Price of a Kiss (Forbidden Men, #1)(19)

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.”