Page 89 of Pucking Billionaire

Yeah. Maybe if he calls me after that and still wants to see me?—

No, I need to stop thinking in that direction. That way lies hope, and hope leads to heartbreak, as I’ve learned one too many times.

Still, a part of me wants to at least take a cab to the airport together. Or have breakfast. Or a goodbye fuck. But no. If we take that cab together, we’ll be on land together, and he’ll probably give me a dozen orgasms right there in front of the driver—and that’ll be it. What happened on the cruise will have happened outside of the cruise… and I don’t think I could bear it.

Not if it’s meant to end, which, of course, it is.

Yet, even after the decision is made, I can’t sleep a wink, not even when he rolls back and gathers me against him, teddy-bear style.

Especially not then.

After what feels like a week, the dawn finally arrives.

I carefully extricate myself from Mason’s embrace. As I do so, the first rays of the rising sun illuminate Mason’s chiseled features, making something in my chest flutter like the wings of a huge loveliness of ladybugs.

Am I making a mistake? What if he does want me for me? Or will, once he gets the team?

No. That’s just hormones talking. The more important question is: what if he doesn’t?

I’m too scared to find out.

Moving like a ninja, I sneak out of Mason’s suite and into my own to get my stuff before sprinting for the VIP elevator.

The whole way down, a weak part of me hopes that Mason has woken up and decided to intercept me… but that’s not the case.

I’m the first person to get in line for the exit, though a crowd piles up behind me pretty quickly.

Mason isn’t among them.

When we dock, I escape from the ship and push my way through the people waiting to depart in the terminal. Among them are a bunch of huge dudes who must be the Florida Bears hockey team the captain mentioned the other day. How else to explain the broken noses and fierce expressions?

It's not like Vikings exist today.

As I wade through all that testosterone, I make the mistake of wondering which of these mounds of muscles is Michael Medvedev. Of course, as soon as I think of Mason’s nemesis, I think of the man himself and nearly turn around. But I don’t. I keep walking and hop into the nearest cab.

“Where to?” the cabbie asks.

I futilely scan the crowds for any hint of Mason. “Orlando airport.”

The cabbie starts the car. “Sounds good.”

As the car’s engine comes to life, I’m almost sure that Mason will suddenly appear and force me to stay… but that’s just wishful thinking.

No romantic deus ex machina for me.

There never is.

I cry all the way to New York.

Chapter 31

Mason

Iwake up with an uneasy feeling, and I don’t know why.

Well, I kind of do. We’ll arrive at the port any moment now, and Sophia and I still haven’t discussed our feelings—assuming she has any for me.

Fuck. My strategy to wait until she acknowledges my declaration of love is officially a loser.

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