Page 33 of Writing Mr. Wrong

MASON

I f Mason had known multiple orgasms would be the way to Gemma’s heart, he’d have pulled that trick out of the bag long ago. He chuckled to himself as he lay in bed, arms around her, feeling her breath against his chest.

He’d done it. Gemma was his.

Okay, fine, one night didn’t mean she was ready to be sized up for a diamond ring, but he had the puck, and he could see the net, and there were no obstacles in sight.

He wouldn’t slap shot it in. That sort of play didn’t work with Gemma.

Handle the puck with care as he slowly worked it down the ice, giving everything plenty of time and attention until he was perfectly lined up for that gentle nudge in.

He glanced at the bedside clock. They had one more full day on the island. Then, tomorrow morning, they’d head back to Vancouver. Early tomorrow, which meant they had less than twenty-four hours, but he’d make full use of every last minute.

Did Gemma like wake-up sex?

Did he like wake-up sex?

Dumb question. His cock was already stirring thinking about it. He’d start between Gemma’s thighs. Licking her awake. Feeling her writhe against him, hearing those moans. Teasing her until she was ready to scream and then—

Whoa, boy. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Step one is figuring out whether she’d be okay with waking up to your tongue in her. Because that’s not a given.

He considered the matter. Not being accustomed to waking up with someone, this was uncharted ground.

The trick, he figured, was to let her know what he was about to do and give her a chance to say yes, even if it was a sleepy and half-awake yes. And then, afterward, ask whether, in future, he could just go for it.

He eased out from under Gemma. When she stirred, he kissed her shoulder. He was about to start moving down the bed, when she lifted her head.

“Whose room is this?”

He gave a soft laugh. “Yours.”

“Mmm. Okay.” She yawned. “So you’re going back to yours?”

“Uh, no…”

Another yawn, her eyes mostly closed. “You can. That’s fine. I get it.”

“You get what?”

She smiled down at him, eyes barely cracked open, obviously unable to see his expression in the shadowy room. “You don’t need to worry about that with me, Mason.”

“Worry about what?”

A shrug as she sleepily rolled onto her back while he sat up, barely able to breathe, knowing what she was saying and trying very hard to tell himself he was wrong.

“Me expecting more,” she said. “It was great. Amazing. And exactly what I needed.”

“What you needed…”

She ran a hand through her hair and snarled another yawn. “Sex. Good sex. And I got better than I dared hope for, so thank you.”

His gut twitched. Why did this feel like she was thanking him for dinner?

She tilted her head, as if finally seeing him. “I mean it. You don’t need to worry about me pulling a Camille.” She grinned. “If there’s more where that came from, I’ll take it, but no pressure. And once we’re home…” She shrugged again, still smiling. “What happened in paradise stays in paradise.”

His stomach roiled now, and he could feel the emotions rising. Hurt. Humiliation. Even a touch of anger. He wanted to shove them down, to laugh and say, Sure, that was good. A bit of fun. Nothing wrong with that.

But there was no way in hell he was getting those words out.

He should retreat. Get out of here before he said something—

“And if that’s not what I want?” he said.

She stopped mid-yawn. “Hmm?”

Was he doing this? Fuck, yes, he was. Push past every impulse to flee. This was just a misunderstanding. She knew his usual style, and he thought he’d been clear that this was different, but obviously he hadn’t been clear enough.

Time to fix that.

“I wasn’t serving up dinner last night, Gem.” Okay, that was a little harsh, her eyes widening. He cleared his throat. “What I mean is that it wasn’t meant to be just sex. I thought that was obvious. I want more. Like I said yesterday.”

“With me?”

No, with the other woman in this room.

Stop. That was anger, and anger is dangerous. Keep this smooth. Work it out.

“Yes, with you.” He shifted to face her.

“I know I screwed up twenty years ago. I wasn’t ready.

But I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over you.

” He stopped. “No, scratch that. I haven’t gotten over you.

I’ve been chasing you since kindergarten, and when I finally got you, I messed up.

Messed up bad. I’m not doing that again. ”

She stared at him. Just stared.

Okay, it was a lot. More than he meant to say. She was processing it. Any second now, she’d smile and slip into his arms—

“Me?” she said.

Annoyance flared but he tamped it down. “You, Gem. I want you.”

“Like, you meant last night to be the start of something?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

She pulled back. Pulled in on herself. He saw the moment it happened. When she withdrew, shut down.

The moment she rejected him.

“I, uh,” she managed. Then she blew out a breath. “Okay, that isn’t what I expected. I think you’re great, Mason, but I’m not—”

He didn’t hear the rest. He was already out of the room.

Out of the room, down the hall, and out the front door.

GEMMA

What the hell just happened?

You kicked Mason Moretti in the gut, that’s what happened.

Gemma dropped her face into her hands and took deep breaths as her brain swirled and her stomach twisted.

She handled that badly.

Oh, you think?

Fine. She could not possibly have handled that worse.

It just… it wasn’t what she expected. She’d woken to feel Mason’s warmth slipping away, and she’d been so sure she knew why, and she’d tripped over herself in her eagerness to let him know it was all right.

To let him know it was fine to leave. That last night hadn’t meant anything.

But it had for him.

And for her? Gemma’s stomach seized.

She needed time. Last night had been incredible, but she’d kept reminding herself it was temporary. Enjoy it while it lasted.

That had been her mantra ever since that motorcycle ride. Ever since she’d started falling for Mason Moretti again.

It’s temporary. Enjoy it while it lasts. Do not fuck this up again. Do not fall for him. He’s not for you.

Yesterday, he’d told her he was ready for a committed relationship, and she hadn’t for one second considered he might mean her.

Because of course it wasn’t her. Ha! Silly thought.

And if a little corner of her thought it wasn’t so silly, she’d squashed it before it blossomed into anything close to an actual hope.

So how did she feel about Mason Moretti?

Right now? Confused.

And scared.

She had to admit to that part, too. She was scared. It was like when she’d had a dream that her book went viral and she hit Daphne-level fame. Most of her had swooned at the thought… but a little bit said no, it would be too much, too overwhelming, too life altering.

Being with Mason Moretti would be too much. Too overwhelming. Too life altering.

What mattered at this moment wasn’t how she felt. She could work that out. What mattered was that he’d just backed out of the room looking like she’d sucker punched him.

She had to fix this.

Gemma found Mason easily enough. He’d left the villa but was already coming back, wearing his swim trunks from yesterday, her bikini in one hand.

“Got this,” he said, lifting the bikini. “Before the tide took it away.”

“Uh, okay. So—”

“Breakfast will be a redo of yesterday. Like I warned, my repertoire is limited. Give me half an hour. You want coffee?”

“I—”

“Course you do. Silly question.” He smiled then, and it was an awful smile, the fakest she’d ever seen. “Grab your laptop. I’ll make coffee. And fruit?”

“Mason—”

“Sure, fruit. Maybe a smoothie.”

She stepped into his path, and she swore his nostrils flared, the briefest show of anger before he reined it in.

“I’d like to talk,” she said.

“No need. You made yourself very clear.” He rubbed his face. “That came out wrong. You know what I mean. Miscommunication, that’s all. No harm, no foul, right?” That fake grin again, wider now.

“Mason—”

He put his hands on her shoulders, leaning down. “Seriously. It’s fine. Last night was great. I took my shot. Can’t blame me for that. And I can’t blame you for not feeling the same way.”

“Can we talk? Please?”

“Nothing to talk about. Except breakfast. Let me get going on that.”

He ducked around her and headed into the villa, leaving her standing there, feeling worse than she had in a very long time.

It’d been three hours since Mason walked out of her bedroom, and it felt like thirty. Gemma had figured he just needed a little time to recover, and then they’d talk. But that wasn’t happening, and the more she pushed, the more he retreated.

Everything was fine. Just fine. Sure, he didn’t want to spend two minutes with her, but it was fine.

He’d made breakfast and then gone into his room “to dress,” telling her he wasn’t hungry, go ahead and eat. A half hour later, he came out and declared he was going for a swim. She asked to join, but nope, she was here to work, and it was work time. He’d see her at lunch.

Gemma didn’t know how to deal with this. He refused to talk. He refused to acknowledge anything was wrong. He refused to feel . If an emotion seemed ready to surface, he tamped it down, grinned, and said, Nothing to see here .

That… oh hell. It scared her.

Her family was all about emotions, expressing them and acknowledging them, the good and the bad. Alan had hated that. It was messy and gauche.

So for all the ways that Mason was nothing like Alan, was this a thing they had in common?

They were bound to have a lot in common. Likes, dislikes, pet peeves… but this one was a problem, in a way that Alan’s hatred of green beans had not been. She could live without green beans. Or bacon. But she could no longer live without acknowledging when she was angry, hurt, frustrated.

She’d hurt Mason, and he wasn’t going to let her fix it, and if this was how they were going to spend the rest of her trip…

Her stomach clenched.

She checked her watch and headed inside to do the only thing she could think of.