Turn Over(96)

“This is what I know.” I tipped her chin toward my gaze. “I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight if all I can do is think about these lips.”

“Sorry to hear that. I’m not doing this again.” She untangled herself from my arms.

“Look. I didn’t know how unattached your attitude was about sleepovers. I think we might be on the same page.” I had gotten her back in my hands; I couldn’t stop a second time.

“Sleepovers?” she laughed. “That’s what you call it?”

My hand ran along her thigh, shoving her skirt up. “What do you want to call it?”

“I want to call this an interview.” She tugged on the hem, moving my hand back to my side of the couch. “I shouldn’t have let things get out of control on the balcony either. I’m sorry too.”

I could see it in her eyes. She was where I was. Her breath was heavy, her eyes were gleaming with desire. Only she was tapped into her rational side.

“Prove it,” I challenged.

“Prove what?”

“That you can sleep with me and walk out the door in the morning completely unattached.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

“You said that was all you wanted. Prove it.” I crushed my lips against hers, not giving her a chance to protest. I heard her purr under my tongue as she moved her mouth kissing me harder than before. It was an angry kiss. Defiant even, but it felt fucking incredible.

Her hands snaked around my neck and I moved to pick her up and carry her to my bed. “You better not stop this time,” she groaned as I laid her across the sheets.

“I swear I won’t stop until you beg me to.” I descended on her, pinning her arms over her head. She looked like a goddess, sprawled across my bed. I realized then that I might be the one who wouldn’t walk out of here unattached.





8





Sydney





We had fallen asleep sometime around three. I woke up at five, Mason’s room was still dark. His arm draped across my chest. I looked at his clock. Shit!

“Mason.” I shoved against his arm.

“What?” he answered sleepily.

“I have to write my story.” I slid out from under him, my feet landing on the cool tile next to his bed.

He lunged toward me, his arm scooping me back toward his chest. “It’s early.”

I wrestled out from his strong hold. “I know, but my editor is in the office at eight. I only have three hours.”

I walked through the condo to grab my bag and returned to the bed with my tablet. I clicked the flat keyboard under the screen. It wasn’t my laptop, but it would work in a pinch.

Mason rubbed his eyes and propped himself on his elbow, the sheet fell off his hip. Focus, Sydney. Sex later.

“We’re really doing this now?” he asked.

“I’m going to get fired. I have to file a story about you before eight. An exclusive, one-of-a-kind story. I promised my editor I had something like that.”

“All right. What do you need to know?” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands.

I pulled open a blank page. If I typed in quotes as he talked I could easily copy and paste them into the story. It would save time.

“Where did we leave off last night?” I scrolled through my notes.

“Oh, you want to ask me about last night?” he teased.

“No, the questions. The questions.” I had to ignore the surges pulsing through my veins. Waking up with him, all I wanted to do was pull him back under the covers.

“I think you were commenting on how I was taking over the Texas development market.”

“Oh, right.” I chewed on my bottom lip and typed in what I had recorded last night. There wasn’t much. “Ok, you were getting ready to explain to me why you chose this as your career.”

“Why did you want to be a journalist?” His fingertips skipped over my thigh.

I swatted at him. “This isn’t my interview. Tell me.”

He rolled back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t talk about this stuff. I don’t see how it’s important.”

“Because I need a feature piece on you. Feature means personal details.”

“When I was in college I took a business course, and it piqued my interest. I interned my junior year at a company that specialized in acquisitions. One thing led to another.”

My head whipped to the side. “That is a canned answer if I ever heard one.”

“Are you supposed to comment on my answers? I thought it was the press’s job to present unbiased information.”

I huffed, turning back to the keyboard. I thought of a new approach. “What is your favorite thing to do in your free time?”