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Mase returns, holding two drinks aloft just as Dark Eyes has maneuvred behind me with a firm hand on my hip. There are a few gasps of recognition as the group notices Mase. His name is called and his easy grin spreads through the group.
“Thanks for looking after my girl,” he calls, handing me a cup so he can sling an arm around my shoulders and tuck me close.
“Miss me?” he asks. There’s no possessive gleam in his gaze, no irritated twist to his mouth to find me dancing with another man. There’s only happiness to see me.
I nod and we resume dancing.
Mase
Foronce,IwishI didn’t have the Stirling last name, or a career that shoved me into the public eye.
I can’t blame the baseball because most players keep a much lower profile than I do.
But for once, I wish I was a nobody so I could dance with Fiona without the stares. Because the more I watch how she moves, the more people notice and the more they talk.
And the more I drink in an attempt to ignore them.
The next time I head to the bar for a refill, Fiona comes with me and stands very close as she instructs the head bartender on the perfect way to make an Alabama Slammer. When we head back to the dance floor, I grab a bottle of champagne because cocktails don’t last long.
And then we dance. For a long time. Fiona’s a good dancer, I’m a good dancer. But instead of making space to show off, I hide her in the corner of the floor with an easy exit route in case she needs to make a run for it.
“You good?” I keep asking.
“I’m great,” she responds with a happy smile.
She is stunning when she smiles like that.
Fiona’s so pretty with apple cheeks and big eyes that crinkle when she grins, and a sweet mouth that I like to imagine her kissing me with.
It’s easy to imagine me kissing her, especially the way she looks up at me. I stop myself a couple times, mainly because if that happens, it’ll be splashed across social media along with a pic of Emelia’s sad face.
I wish I’d never met Emelia.
I push any thoughts about her out of my head. Her friends are here tonight, but she isn’t. I like to think she’s home taking care of her baby, but I doubt it. She’s probably out prowling for another guy to corral into bankrolling her like she wanted from me.
Over Fiona’s head, I see Arabella, halfway across the dance floor, watching me with a coy smile.
I drain my cup and pull Fiona closer. As soon as I lay a hand on her, I forget Arabella and Emelia and every other woman in the place.
As soon as I lay a hand on her, I need to use two, and I rest them lightly on her hips.
She sways towards me. Her body was made to sway.
Fiona’s dress, while a pretty colour and looking good on her, isn’t a style I’m used to. I notice tight and revealing clothing that shows off a body.
I’m a guy. Sue me.
Fiona’s dress is fitted along the top and her bottom, but not an attempt to be sexy. It just is sexy.
And underneath, there’s a body because I can feel her curves, plus I have twenty-twenty vision, so I can see it. And looking at Fiona, I’m not sure how I ever found the waifish model types attractive.
I think she’s about to ruin me for skinny girls. If she hasn’t yet, she will—as soon as I get a look at her out of that dress. Right now, I’m full of interest and admiration and…
Want.
Fiona is an amazing woman. I’d be a fool not to want her. And no one calls Mase Stirling a fool.
I run my hand down her hip a few inches and she responds with a hand to my chest. Not to push away, or even as an appraising stroke, but almost like a pet.
