Page 75 of Pucking Billionaire

“Now your shoulders.” Her voice is oddly sensual, probably due to my libido-driven hallucinations. “Sit.”

I plant my ass on a nearby log, where she joins me and helps me undo the rest of the gear. She takes off my helmet last, and her face ends up a breath away from mine, her lips mere inches away.

Plump lips.

Juicy, temping lips that?—

Suddenly, the lips I’ve been admiring so much lock with mine.

Fuck me. I have no idea if I initiated this, or she did. All I know is that it’s the best kiss of my life—and most importantly, instead of pushing me away, she enthusiastically participates in the kiss.

“Just get a room.” Trent glowers from somewhere nearby.

I suppress the urge to beat the old man into a bloody pulp. He’s actually got a point.

Sophia and I in a room together is the best idea I’ve ever heard.

Chapter 26

Sophia

When I drag myself away from Mason, I see that everyone who was with us on the zipline—from too-young-to-see-this Levi to the maybe-grandfather—is staring at the two of us like we’re masturbating chimps at the zoo.

I leap to my feet. “Let’s go.” If I’m lucky, I’ll never see any of these people again.

Nodding, Mason stands up and leads me to our ride, his gait a little strange.

On the ride back and during dinner, we pretend that the scorching kiss didn’t happen, which is good, because it probably shouldn’t have happened, no matter how good it felt at the time. Instead, the conversation continues in the get-to-know-each-other vein, and I can’t help but be greedy for every morsel of information he imparts, like the fact that he was recruited into hockey at the ripe old age of five. Nor can I resist it when he passionately talks about Planet Earth, his favorite nature documentary.

“I have a confession to make,” he says when dessert is sadly over. “I arranged for a surprise for you tonight, but if you don’t?—”

“I want.” Was that too forward?

“Good,” he says. “What’s your shoe size?”

I blink at him. I thought he was talking about Uber wrapped in a bow, but what would that have to do with my shoe size? Unless… does Mason have a foot fetish? He didn’t seem to on F-Day, but that doesn’t mean anything.

“Size eight.” I hope that’s small (or large?) enough to get him in the right mood.

“Thanks.” He texts someone one digit, and I can only assume it’s the number eight.

Okay. There’s every possibility that the surprise isn’t happening in Mason’s bedroom.

My overzealous curiosity engaged, I follow him through the ship and into the elevator, which takes us to deck three.

Hmm. I vaguely recall a mention of some cool attraction on this deck. But I can’t?—

A cool breeze and a sign reading “Ice Rink” clue me in just as my memory was about to.

“We’re going ice skating?” I say, not bothering to hide the excitement in my voice.

“I should’ve blindfolded you,” Mason says grumpily.

Yes. That would have been pretty hot.

He opens the large doors in front of us, exposing a giant room covered in ice. “As you have guessed, the surprise is that we’re going skating.”

I drag my mind out of the gutter. “I don’t know how to skate.” Is that why my heart is hammering so wildly?

---