pantry.

Moments later, he exits the bathroom as well put together as he was half an hour ago when he walked in.

He points to the door.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” he says, and I tilt my head in agreement, although I would’ve liked for him to stay.

But, it’s probably better to go outside and talk to whoever knocked on the door, ease their concerns, whether there may have been any or not.

My cheeks burn when I close the door behind him, thinking that his friends know exactly why he’s been late and the door has been locked, and he hasn’t answered.

Sighing, I head to the shower and let the water run before checking my face in the mirror while lifting my hair and pulling it into a bun.

I don’t have time to wash it again, but it still looks good as it’s naturally curled at the tips from the moisture.

The afterglow is more than telling, and I feel naughty about it, although I’m not ready to meet his friends looking like this.

I've had a love-hate relationship with going out since my first year of college, when I started seeing men.

Going out with my girlfriends before that was different as we had so much fun, just us, the girls.

We laughed a lot and did stupid things together.

Once I started dating, going out became dull and boring. Something I never looked forward to.

Meeting new people hasn’t been my jam lately either.

I’m too busy and don’t want to offend anyone by saying no to them when they want to meet with me and socialize, but tonight, things are different. And not so different at the same time.

I’m not looking forward to spending time with new people, but I want to spend time with him, so I’ll have to compromise.

I drape my robe over the sink and enter the shower.

My hands move over the trails of cum, removing them from my skin while asmile curls my lips.

I slide my fingers to my sex, forgetting for a moment that I’m late, still don’t know much about him, can’t call him by his name because I don’t trust it’s his real name, and I’m not good at spending time with a group of new people.

When I’m done showering, I grab a towel, wrap it around my chest, and head straight to the walk-in closet.

I end up opting for a green sleeveless dress.

A stretchy little piece that molds to my body, has a scoop neckline, and a hemline that hits way above the knee.

In fact, I need to pull at the skirt a few times to make it cover my ass.

I ditch the bra since it shows through the fabric, and it doesn’t look good all bunched up beneath my dress.

And I generously slather shimmering lotion on my legs, arms, shoulders, neck, and chest.

From my makeup case, I pull out a lip gloss and dab my lips. Smooth dark mascara goes on my lashes, and my eyeliner helps me make my eyes stand out.

I look… interesting without much makeup.

It’s like I have ‘I just fucked him’ tattooed on my face.

A car honks outside, and I rush to put everything into my purse, since I know who that is, and it’s for me.

My makeup case ends up on the coffee table while I slide my feet into a pair of scrappy sandals.

They honk again.

I straighten, strut to the window, open it, and lean over the sill.

Rear propped against his back car, arms crossed over his chest, Mason looks at me.

“I’ll be there,” I say, noticing how distracted he is, his eyes smiling when he gets a glimpse of me.

“I hope he likes it,” I mumble to myself, spinning away, but not before closing the window.

On second thought, I turn off the AC and leave the window open.

Who knows?

Maybe Gizmo needs a place to sleep tonight if he ever thinks about returning.

I lock the door a moment later and pace myself before walking out of the building.

Mason opens the back door for me as I have to slip next to the other girl.

“Hi,” I say, adding the scent of my lotion to a blend of masculine cologne and sweet perfume.

“Hi,” she mumbles, raking her eyes over me. “I’m Monique,” she adds.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, forgetting to say my name.

She wears a white set comprised of shorts and a fitted top, which highlights her tan.

Her blue eyes flicker with interest as I pull my knees together and tuck myself behind Mason’s seat.

The man in front of her shifts in his seat to introduce himself.

“Carter,” he says, his deep voice vibrating in the air.

He’s muscular like Mason and has about the same build. Broad shoulders, wide chest, and strong hands.

His eyes lock on mine for a second, and their scrutiny feels like a blade against my skin.

“Gemma, right?” he murmurs, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Oh.

Mason has told him my name?

“Yes.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, still holding my hand.

“Same wise.”

He lets go of me, and for a second there, his gaze moves down and up over me, weighing me briefly, his curiosity likely ignited after his friend has spent some time inside.

“Okay. Ready?” Mason asks, checking my eyes in the rearview mirror.

“I am,” the woman next to me says, retreating to her corner.

Carter looks over his shoulder, mostly at me.

“What about you, Gemma?” he asks.

“I’m good,” I say and meet Mason’s eyes in the rearview mirror again. With that, the men shift their focus to the road, and I lean back in my seat as the car glides away.

I have no idea where we’re going.

GEMMA

The two men are engaged in a conversation while the other girl checks her phone as if she’s alone in the car, giggling from time to time at whatever she’s finding amusing on her socials.

It must be that.

What else?

I feel the heat of a stare hovering over my face and tilt my gaze to the rearview mirror.

Mason tears his eyes away from me just as I look at him.

Carter keeps his focus on the road, and I lean back and stare out the window, feeling like I’m alone in the car.

Minutes later, we enter a parking garage and roll to a stop.

We climb out and walk to a restaurant.

Mason and I have little time to talk.

In fact, with Monique mostly doing her thing and the two men talking about things like how bad traffic is on Saturdays, and how expensive Boston is, my participation in their conversation is almost non-existent.

I love that they have thought about taking us to dinner before going to a club or whatever we’ll be doing later.

The restaurant is nice, not too big. And not too small. Not too crowded either. We order Italian food, and the men make it clear it’s on them.

Monique goes wild with her food order.

She orders calamari, pasta, and pizza while I settle for a big salad and broiled salmon.Not exactly Italian food, but it’s the only thing I can push down my throat right now.

Strangely, I’m getting more and more nervous as we go.

I don’t know what gets to me.

It’s probably the fact that I’m not used to going out, as I said before, and also being on a double date with people I don’t know, a woman I can’t connect to, and a man who fucks me deviously and deliciously while paying attention to me all the time, like now as I shove a salad leaf into my mouth.

A man I know nothing about.

I sit next to him, and his hand slides under the table and touches my thigh at some point.

A soft shiver races through me as I tilt my face to him.

Carter watches us from across the table, holding his drink to his lips, more interested in Mason and me than Monique.

“Are you okay?” Mason asks, his lips brushing my ear, the soft puff of air rising goosebumps on my skin.

“Yes. I’m fine,” I say with a contrived smile.

He straightens, and his eyes hold mine, reading the truth in my stare.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” I add, this time offering him a genuine grin.

He leans toward me again and places a kiss on my cheek, and his gesture is so unexpected that I turn to stone.

This is such a big deal for us since our lips have never touched before.

I try to understand the significance of this kiss while he shifts his focus back to the table and continues his conversation with his friend.

Carter’s eyes hover over my face a few times, his stare brushing mine just as many times.

He seems perfectly aware of everything that happens between Mason and me.

Every little touch, his leaning into me, the smiles curling my lips.

He also has something else in his stare, a genuine curiosity about me outside my dynamic with Mason.

Something tightens in my chest every time he does that, and I swear it has to do with being wanted by Mason and having both men’s attention on me at the same time.

“How is your fish?” Monique asks, talking around a bite of pizza.

It’s the first time she’s talked to me since we got seated at the table, and it takes me some time to answer.

“It’s good. Very good, in fact.”

“Can I have some of that? I want to taste it before I order it for myself.”

“Sure, help yourself.”

She’s a little weird in how she picks a tiny piece of fish I haven’t touched and then, satisfied with how good it tastes, signals to a waiter.

Carter places the order for her, while I slide my plate back.

A few jokes about women sharing stuff ring in the air, and I smile at a few, still unsettled about this girl.

The good thing is that once we leave the restaurant, she only talks with Carter.

She’s all over him as if a different personality has taken over her, and I watch them in silence, keeping to myself.

Once we reach the car, she and I go in the back and no longer interact.

The other good thing is that the club we hit later is on the outskirts of town, and there are plenty of parking spots in the front.

The night is young, and it’s getting cold, and I shiver a little as a gust of wind blows over my shoulders.

Draping an arm around my shoulders, Mason presses me into his body, giving me the warmth that I need.

Boy, the crowd is loud when we walk in.It’s a club, so what should I expect?

We find a spot at the bar where we, the girls, squeeze ourselves into the bar stools while the men stand next to us.