“Thank you,” I manage to stammer. “You look dashing, too, but then that’s nothing new.”
He waves a hand and, a moment later, a small mechanical device starts humming toward us. It’s about four feet tall with what looks like a tablet on top. It wheels right to the table and then stops, seeming to watch us even if it doesn’t have eyes.
“Sir, madam,” it says in perfect English, its accent a soothing Mid-West tenor. “I hope you’re having a lovely evening. May I start you off with some drinks?”
“What the heck?” I giggle.
Mason’s eyes light up, clearly happy with my response.
“Rudimentary robotics and artificial intelligence,” he says. “Not for public viewing, but there’s nothing wrong with a little test run.”
“What do I do?” I ask.
“You can simply tell me your order, madam,” the robot says, swiveling slightly as it ‘speaks’, as though imitating the movement of a person. “Or, if you prefer, you can select from the above menu.”
The tablet blinks and comes to life, revealing a dropdown restaurant menu.
I laugh, almost clapping my hands together, the technology is so novel and interesting.
“Wow, Mason, this is great,” I say.
“My board wants me to roll them out ASAP,” Mason says. “But the idea of potentially putting thousands of waiters and waitresses out of business, well, it doesn’t exactly appeal to me. But for us, it’s perfect. I don’t want to share you with anybody else, Melody.”
Warmth surges through me, my panties getting more cloistered, steamier, my nipples rubbing against my bra, as though my womb is screaming at every part of me to reach across the table and grab onto any rock hard part of Mason I can grasp.
“So what, I can just order anything?” I ask.
“You can have anything you want,” he says, with a weight to his voice that makes me think he’s talking about more than food.
“And then a horde of robot manservants will presumably make it for me?” I laugh, feeling myself getting whisked up in the majesty of this all even if I know how dangerous it is.
He’s out there, always. Searching. He’ll never stop searching.
“No, the Michelin Star chefs will handle that,” he smirks.
“You know, Mason, I really want to tell you I’m not impressed. I’m a down-to-earth girl and none of this stuff means a freaking thing to me. But that’d be a lie. Because this is really awesome.”
His lips twitch and his eyes glint, and when we meet eyes I feel my resolve shattering inside of me.
“This is beautiful,” I whisper, looking out over the city as the sun finishes its final descent, the gorgeous reds replaced with just as startling yellows.
“Not as beautiful as you,” he whispers, so close, at my side now, his breath painting my cheek with a heat that is both intoxicating and confusing.
I just can’t believe he’d really be interested in me, not like that, not somebody as rich, and powerful, and handsome, and muscular, and downright hot as him.
“Ha ha,” I murmur sarcastically. “I guess next you’ll tell me you’ve figured out how to make pigs fly. Or, I know, you’ve discovered the formula that’s going to cause hell to freeze over—”
I gasp as he grabs my shoulders and spins me toward him, his grip tight and yet oh-so-welcome, sending shivers down my arms all the way to my fingertips.
I can’t help but bite my lip as I stare at him, his eyes blazing blue flames melting any self-control I mistakenly thought I was holding onto.
“Melody,” he growls. “I don’t know what moron told you that you weren’t absolutely fucking gorgeous, but they’re wrong, dead wrong. You’re the most beautiful … fuck it, words don’t do you justice, and there’s no point even trying.”
A whimper escapes me as he leans forward and presses his lips against mine.
I feel myself tensing up, feeling the roughness of his lips, and then something smooths through me and I collapse against him with a moan.
I’m braced by his stony body. I can feel his manhood against my belly, a massive solid sword, and he makes carnal growling sounds through the wetness of our kiss.
My body screams at me to go with the flow, to finish this gorgeous night off with the union of our bodies.
The dinner was incredible, the conversation flowed easily even if it was mostly bantering surface-level stuff, and now this – giving myself to this man – surely it would be the tingly cherry on the quivering cake.
But a thought stabs into my mind.
Nasty.
Unwelcome.
You are not good enough.
I break off the kiss and stumble backward, anxiety hammering a morbid tune directly to my soul.
“Melody?”
“I have to go,” I say, a manic quality to my voice. “Please, don’t follow me. Tonight was great. Really. But I have to … Bye. Thank you. Bye.”
I duck my head and flee the balcony, rushing across the cave-like ballroom and directly to the elevator.
I hammer the button and then interlace my fingers, my palms sweaty, terrified that any moment my meal is going to surge up my throat and paint the sleek metal doors.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mason
I stand behind my desk, my hands behind my back, trying my best to focus on this moment and not let my mind stray to Melody and last night. The only thing that stopped me charging after her was the desperation in her voice when she asked me not to, and even if she’s mine and always will be mine, that doesn’t mean I don’t respect her.
I force professionalism to exude from my pores, but my body is weary with sleeplessness and my mind is a prisoner to Melody.
I don’t know why she ran. I don’t know if it was something I did or something unrelated or something, something. I don’t fucking know. And not knowing is like taking a knuckle-duster straight to the teeth.
And now, on top of this, Mathewson has just told me that it was one of our employees who hacked the phone. Apparently, they were threatened and blackmailed, but it
