“Beds are good.”

I rest my chin on my hand. “Aren’t they? God, they’re so good. I’m not restricted to beds though. I can work with anything.”

Mason lifts an eyebrow.

I can go into detail, right now, about how I’d like to explore beds and anything with Mason, but his line of questioning intrigues me. Of course, he looks like Mr. Nature-lover. I’m sure he is very fond of camping. Hiking. Saving the world one rainforest at a time.

“Let me guess. You’re an avid camper.”

He takes another sip of his wine, then nods. “I enjoy it. I haven’t been since I lived out in Texas, but I would love to spend a weekend outdoors with you.”

Well, that’s completely unexpected. And insane.

I throw my head back with a laugh. Tears brim my eyes. “Sorry but . . . yeah, there’s no way I’m sleeping outside. It’s not happening. I don’t do bugs, Mason. I don’t have any desire to sleep on the ground where a snake can work it’s slimy way into my tent and strangle me to death.”

His eyes flash with amusement. “How big is this snake?”

Nice. Perfect set up.

I hesitate responding, tilting my head, watching as he catches up to my filthy mind. His eyes train on my lips, move lower down the line of my neck, then snap back up as if he’s just been awakened from a trance.

I love these moments when I catch him staring at me like this. As if he’s fighting the biggest temptation of his life by not touching me.

Fuck though, touch me! This doesn’t need to be a struggle for you!

He clears his throat. “You’d like it with me,” he states confidently. “I’d protect you from bugs and the snakes you don’t want around. Trust me. You’d have fun, yeah? We’d lay out under the stars. Share a sleeping bag.”

“I’m listening.”

“That interest you?”

“Sharing a sleeping bag? Tightly pressed together? Yes. Do you sleep naked?”

He doesn’t answer that question. Just slowly grins at me. “Do you?”

I match his expression, only, I can’t simply teeter the line of flirtation. I jump right over it.

I lean forward, running my hand down my leg, angling my body down the slightest bit until Mason takes notice of my cleavage. I play with the chain hanging around my neck, which just so happens to tickle between my breasts. He doesn’t remove his gaze, and my nipples quickly harden under his scrutiny. Then I slowly sit back, crossing my one leg over the other, waiting until he looks up at me before I leisurely raise my glass to my lips and taste my wine. His eyes flare with desire as my tongue licks the residue from the corner of my mouth.

The longer we stare at each other, the wetter I become.

I never realized how sexy silence can be. How hot I could get from unspoken words, or the idea of something as personal as someone’s sleeping habits.

Boxers, I decide. He looks like a boxers guy. No shirt. His lean body modestly concealed, stretching against the sheet.

I subtly tug at the bottom of my shirt below the table. My breasts swell. More skin is revealed.

Mason clears his throat.

I have no idea if he is growing hard in his jeans, until he drops a hand to his lap and inhales sharply through his nose.

My smile broadens. His disappears entirely.

But just like that, the aura around him shifts. All signs of a man starving to throw me on top of this table and feast vanishes the second our plates arrive.

I glare at the waiter. Can you let the chef know his promptness is annoying?

He merely smiles at my silent instruction, murmurs something in Italian, and steps away.

I look down at the dish placed in front of me. Seafood pasta, with scallops and shrimp over a bed of linguini. Mason’s plate has a lobster tail, a generous cut of steak, and some greens on the side.

Everything looks incredible. I was set on climaxing before I dined but I suppose it can wait.

I twirl some pasta onto my fork and bring it up to my mouth.

“I always sleep naked, Brooke,” Mason mumbles quietly.

I nearly drop my fork.

Oh, you gorgeous bastard.

He laughs around his bite of steak as our eyes meet. He looks delighted, reveling in my reaction and clearly thinking he’s won this round.

Did I mention how much I love a little friendly competition?

I shoot him my sweetest, most innocent smile as my mind begins calculating my next move.

Silly man. You have no idea who you’re up against.

MASON

Dinner with Brooke is . . . interesting, to say the least.

I’ve never watched a woman so completely focused on my undoing before. So casually sexual with every little movement and shift of her body. Fucking brilliant, on her part. I’m finding it hard to concentrate, which I believe is her every intention. She’s had to repeat a question or two. My voice has grown a bit thick at times, leading me to tug at my already unbuttoned collar. I’ve thought about every way I could possibly get her off at this restaurant, how concealed I would be if I were to crawl under this table and feel her orgasm against my tongue. After thorough investigation of the white cloth stopping well off the floor, my horny arse remains planted in my chair.

What she’s doing, it’s calculated, and fucking torture not to react to. I can hide my erection but I can’t keep that bloody thing under control. Even the placement of her hands while I speak of my classes from earlier today is suggestive.

“I think I’ve established a good client base,” I tell her, tossing my napkin on the table. “I’m seeing some familiar faces come around now and pop in again. That’s encouraging. I was worried about that.”