Page 10 of Hidden Resolution
She launched into additional stories about her friend, animated, funny, and utterly unaware that Mason couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her husky laugh and the way she lit up with each tale were magnetic.
The plates were eventually cleared, and yet they lingered, trading stories and laughter like old friends. It struck him how much he enjoyed her lively state. She was luminescent, and her sparkling wit enhanced her beauty.
And that was the problem. It wasn’t just attraction anymore.
Shonda wasn’t acknowledging any of his flirtation cues, and it was pretty damn clear she wasn’t a casual-fling kind of woman. Which meant if he wanted to protect both of them from complications, he needed to pull back. Fast.
Damn it.
It was too bad, really. Tonight was the most fun he’d had in years. But it was the dangerous kind, hinting at his deep-down loneliness, tempting him with the possibility of true companionship, and reminding him he was sick to death of meaningless hookups and one-note conversations.
Perilous thinking for a man who intended to avoid forever.
Sure, he’d hoped for a few nights of mutual pleasure, but the truth was spelled out in neon. He needed to distance himself, no matter how much his dry spell protested. Emotional entanglements were too difficult.
Abruptly, he stood, startling a wide-eyed gasp from Shonda.
“Time to call it a night. It’s been a long day.”
“Oh. Yes. Sure,” she replied, a bit off-balance.
By the time they reached her room, he almost caved and asked if she was up for a walk on the beach. The expectation on her face suggested she was hopeful, but he merely kissed her cheek, promising to check in the next day so they could coordinate their schedules.
Then he walked away before he changed his mind and did something truly stupid.
Shonda stood frozen in her suite, replaying the night and wondering what went wrong. She wasn’t crazy. Their chemistry had been off the charts. And his pre-dinner kiss wasn’t at all polite. Nope, it was pure, bone-melting fire. So what the hell happened?
Maybe in dragging Mason into her hare-brained fake-boyfriend scheme, she’d killed the mood. The chaste kiss to her cheek and polite, “I’ll check in tomorrow so we can sync schedules,”wasn’t exactly the behavior of a man dying to get her into bed. Clearly, he wasn’t interested in more, and there was little point in forcing things. After all, there were plenty of solo travelers at dinner. Surely she could survive a week on her own without inventing a relationship?
With a sigh, she changed into shorts and a tank, then wandered out to the balcony. The ocean breeze whispered sweet nothings, brushing across her skin and tempting her to dip her toes in the gently lapping waves.
And there he was.
Mason.
Backlit, he stood at the railing of his balcony, drink in hand, and stared out at the sea as if it held all the answers. His silhouette was carved from moonlight and shadow. Broad shoulders. Bare arms. He didn’t fidget; he simply leaned there, stoic, remote, and devastating.
Her lungs tightened.
His presence was electrifying in ways she could never describe. God help her fanciful imagination, but he belonged to the night. If vampires existed, he’d be the one to have women lining up and volunteering to be bitten.
Mason had presence. Gravity.
She couldn’t figure out why he, of all people, had her tangled up in knots. Plenty of men were more handsome than Mason Arrogance-is-my-middle-name Sharp. She’d dated the polished, pretty, and charming. None of them had ever left her weak-kneed or lit her up like he did with a single look. The memory of his kiss made her cheeks burn, and the evening breeze did nothing to cool the heat simmering beneath her skin or the hum in her blood.
Right as she shifted away, she caught it. A flicker of stark loneliness on his face. But it was gone in a flash, masked by a sip of his drink.
Her pulse sped up as her mind was inundated with questions. The primary one: Why would someone so charismatic choose solitude?
Shonda ran through everything she'd heard about the Sharp family. Aside from their father leaving when the boys wereyoung, there hadn’t been any whispered tragedies. At least none she could recall.
Mason straightened, raised his glass in a silent salute to the stars, and turned.
“Good night, Shonda,” he said, his voice low and clear across the courtyard.
She wasn’t surprised he’d known she was watching the whole time. Hell, she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t.
“Good night, Mason,” she replied, but he was already gone.
