Page 115 of PR Stunt

His lips curve, but he obeys, letting his eyes fall shut. I carefully peel open the pink mask, smoothing it onto his face and adjusting it to fit. I bite my lip, holding back a laugh as I press the mask into place.

He shifts slightly. “You’re taking this very seriously.”

I huff, smoothing down the edges. “Skincare is serious business. We’re probably dehydrated.”

His hands squeeze my thighs. “I’d argue you’re pretty wet.”

I freeze for half a second before I smack his shoulder, laughing. “Really?”

His grin is damn right proud.

I shake my head, finishing up. “Okay, you’re done.”

He finally opens his eyes, blinking up at me, and I burst out laughing at the sight of him because the pink mask looks absolutely ridiculous on his face.

He snags the blue mask from my lap, tearing it open.

“My turn, Miss Grace.”

My toes curl at the nickname. The one that used to piss me off. Now it singsongs right to my core. He peels the mask apart and smooths it onto my face. His touch is surprisingly careful, his fingers pressing along the edges, adjusting it.

Except… “I can’t see,” I mumble, blinking, but my left eye is completely covered.

He pauses, glancing up at me, and then grins. “Arrrgh,” he growls like a pirate.

“Shut up and fix it.”

He laughs and then gently peels the mask back and realigns it. “There.”

I blink a few times, testing it. “How do I look?”

His hands settle back on my thighs, his thumbs brushing over my skin. “Sexy.”

For a moment, we just sit there, the warmth between us sinking deeper, into something playful, something…softer.

“See? Isn’t this nice? I don’t doubt you have a skincare routine, Mr. Poreless,” I tease.

He brings his fingertips to the mask, adjusting it slightly. “Actually, I just use a bar of soap. But yeah, this is pretty nice.” He laughs.

“Classic. Why is it that every guy just uses a damn bar of soap and has perfect skin?”

He slides his hands back onto my thighs. “Ah, so you think I’m perfect?”

I roll my eyes. “Your skin is. You know, I don’t think we’ve gone longer than five minutes without you being a pain in my ass.”

A sharp knock at the door breaks the moment. “Room service,” a muffled voice calls.

His voice dips into a ridiculous accent. “Your food is here, madam.”

I snort, sinking back against the pillows.

Grayson rolls out of bed, stretching briefly before heading for the door that leads into the living room. I stay reclined against the pillows, watching him go and enjoying the view. The faint scratch marks on his back are mine, and the sight sends a slow, satisfied heat through me. A knock sounds again. Grayson reaches the door and swings it open.

“Hi, I have your…”

The hotel staff member cuts himself off abruptly.

There’s a beat. A full, awkward pause.