Price of a Kiss Page 6

  Yeah, yeah, I said that out loud. I’m a dork. Put it on my epitaph already. Though, honestly, I hadn’t meant to say it; it just kind of projectile vomited from my mouth.

  Mason gazed at me with a slight squint. I felt his stare all the way to the tips of my toes. It left my chest tight and my head muzzy. I couldn’t make heads or tails of what he was thinking, but no matter what thoughts flowed through his brain—good or bad—they were definitely intense.

  Finally, he glanced away and licked his lips. “No. I don’t…I don’t hate you.”

  His voice was low and serious, and damn, he might as well have said ‘I love you’ by the way it affected me. I found breathing was suddenly impossible.

  I opened my mouth, but no words came out, which was probably a good thing, because I’m pretty sure anything I would’ve said in that instant would’ve left me eternally mortified.

  He shifted on his feet as if he were going to take off. But his eyebrows wrinkled, harboring conflicted thoughts, before he ran a hand through his hair. Never in my life had I wanted to be a hand as much as I wanted to be his hand right then.

  “So I talked to Sarah this morning.” He rushed out the words and played with the strap of his bag in a nervous manner.

  “Oh, God,” I moaned, squeezing my eyes closed and clutching my head, feeling eternally mortified anyway. “She told you about the makeup, didn’t she? Oh…fudge. Is Dawn pissed? Is she going to fire me? I swear, I removed every inch of it before she went to bed. We even—”

  “No. Yes.” He muttered something under his breath and pressed a fist to his forehead as if he was embarrassed about how my rant flustered him.

  Heat flooded me. I was unreasonably flattered that I’d actually managed to fluster him at all, and that he was embarrassed about being flustered in front of me.

  “Yes,” he finally said, straightening and speaking precisely. “Sarah told me about the makeup. She told me about everything you two did last night. And no, Mom is not going to fire you. She’s probably going to give you a bear hug the next time she sees you. Sarah was absolutely glowing this morning. I’ve…I’ve honestly never seen her so happy. So whatever you think you did to annoy me last night after my shower has been erased tenfold by everything you did for my sister.”

  My jaw dropped as I watched him gaze at me with a sincerity that tore open my chest and made my crush for him expand into a wicked, hot mess.

  After I cleared my throat, I straightened my spine and tried to calm myself. Resist the hunky gigolo, Reese. Resist!

  “And you couldn’t have said anything like this to me earlier this morning because…?” I arched an eyebrow, actually proud of myself for standing firm against his oozing sensuality.

  But that’s when it happened.

  His face lit up and he grinned.

  He grinned.

  It was the first real grin I’d ever seen him give. And it was all for me. It fried a couple of my nerve endings. I definitely felt overheated. Might’ve even smelled smoke.

  With a carefree shrug, he answered, “You were giving me food…and apologizing. If I had said anything then, you might’ve taken that bear claw back.”

  He had a point. I would have. Bear claws were very important to me. Unless he had pulled out that sweet grin this morning. In which case, I probably would’ve sat on his lap and hand fed him the damn doughnut.

  But I snorted and shook my head, because I needed to fight my attraction.

  Fight it!

  “You are such a guy.” I said it as if it was an insult, but he smiled again as if I’d complimented him.

  Seriously, we were going to have to do something about that smile. It was way too powerful.

  I rolled my eyes and let out a big sigh. When I realized he was still just standing there, watching me, I lifted an eyebrow. “So, are you going to sit down or not?”

  His smile fell flat. “You don’t mind?”

  Mind? Sitting beside the most gorgeous guy on the planet? He obviously needed to get to know me better.

  The surprise in his voice made my throat go dry, however. If he could look so stunned by a girl asking him to sit by her, then it must be a rare occurrence. Did his gigolo status really make him that much of an outcast?

  Needing to keep things casual before I turned misty-eyed with sympathy, I lifted my hand to the back of my neck and pretended to knead strained muscles. “I mind this crick in my neck you’re giving me by making me look up at you,” I said, startled when my fingers drifted over my scar.

  Crap, I’d completely forgotten about my scar. I never forgot about my scar. Dropping my hand, I swished my head to make sure my hair fell back over the area, concealing any and all red, puckered flesh. “Sit down already.”

  Scrutinizing my face as if he expected me to retract my invitation, Mason slowly looped the strap of his messenger bag from around his head. Then even more slowly, he lowered himself onto the bench seat beside me, leaving two feet of space between us and keeping his back to the table with his feet braced firmly on the ground—probably for a quick getaway. He set his bag gingerly on the bench between us, using it like some kind of shield. His shoulders looked so stiff I swear he was holding his breath.

  I grinned, feeling the itching need to tease. “Comfy?”

  He shot me a short glance before his shoulders visibly dropped a fraction of an inch as if to appease me.

  Turning my attention back to my lunch, I tried to start a casual conversation. “I feel like your mom totally played me, by the way.”

  Mason cringed. “I know. I’m sorry about that. I told her she needs to tell people about Sarah’s condition whenever she interviews them. But she insists it takes her five times longer to find a willing sitter when she does.”

  Yeah, Dawn really should’ve told me about Sarah in the interview. But then, I guess Dawn had a point too. I bet it did take her significantly longer when she was up front and honest. I’m ashamed to admit it, but if I’d known about the CP thing before I’d gotten the job, I totally would’ve declined it.

  “I don’t see how I’m allowed to watch Sarah at all,” I said. “Not that I’m complaining, because your sister is absolutely the sweetest thing ever, but…doesn’t she need, like, a trained medical professional watching her or something?”

  “No.” He shrugged and made a face as if he’d never considered that scenario before. “I watch her all the time, and I have no medical training. It’s not like you have to give her any of her prescriptions or treatments when you watch her either. That all lands on the day sitter, who, okay, is a retired nurse, but government programs pay her wages, whereas your job is off the records since you only work part time every couple of evenings. Mom and I pay you cash out of pocket.”

  “Oh.” I sat back, my brow wrinkled in thought. When I glanced at Mason, he was staring at me again with that unreadable scrutiny that made me want to fluff my hair and pull up a mirror to check my face. What the hell did he see when he looked at me like that?

  Needing to fill the silence between us, I drew in a quick breath and pushed my hair out of my face. “You know, I kind of freaked out when I saw her picture board. I thought she couldn’t talk at all.”

  I wasn’t going to admit that wasn’t the only thing to freak me out last night, but I felt more honest by confessing one of them.

  Mason barked out an incredulous sound. “The picture board? Mom didn’t really show you that, did she? God, Sarah hasn’t used that stupid thing in over a year, and she only needed it in extreme situations when she was too excited or distressed to talk properly.” He rumbled out a frustrated sound. “I swear, I love my mother to death, but sometimes the woman is way too overprotective. She can treat Sarah as if she’s still two.”

  I grinned, because I’d had the exact same thought last night. “Yeah, I figured the board was unnecessary about one-point-eight seconds after your mom left when I touched a picture of the TV and Sarah rolled her eyes at me.”

  Mason chuckled, and oh, my God, the s
ound was amazing. “That sounds like Sarah.”

  I nodded, waiting a moment to talk so I could catch my breath. “And the whole blended supper thing—”

  “Also unnecessary.” Mason shook his head in disgust.

  I snorted. “Well, I should hope so. When she took a cookie off the table, I almost had a heart attack, trying to remember the steps to CPR in case she choked.” Leaning closer, I confessed, “Actually, after seeing that, I made us some s’mores for our campfire later on.”

  He leaned in close too, pitching his voice low and intimate. “I know. She told me.”

  Right. I’d forgotten he’d already said Sarah had told him everything.

  God, he smelled good.

  Holding my breath so I wouldn’t give in to temptation and lean any further his way to inhale copious gulps of his scent, I straightened and turned to my lunch. “She’s a sweet girl.”

  Sarah. Sarah was our only reason for communication. Don’t forget that, Reese.

  “She is,” Mason agreed affably as he watched me open my ranch dressing packet and liberally smother my salad.

  I sighed. “It’s a shame she wasn’t invited to that slumber party.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to convince me. I know.” Then he threw me for a loop by asking, “Do you always eat rabbit food?”

  “Hmm?” I glanced at my salad, then sent him a strange look. “Uh, you ate what I was going to have for breakfast. What do you think?”

  His eyes gleamed with a victory that confused me until he pointed an accusing finger. “Aha. I knew that was your breakfast you gave me.”

  Crap. Busted. I hated it when I opened my big mouth and ousted myself. “Whatever,” I grumbled moodily. “I bet you didn’t.”

  “Oh, I knew.” He lifted one eyebrow, and oh my gawd, he looked really good doing that. Not fair. “You think a drink bought for a guy would be a white chocolate mocha espresso? Really?”

  I sniffed. “Hey, I thought you said you liked it.”

  “I did. It was way too sweet though. Like girly sweet.” His smile grew seductive as he added, “Must be your lucky day. I just so happen to like it extra sweet.”

  Holy guacamole. Was that a double entendre? I swear that was a double entendre. Someone hold my panties on for me because Mason Lowe was freaking flirting with me, using double entendres.

  Shaking my head, I muttered, “You are so…”

  He grinned. “Charming? Handsome? Intriguing?”

  All three, not that I’d ever admit it to him. He appeared to have a big enough ego as it was. I scowled hard. “I was going to say confusing.”

  “Ahh.” He nodded in an astute manner. “We’ll slot that under intriguing.”

  “Actually, I think it really deserves its own classification.”

  “Fine. Whatever you like.” Shrugging as if it made no difference to him, he sent me a look full of smug, glittering eyes.

  Oh, now he was just being overly placating to make the little woman feel better. Grr. Every breath he took irritated me. Or maybe it was just me that irritated me, because as much as I wanted my emotions to stand firm against him, I was too utterly thrilled to be sitting next to him, talking to him, breathing in his handsome, charming, intriguing essence.

  Man, I was lame. But I didn’t care. I was eating lunch with Mason Lowe. Squee!

  Rolling my eyes to conceal the thrill party going on inside me, I smarted back, “I do like.”

  As I picked my tomatoes off the top of my salad and piled them onto a napkin to the side, Mason’s gaze zoomed in on them like some kind of heat-seeking missile. “Aren’t you going to eat those?” He sounded scandalized that I was setting them aside.

  I wrinkled my nose. “What? My tomatoes? Eww.”

  He shook his head. “How can you not like tomatoes?”

  “I don’t know. It’s nothing personal against them. I’m sure they’re very pleasant in a social setting, and they’re fine in, like, ketchup and spaghetti and stuff. I just don’t want them on my salad.”

  He continued to gaze longingly at them like they were bacon…or chocolate…or bacon-chocolate muffins. Okay, that sounded nasty, but you get where I was going with that, right?

  “Do…you want them?” I offered.

  He had the tomato-laden napkin sliding across the table away from me before I could fully finish the question. After setting his bag on the table, he threw one leg over the bench until he straddled it, facing me.

  “Thanks,” he said, his voice muffled as he popped a tomato chunk into his mouth and spoke while he chewed. “Mmm. These are perfect. Nice and juicy.”

  I guess the boy liked tomatoes. And had he just said juicy? He should always say words like juicy, just to rile a girl’s imagination towards all kinds if naughty thoughts. Not that I should be having naughty thoughts about a gigolo. Certainly not.

  “Do you have any salt?” he asked, breaking into my naughty thoughts as he licked his fingers.

  Salt? How was salt naughty? Though the finger-licking…oh, yeah, that was naughty.

  “Uh…” I glanced around and picked up the condiment package my napkin and plastic fork had come in.

  When I spotted a miniature container of salt and pepper left inside, I brightened. And hey, it suddenly struck me how naughty salt could be if it was sprinkled on his naked chest and then licked off his sculpted pecs, or out of his innie bellybutton, or away from his mysterious tattoo.

  Clearing my throat, I fished the salt package free. “You’re in luck. I do.” I tossed it his way, trying not to mourn the loss of all the things I could do with that salt.

  Hotness totally impressed me when he caught the packet with one hand. “Thanks. Again.”

  I watched him sprinkle the tomatoes.

  “What?” he asked when he caught me staring—and totally not thinking about salt. “Don’t you put salt on your tomatoes?”

  Apparently I wouldn’t be putting salt on anything. “Seeing as I don’t even eat tomatoes, no. I was just…sorry.” I blushed hard, trying to forget what he had looked like in that towel last night. “I seem to have a slight staring problem today.”

  His eyes sparkled as he chewed. “I noticed.” He didn’t seem to mind, though. He looked amused by my staring problem.

  I wrinkled my nose to make a face, my sneaky way of showing him I wasn’t affected by his playful charm.

  But he merely grinned. “Not only do you eat rabbit food, but I swear you must be one.”

  I paused chewing. “Huh?”

  “That’s the second time you’ve wrinkled your nose at me. Total bunny move.”

  Oh, crap. He’d noticed my one bad habit. Yes, I just have one. Hush.

  Wait! He’d noticed my nose-wrinkling habit and was counting how many times I did it? That was…whoa. That was the sign of an interested male right there.

  But no way could Mason Lowe be interested in me. He was a freaking gigolo. Gigolos didn’t bother themselves with insignificant, nose-wrinkling, lame college girls.

  Did they?

  Feeling as if I was being sucked into something bigger than I could control, I glanced away from Mason, reminding myself there was still life around us. We were not the only two people left on the planet, sitting at that table, discussing nose-wrinkling habits. Away from this moment, he did things I could never condone. I needed to distance myself from any guy who lived such an intolerable lifestyle.

  Jeremy had taught me that lesson, and I would never forget it.

  When I looked away, I caught sight of one of my professors strolling by, carrying her briefcase as if she was on her way to teach a class. Needing a diversion away from the captivating guy eating with me, I lifted my hand and waved.

  Big mistake.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Hey, Dr. Janison,” I called as I flagged her down with my hand. “Good morning. Those are some kick-ass shoes.”

  Dr. Janison was my favorite professor at Waterford, and not just because she knew a damn fine Jimmy Choo when she saw one. I loved her
teaching style too. She knew how to make Early British Literature interesting when I was not a fan of that particular period in the least.

  She gave me a vague nod. “Good morning,” she said in that polite, distant way that told me she didn’t know I was one of her students. Then she glanced at her pumps. “And thank you.”

  I was opening my mouth to explain which class of hers I attended when she glanced toward Mason and instantly paled.

  Face blanched of all color, she skipped a step back as if she was about to take flight in her four-inch Jimmys. “Mr. Lowe,” she nearly whispered, sounding terrified as she gaped at him with wide eyes.

  He didn’t make eye contact, merely mumbled, “Dr. Janison.”

  Realizing the professor had probably heard rumor of his reputation—and didn’t approve—I felt suddenly protective.

  Gah, just because he was a gigolo didn’t mean he had the plague.

  I set my hand on the arm he had resting on the tabletop. I only wanted to banish some of her worries, assure her he wasn’t diseased. But when Dr. Janison’s gaze darted to where my fingers sizzled against his skin, she didn’t appear reassured. She looked even more disturbed as she glanced between us.

  Not sure how to kill all the awkward floating around us, I forced a bigger smile. “I found a pair of knock-off Jimmy Choos similar to that style online one time, in a silver pump, and I wanted them so bad. But even the replicas were more than I could afford.”

  If the pair she was wearing was original, then the woman was easily standing on eight hundred dollars.

  But instead of revealing the secret to me about whether they were knock-offs or not, she sent me a knowing kind of smile. “I do have expensive taste.”

  When her gaze flittered back to Mason, all the muscles in his arm under my hand tensed.

  “Is our meeting to discuss your class schedule still on for this Thursday, Mr. Lowe?” She looked pointedly at me as if she expected any negative answer from him would be my fault.

  Understanding, I suddenly forgot how to breathe. Oh, my God. Dr. Janison? And Mason? No way.