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My smile is shaky. I’m going to have to be careful with this one.
Mase
“Sowhat’syourstory?”I ask again. This is not easy chitchat or a way to get Fiona to come back to my hotel room—I’m genuinely interested in finding out what makes her tick.
It’s a strange sensation.
I’m used to women falling over me to get my attention. The fact Fiona hasn’t done that, and refuses to even try, makes her different from other women, but there’s more. There’s something about her that interests me, and it’s more than physical.
The physical is there too. The way she wears that dress, all soft curves, and sweet edges. The mouth with the red lips purses when she’s waiting for me to answer. I stare as the tip of her tongue swipes across her bottom lip.
Fiona’s shoulders lift and fall in an attempt to lie. “Nothing, really. Fiona Alice Stark. Parents deceased. One brother who recently moved to Ottawa.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your parents.”
“It was a long time ago,” she says, obviously the standard reply.
“But I bet it still stings.”
She considers that, lips pursed. “Not as bad anymore,” she decides. “But, yes. It stung. Stings.”
“What’s the story about significant others?” I try to sound casual and fail miserably. “Married? Divorced? Looking to create a reverse harem in the near future?”
“What?” She laughs and the sound brings a smile to my face.
“My little sister reads all these steamy books, the kind with the bare-chested men on the cover—”
“My favourite kind,” she interrupts, cheeks flushed at the confession.
“Ah, good to know. You know what I’m talking about.”
“Well, yes, butwhywould you be asking such a thing?”
I shrug, smiling so my dimple is right there. “Seems like a thing to ask.”
Fiona rolls her eyes. “No. I’m not interested in a harem lifestyle, reverse or otherwise. But if you were to tell me you’re a wolf shapeshifter with only hours to go before the full moon, I might be so inclined.”
I burst out laughing. “Good to know. Good to know.” She grins, looking all too pleased with herself. Fiona Alice Stark is not what I expected, and that is my favourite type of woman. The quiet type with a spicy side that only comes out when the shoes are off. The blonde bombshell with the brain under the hair.
I like the funny ones. The ones that hold their own when faced with the Mase Stirling charm. And the fact she’s a bombshell doesn’t hurt.
I’d be lying if I didn’t want to get my hands on her curves and real woman measurements, because after the models I’m used to with their diet soda water and kale salads, it would be a very nice change. So is the long wavy reddish blonde hair rather than the latest pixie mullet cut.
Fiona herself is a very nice change. The mix of intelligence and curiosity in her gaze instead of the deviousness of looking for an angle crossed with boredom of the fast life is as addicting as a drug. Which is why I’m content right here beside her rather than down below, fighting them off.
At least that’s what I think Fiona is like. I could be wrong. It has happened before, many times.
I’m willing to take that chance.
I finish the vodka and pour myself another shot. The more I sit with her, the more I feel the freedom to drink. Maybe it’s a need for Dutch courage in the face of this different kind of woman, because I don’t remember the last time I drank enough to relax about the Stirling name.
“Be in control at all times,” Grandfather always counseled. “Be aware of your surroundings and be mindful people are always watching. You are a Stirling and need to be impressive at all times.”
Right now, I don’t really care about being Mase Stirling. Or Mase Ace, the unfortunate nickname I got in the minors after an incident with a group of eager ball bunnies.
Right now, I’m Mase, and she’s Fiona, and I like talking to her.
Also, the way she leans on the table frames her chest in a very appealing way. I keep my eyes away from the view with difficulty.
