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for his tortured soul. And the press of his fingers about had rockets blasting off behind my eyes. I was
so freaking close.
Then he let out a pent-up breath.
I respect you, he grated out the words. I admire, and adore, and respect you, Reese Randall. I
will not do this.
And just like that, his body went lax and his hand eased from the waistband of my shorts.
I held my breath as his nose burrowed through my hair before his lips found my scar. He kissed it
gently. Good night, friend, he whispered before he turned away with his back abutted to mine.
Wrung out from how taut he d wound my hormones, I let out a hard pant.
Fudge.
Mason Lowe might be a pure gentleman when it came to not taking advantage when there was
alcohol involved, but he was also a damned dirty tease. I throbbed, physically throbbed for release.
He breathed deeply behind me, telling me he d passed out. I was tempted to elbow him in the
spine and wake his drunk butt up, demand some kind of compensation for the torture he d just put me
through.
But I admired, adored, and respected him too. And I totally dug that he felt the same. Besides, I
would ve regretted it in the morning because, come on, he d almost gotten caught by a husband
tonight. He was not the kind of guy a girl could start anything with.
Eyes watering with confusion, regret, depression, and a whole lot of sexual frustration, I buried
my damp cheek into my pillow and cursed when my nose ring caught on the cloth. Clamping my thighs
together to ease some of the ache between my legs, I waited for the morning to come. I didn t try to
climb over him again to escape, because sadly, despite all the heartache he was putting me through,
there was nowhere else I wanted to be but with him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I woke the next morning, wrapped in a snuggly human ball of warmth and not much else. Since it
had become a habit to make sure my nose ring hadn t come loose overnight, I patted my nostril to find
everything in order and then let my hand settle on Mason s forearm resting on my hip. His skin felt so
nice I gave a little sigh of delight, trailing my fingers up and down his arm. Then I opened my eyes
and blinked at the wall only about two inches away from my face.
Snuggly Mr. Lowe had hogged so much of the bed he had me nearly pinned against the sheetrock,
and all the blankets were wrapped around him. I probably would ve been cold if it wasn t for the fact
he was providing himself as my personal blanket. A toasty warm personal blanket.
Soaking in the experience of waking up in bed with him, I lay there for longer than I should have.
Despite everything, lying tangled up with him felt amazing. I could have stayed right where I was
all day, but my bladder wasn t so impressed by his cuddly warmth or drugging smell. The selfish
thing demanded attention. Pronto. Whimpering as I unwound his arm from around my waist, I crawled
over my blanket-wrapped bed partner and scampered for the bathroom.
Since I was already there, I went ahead and took a shower, then realized too late I d forgotten to
bring fresh clothes in with me to change into. When I snuck the door open, I expected him to be up and
alert. But he was still dead to the world and mummified in my sheets. I skipped across the floor to my
closet and picked out an outfit in hyper speed.
Mason hadn t so much as stirred.
When a naughty touch of inspiration hit me, I couldn t stop myself. I watched the prone lump on
the bed, the back of his head turned my way, as I dropped my towel to the floor. And the bastard still
had no clue what kind of show I was putting on for him.
Oh, well. It was probably for the best he didn t wake up and oopsie catch me changing. We
were just friends.
He looked as if he might snooze for another millennium or so, so I jotted a quick note in case
something shocking happened and he actually opened his eyes while I was gone and told him I was
going out to get some breakfast.
When I returned, his Jeep still sat in the drive but my apartment was quiet. I crept to my room,
almost worried he d risen and left anyway. The day had brightened considerably, and the sun had
snuck in through the closed blinds to spray down on my bed, spotlighting a masterpiece.
Mason had rolled onto his back in my absence. The sheets had shifted down to the bottom of his
ribcage. And holy cappuccino and white chocolate mocha espresso, he was shirtless!
Yeah, he d been shirtless all night long while I d been lying next to him& and I d had no clue.
Wow.
Just& wow.
I gazed at him in all his shirtless glory on my bed, squee! and was beyond tempted to pull out
my cell phone to snap off a few (dozen) pictures to keep forever and ever.
But& he might not appreciate that.
Damn, sometimes being friends with a total hottie could suck. You couldn t take nearly naked
pictures of them while they were passed out on your bed against their permission without getting a
serious case of the guilties.
It didn t keep me from looking though. So, I looked and looked.
And looked.
Then, like a Harry Potter lightning bolt, an idea struck me. What if he wasn t just shirtless under
that sheet? What if he was completely naked?
Oh, this I had to know.
Since he was dead to the world and seemed like a really deep sleeper, I went on a fact-gathering
mission. Purely academic curiosity, of course.
After setting the two lattes I was holding on my dresser, I grasped the edge of the sheets covering
him and inched them very, very slowly down his sleek, tapered and tanned torso. My attention darted
between his face and his chest, taking in every inch of the sexy, sculpted pecs I exposed.
When I came to the beginnings of his tattoo, I brightened, forgetting about the pants mystery for a
second.
Maybe I could read what it said today. I tugged a little more insistently on the sheet and
discovered at the same moment that he was still wearing his underwear but no pants and his tattoo
said Make Me.
I gasped.
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