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I clutch a hand to my chest, my heart racing underneath my fingers as I look around my room.
Home. I’m home and . . . alone. I’m fucking alone.
On the nightstand, the bottle of wine I didn’t even close up still sits.
That explains it.
It’s with some annoyance I realize I’m incredibly hot . . . and turned on.
My nipples strain against my tank top, my panties are soaked and my skin is coated in a light sheen of perspiration.
Just like it would be if that dream wasactuallyreal.
Am I really that far gone that I’m having sex dreams now?
Growling under my breath, I reach for my phone, setting an alarm for three hours from now, when I’ll have to get up for work. Still, as I lay down against the pillows, staring at the moonlight dancing across the wall in straight, perfect gashes from the blinds, I know I won’t sleep a fucking wink.
Mason Carpenter’s going to be the death of me.
If I thought going back to work was going to solve all my problems, I was dead wrong.
They’re right there, glaring me in the face every time Mason’s shirt hugs his broad shoulders a little too tight. Or the way helifts the bottom to wipe the sweat off his brow, showcasing the chocolate syrup-worthy abs underneath.
It could also be the way his eyes follow me when I’m not watching.
The man either hates me . . . or he’s having the same dirty thoughts I am. At this point, maybe both.
Either Mason enjoys the torture or he just likes to see me dirty, because when Puke and Ian are gone on lunch, he calls me out of the office to help him on a transmission because I’m “small enough to fit under the car”.
I think it’s just an excuse to torment me some more.
So . . . in the heat of the day, we circle each other in the garage, the only sound being the whir of a fan blowing hot around us. He’s got me under the car—of course—while he gives instructions on how to do whatever it is I’m doing.
I’ll be honest, I don’t even know what itisthat I’m supposed to be doing. I don’t even know what a transmission does.
“I think I need a bigger size,” I say annoyed, until I roll out from under the car and find him crouching down beside me, watching me like a psychopath.
Mason cocks a brow at me and my cheeks flame from that little implied nefarious smirk. Still . . . he doesn’t move.
“You’re quiet today.”
“I was under the impression you enjoyed it when I was quiet.” I’m finding it hard to keep the sarcastic tone out of my voice.
He’s nearly dripping with enthusiasm.
“I didn’t sleep well,” I sigh. “Can I have a bigger socket?”
It’s a wrench, but I’ve taken to calling different tools in the garage by the wrong names because I know it pisses him off.
“Why?” His eyes glint dangerously. I know he’s thinking about the texts, but I don’t have it in me to explain they comeand go like a bad ex-boyfriend. You never know when they’re going to show up, but when they do, you can bet they’re going to make an ass out of themselves.
“I had a nightmare.” Part of that is true. The part with Missy was definitely a nightmare. The part with Mason . . .shouldhave been a nightmare because I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I gave up on sleep around seven in the morning.
I’m playing with fire. Getting in over my head with a man who made it perfectly clear once, he wants a single shred ofnothingto do with me. Not with any real substance, anyway.
Sure, he might want to fuck me, even though Iknowhe hates it. He might even find he cares about me a little more than he would like to let on.
At the end of the day, I’m nothing more than a nuisance to him, and the day I let myself fall back into the swirling vortex that is Mason Carpenter is the day I may as well give my women’s rights card away.
