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Chapter Eight
Fiona
Masebuysitallfor me, including a necklace of tiny seed pearls mixed with blue stones, and a pair of earrings because “it’s the colour of your eyes.”
I don’t know how to stop him.
I have a horrible suspicion the sapphires are real.
I’ll return everything in the morning, I decide, looking away as he swipes his card. But in the meantime, I can’t help but feel like Pretty Woman, one of my all-time favourite movies. The whole night is turning into some unreal fantasy. Mase has been by my sideall night—courteous, considerate, and just plain cute.
“My turn,” I tell him as we leave the shop, but Mase shakes his head.
“Nope. I can only shop for so long. You can do something else for me.”
His voice is full of innuendo and I roll my eyes. “I’m taking everything back if that’s how you’re going to play.”
He laughs, the throaty chuckle that makes me feel like I’ve drunk a mug full of my favourite tea. He leads me to the stairs that head back up to the street, the warm air and streams of people passing by hitting me like a wall.
This is truly the city that never sleeps. The bright lights make it seem like daylight, but my body screams a protest, that no, it’s very late. Very early. I’ve been awake for almost twenty-four hours. Longer if I count the time difference.
But I still don’t want this night to end.
“Tell me about your dad,” Mase suggests as I fall in beside him and we start walking.
“Why do you want to know about him?” Both of his hands are holding bags and I miss him holding mine.
“I want to find out more about you. You’re this mysterious creature—” I cut him off by laughing. “No! Seriously. You come across as sweet and shy and—”
“Submissive?” I suggest with an arched eyebrow. “Sad?” It’s not the first time that’s been assumed. And it’s not just other people—I spend so much time with papers and files, being careful and meticulous and following instructions that it’s how I see myself too.
And Bexley must think that as well if she told Mase to stay away. I know she meant well, but I don’t like her making decisions for me.
“I was going to say gentle, but that works too,” Mase continues. “But getting to know you, you’re a right bad-ass. Brilliant and fun, and kind of wild.”
“No one has ever called me wild,” I say with a heavy dose of disbelief.
“Maybe you’ve never been yourself with them.”
It’s not exactly true. I know Bexley and Boen—and even David—so well that there’s no question of me not being myself around them. I’m the person who convinced Bexley to audition for The Suitor after all and only a strong, convincing person could do that because Bexley is kind of set in her ways. But as for being a bad ass—“You really think that?”
He checks his Apple watch. “It’s almost six a.m. and we’re shopping. You’ve gone along with everything I came up with tonight. If I suggested stripping down to your skivvies and running down the street, you’d be up for it, wouldn’t you?”
“How do you know I’m wearing skivvies?”
Mase’s mouth falls open, his eyes wide and… hopeful? “Really?” His voice chokes.
“No, not really. But I am wearing my favourite blue pair with the matching bra.”
He closes his eyes. “That’s mean.”
“You’d rather not know what colour my underwear is?”
Thisis not me. This is suggestive and flirtatious and I always end off feeling stupid when I try to flirt but I don’t with Mase and—
“Oh, I very much would like to know everything about what you’re wearing under that dress,” he says slowly, his voice deepening. “What it looks like…what it feels like…”
My lungs actually empty of air. And the look on his face does…things…to me. “I might like that too,” I whisper.
