I imagined what it would feel like to have those pectorals pressed right up against me, solid and rock hard, pushing into me firmly, irrepressibly.
I actually felt his rough lips all over my body, phantom sensations that caused extremely real tingles to dance over my skin.
But he looked almost angry, his jaws tight, his eyes hard.
Even as we bantered – it depends what you’re saying yes to – I sensed that I’d done something wrong.
Somehow.
Even if we’ve never met until now.
“I never had children,” Gertrude says, pulling up a spare chair and sitting down next to me. “All these years spent planning weddings, and my dear Markus was taken from me before we got the chance to plan ours. And yes, maybe I’m just a silly old romantic for never moving on. But with you, Melody, working with you these past six months … it’s like finding the daughter I never had.”
Tears prick my eyes as guilt swirls nastily through me.
If she knew the truth, all of it, would she feel this way?
Would she be able to say these loving, touching words?
If she knew the danger I was putting her in just by being here, she might throw me to the curb and spit in my face.
“I love you, Melody,” she whispers. “And any man would be lucky to have you.”
“I love you, too,” I sob. “Thank you so much for everything.”
She smiles and reaches across, smoothing my tears away with her thumb.
A few days later, I’m riding the silent glass elevator up to the Spark offices again. Lately, Gertrude has been sending me to more and more client meetings alone, entrusting me with a responsibility that makes me feel intimidated, but also invigorated.
I’ve never had time to even think about my passion in life, but the more I work with Gertrude, the more I think wedding planning might be it.
I love the sense of reward I feel when I get to see a bride and groom happily married, confetti flying through the air and their smiles wide and beaming.
I love the frantic pace of it, always keeping me on my toes as another bridezilla changes her entire plan at the last minute.
I love having a purpose beyond simply surviving, and I love being there for Gertrude and making her proud.
The Spark offices are extremely modern, with an open-plan design and so many windows it feels like we’re floating in the sky. I pass a beanbag area, a games room, a theater, and even a bowling alley as I try to remember my way to Natalie’s offices.
I’m normally good with directions, but something about the run-in with Mason has thrown off my compass, and somehow I end up near the gym again.
I check my phone, thankful that I gave myself an extra forty-five minutes.
When I look up, I see a giant swaggering across the gym, his tight-fitted t-shirt soaked in sweat. The muscles in his back are rippling and as Mason leans down to pick up another weight disc, his shirt lifts up to reveal a slice of marble carved muscle.
Everything about him is hard and unyielding, and I can’t help but stare like the biggest Peeping Tom in the world. My heart hammers in the back of my throat and my mouth goes dry as I watch him lie down on the bench and lift a ridiculous amount of weights from the brackets.
Everybody talks about how Mason Mackendale doesn’t fit the usual mold of a so-called tech geek. He’s devastatingly handsome with his steel hair and his easy smirk. He’s as smart or smarter than every single one of his competitors, but with the aura of a hunting jaguar and the eyes of a man who’d break your heart.
How many women does he have per month?
The thought stabs unfairly into my mind.
Women must throw themselves at his feet like sacrificial lambs, ready to do anything he commands them to, and it’s just self-torture for me to even indulge any silly thoughts.
And yet as he grunts and grits his teeth, his shirt riding up higher to show an enticing slab of hard-packed belly muscle, my whole body tingles, and I wonder what it’d be like to stride in there and sit on his lap.
Just sit on it like a confident woman, not like the shy girl circumstances have so often warped me into.
Sit on him and drag my fingernails down his sweaty chest, grinding against him, make him moan and growl like he is now, but deeper, in pleasure this time.
Mason finishes his set and then sits up, looking straight at me.
I flinch and almost leap out of the way to hide.
But it’s too late. I stare back at him and wonder if I should mouth the word sorry, but then that would be admitting that I was basically just ogling him.
He smirks at me, his glistening blue eyes unreadable, and then swaggers over to the door and opens it.
I turn to him, my nose filling with his sweaty, somehow alluring scent.
It’s crazy, it makes no sense. But I feel something deep inside of me thrumming and screaming at the sight of him, as though my womb is begging me to somehow get this man into bed, to drink in every drop of his seed he’s willing to give me.
It’s a deep, primal urge.
It’s the sort of urge women must’ve had tens of thousands of years ago when they saw the alpha of the tribe, their body’s telling them, Him, now, get him, hold onto him, he’ll protect you from the wolves and the dark and the cold and the hunger.
“Are you lost, Melody?” he asks, still smirking, looking so handsome and cocky I want to slap and kiss him at the same time.
“No,” I lie, hoping I imagine the quiver in my voice. “I was actually thinking of getting in a quick workout before I met with Natalie.”
“Really? Because the only thing it looked like you were working out was your eyes.”
“Yeah, keep dreaming,” I sass,
