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Passenger princess. I’m Mason’s passenger princess tonight.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!

Suddenly an idea hits me. Like a bolt of lightning, but without an electrical current that could kill me. I decide I’m going to soak up this entire experience tonight—kind of like Cinderella. I’ll enjoy it, knowing I’ll go right back to being the same old Catherine after he drops me off.

But for one evening, I’m going to live the fantasy. I’ll have dinner with Mason in an impossibly chic restaurant, wearing an outfit I’ve never worn for anyone else. I’m going to enjoy our conversation and meal, and then he’ll take me home and poof! It will all be over, never to happen again.

I text him back, telling him I’ll notify security to let him in. I call the front desk and grab my bag, trying to ignore the nervous, excited feeling swirling in the pit of my stomach. It will take him a few minutes to get up here, as my family has the penthouse in this high-rise building. I anxiously pace across the marble floor, hearing nothing but my heels and the beating of my own heart.

The doorbell rings. I freeze.

It’s time for me to stamp my passport for one trip to Delulu Land.

I make my way towards the door, then I unlock it and pull it open.

Mason is standing before me in a black long-sleeved polo-style cashmere jumper, the sleeves pushed up to reveal a stack of bracelets on his right wrist and a massive watch on the left. He’s paired the jumper with grey trousers and designer black trainers. A black corded necklace is around his strong, powerful neck. Thicker facial scruff is shading his jawline, and his hair is unruly and tousled tonight. The scent of his cologne is stronger now, freshly applied, and all I can dream about is what it would be like to bury my face in his neck and drink it in.

My gaze meets his. I become aware of how he’s looking at me. Mason’s eyes flick over me, skimming from my face all the way down my body, and back up to my eyes. He doesn’t blink. Not once. I see something kindling in them, but I don’t know how to label it.

Then it hits me. Of course, he’s not blinking. He’s an F1 driver, he’s trained to go long periods of time without blinking. They can all do it.

“You win!” I blurt out.

A crease forms in his brow. “Not the usual greeting I was expecting, but what did I win?”

I burst out laughing. “I feel like we’re having a staring contest. Did you ever do that when you were a kid? Stare at each other to see who blinks first?”

The right side of his mouth quirks upwards in amusement. “Are you suggesting I was staring at you?”

My heart leaps. “Were you?” I challenge, a sudden case of bravado sweeping over me.

“Yeah. I was.”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I think I might have heart palpitations.

“I’ll tell you why if you let me in,” he says, his voice low.

Oh! Right! He’s still in the doorway. I quickly let him in, and Mason steps past me, the delicious scent of him brushing into my personal space. If I could grab a scent and hang on to it, I’d do it. Because he smells sensual and mysterious and I can’t get enough of it.

I shut the door and turn around to find Mason watching me, still unblinking.

“I like the outfit,” he says slowly, his voice a rumble from his chest. “You look beautiful.”

Beautiful. Mason called me beautiful. I know it doesn’t truly mean anything, but since I’m starring in my own production of Cinderella, I’m going to enjoy it.

“Thank you,” I say, my face growing warm with pleasure.

He looks around the living room, then takes a few steps across the marble floor to the large windows that provide a view of the sea. The late summer sun is starting to set now, casting a golden glow over the turquoise water.

Whilst he’s admiring the sea, I admire the sleek, athletic build of his body from behind. The way the polo jumper fits his lean upper body to perfection, and the trousers perfectly hug his sculpted hips and arse.

Mason turns around. “I thought you’d have staff answering the door.”

I shake my head. “No, only if Mum and Dad are in residence. When it’s just me, I’m on my own, except for a housekeeper who pops in twice a week.”

He looks surprised by this. “Really?”

I smile. “I’m capable of doing laundry, taking things to the dry cleaner, and cooking meals. I like looking after myself, to be honest.”