Page 2 of Meet Mason, the Billionaire

The sounds of the party grew louder, which meant someone was about to join me on the terrace. I heard a pair of men’s dress shoes clack across the scored concrete tiles.

He joined me at the rail, a respectful distance away. At first I feared it was the creep coming back to harass me, but then I got a better look at him.

Tall, broad-shouldered. A tapered waist and long, lean, limbs. Even under his three-piece suit, I could tell he was an athlete. His eyes flashed my way as he withdrew a silver cigar case from his coat pocket.

“Good evening,” he said with a gentle smile. When he smiled, he became even more gorgeous.

I wasn’t the type of girl to just swoon over a good-looking man, but this particular man proved to be the exception. I tried to play it casual, but I was interested. Very interested.

“Good evening,” I replied. I tilted my head toward the party. “Enjoying the exhibits?”

“Not really. I like art, but this stuff seems…” he grasped at the air with his empty hand as if trying to clutch at the right words.

“Uninspired?”

“Yes,” he said, his smile widening. “Exactly. Uninspired.”

His smile faded a bit.

“So what’s a gorgeous lady like you doing out here all by her lonesome?”

My heart skipped a beat when he called me gorgeous, but I tried to keep it off my face.

“Honestly, I needed a break. There’s so much fakery that goes on at events like this. Most of the people in there are just looking to compare clothing.”

He laughed easily, a merry sound. I got the feeling he laughed often. The vibe he put out felt peaceful. Nice. Here was a guy who could have been a pro football player, or a male model, or both, and he carried himself like a chill, normal guy.

Judging from the suit he wore, he was probably loaded too. Gold cufflinks. Platinum tie clip. I surreptitiously checked for a ring on his finger and couldn’t help but be pleased that there wasn’t one there.

“You’re an interesting woman, if I may be so bold.” He turned toward me, tucking his cigar-case back in his pocket. I guessed he decided not to smoke, maybe for my benefit. I didn’t mind cigars, actually. They reminded me of my grandfather. He thrust his hand out toward me. “Mason Wilder.”

“Megan Scott,” I replied, clasping his hand. It was huge, enveloping my own easily. I could feel the power in those hands. His eyes ran up and down my body with subtle interest. “It’s nice to meet you, Mason.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” His blonde brows arched in query. “So, can I buy you a drink, Megan?”

“It’s an open bar.”

“I didn’t necessarily mean here.”

The invitation in his tone was obvious. I smiled and shook my head.

“Due to circumstances beyond my control, I can’t leave the party just yet.”

“That’s a shame. I have an important meeting in a couple of hours. I suppose we’ll just have to make the most of the time that we have.”

“Yes.” He was standing a little closer. I could smell his cologne. “That sounds like a good idea.”

We chatted a bit, about nothing and everything. Pure small talk. Neither of us wanted it to get heavy. I knew, unequivocally, that we’d both decided to bang right there at the party. Normally that would have freaked me out, but a strange sense of calm had fallen over me. I still felt all the tingling butterflies of anticipation, but at the same time, I wasn’t in a hurry.

He touched my bare arm, his fingers stroking along my skin. I felt a shiver run down my spine, goose pimples rising on my flesh. Mason moved in a bit closer, until our bodies were touching.

“You’re one of a kind, Megan,” he breathed.

Then his lips were on mine, and his kiss tasted as sweet as he looked. Big, powerful arms embraced me, pulling me into his warmth.

He kissed me harder, deeper, and my pulse quickened. Suddenly I broke away from him, staring up at Mason as my chest heaved with heavy pants.

I could have left, right then. I could have given him my number. Instead, I took his hand and led him back into the Galleria.

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