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“Is this okay?” Mason murmurs, and I can feel his words in the brush of his lips and the ghost of his breath over my skin. “I know you aren’t casual with your affection, Chelsea. And I don’t want you to think for one moment that I’m being casual about you.”
At his words, I become an exploding star, a supernova. Except unlike stars dying in a blaze of glory, Mason is making me alive. My world is bigger and brighter and somehowmore. I’m burning up, buzzing with heat and light and, above all, hope.
Loud laughter from a nearby table breaks the tension. Before pulling back, Mason presses a final kiss to the crest of my cheek. His warm caramel eyes drink me in as a slow smile lifts the lips that were just exploring my skin.
“Hey,” Mason says.
“Hi?”
He chuckles, squeezing my waist. I’d almost forgotten his hand there because I was so focused on his kisses. He tickles me lightly, and I giggle, knocking into him lightly with my shoulder.
“Are you okay? You look a little bit like …”
“Like my brain just exploded? It did.”
“I was going to say you look a little surprised.”
“Brain explosion, surprise—same thing.” I wave a hand, which I can finally feel again now that Mason’s not kissing me. I’d trade the hand for another kiss though.
“This isn’t quite what I imagined when I suggested we establish our relationship apart from my brother,” I say.
Mason arches a brow. “No? I mean, if you were hoping for something else, then—”
“No!” I grab the hand he was starting to pull away, wrapping it tighter around my waist. “This I want. I mean, I wantthis. I hoped for this, but I wasn’t sure howyoufelt.”
Nodding, Mason, lifts his other hand and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingertips trace my jaw, making me shiver. “I’ve kept my feelings hidden for a long time.”
“Because of John?”
“Partly. But maybe because it needed to be now,” he says. “Maybe because I needed to be who I am at this moment so I can be the manyouneed. And maybe,” he says with a smile, “I needed to be confronted with the possibility that if Ididn’tact, I might lose you to a man who wears crocheted unitards.”
I snort. “Not a chance. Although …” I lean back and make a show of appraising Mason. “I’d love to see if they come in your size.”
“They don’t.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
There’s a pause in which we just stare at each other, grinning. And in which I surreptitiously pinch myself on the wrist. Nope—I am fully awake.
Awake … but still dreaming.
“Hey, Chels,” Mason says. “Would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow night?”
“Yes!” I practically shout the answer. A few people glance our way, and I’m glad I sounded more like someone who won the lottery than Meg Ryan in her famousWhen Harry Met Sallyscene.
“I know it’s New Year’s, so I wasn’t sure if you’d have plans,” Mason says.
And that’s when I remember the party Sam invited me to. I slap a hand to my forehead. “Gah! Idohave plans. I’m supposed to go to this party.” I wrinkle my noses. “I know you hate parties but—”
Mason interrupts. “I do hate parties, but I'd love to go. That is, if you’ll be my date.”
“I’d love to be your date, Mason.”
And, I hope, his New Year’s kiss.
CHAPTER14
