Freefall (The Indigo Lounge Series, #5)

by Zara Cox

  “So, your first name is Benedict?”

  His gaze slides to mine, but again he doesn’t respond, only tilts his glass to his lips and takes a long swallow.

  “Do you prefer Ben, Ned or just Dick?” I ask, my tongue firmly in my cheek.

  His jaw flexes. “I told you what I preferred two weeks ago. For an intelligent woman, your continued need to aggravate strikes me as quite reckless. Or perhaps it’s something else entirely?” he speculates, his voice a low, rough rumble that reminds me of all the time I’ve wasted trying to forget that voice, that face.

  “What, it’s suddenly reckless to make conversation?”

  “You’re not making conversation. You’re goading. The question is why. Are you hoping I’ll punish you again like I did out in Montauk, Keely?”

  Suddenly, I’m hot. My breath strangles somewhere in my lumbar region and I can’t quite meet his gaze. If what he did to me on the hood of that car was punishment, then I shudder to think what his brand of pleasure would feel like.

  “Get over yourself, my buttons aren’t that easy to push,” I lie.

  “Really?” He turns toward me and cocks his hip against the railing. That stance should make him seem relaxed, cordial. It should make me relax, but it does the opposite and brings to mind an image of a cobra drawing back before it strikes, sinking its deadly venom into unsuspecting prey. “So far the evidence points to the contrary,” he says, his eyes staying on mine with a ferocious intensity that makes me aware of every single vulnerable pore in my body.

  I can’t seem to move, or respond. He conducts another survey down my body, this time deliberately lingering on the pulse hammering at my throat and the shadowed area between my then dropping to my hips and legs, before climbing back up again.

  Every inch of me tingles. I want to shut off the sensations this man seems to pull so effortlessly from me, but I can’t. My usual ability to flirt and discard at will has deserted me, and all I can do is watch him watch me.

  “Perhaps we should explore that,” he invites with a dark undertone.

  I desperately pull myself together. “Or perhaps we should get back on point and you should give me a tour of the boat, seeing as that was the purpose of this meeting?”

  He blinks disgustingly long lashes and frustration hums from his body. I recall his condemnation of basic social graces in his kitchen two weeks ago and I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing in this place if mingling with society is so abhorrent to him.

  Of all the places on earth, Monte Carlo is the very fleshpot of decadence and flashy luxury, a place where people specifically come to see and be seen. So far Mason Sinclair has struck me as the very antithesis of that lifestyle.

  He remains silent for the time he takes to finish his drink, and I realize another thing about him. He’s not a man who feels inclined to fill silences with conversation.

  Whereas I’m the opposite. Silences terrify me. I can’t help but wonder what another person sees and thinks of me when they’re not talking to me.

  The moment he sets his glass down, I turn away from the breathtaking view. “Shall we?”

  “In good time.” He folds muscle-roped arms across his broad chest and my attention is reluctantly drawn to his shoulders. “You want to tell me something about yourself?” he asks lazily.

  I bristle at his indifferent tone. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Since you’ve gone to some effort to find out about me, I thought I’d make an effort to extend the courtesy.”

  The implication that he’d rather not be asking makes my teeth grind. “I know how basic etiquette bores you. You needn’t feign interest on my behalf.”

  “My interest in you isn’t feigned. I think I made that clear on our first meeting.”

  “And I think we also drew a firm line under our meeting that night?”

  His head cocks to one side. “Did we? That’s funny. I remember walking away feeling distinctly...unresolved.”

  I shake my head, exasperation seeping through my tight hold on composure. “Heads up, I’m going to use a dirty word in a minute, so you might want to hang on to your fluffy cravat. Your blue balls are your problem. I have no interest in fucking you. Before I fuck someone I have to like them. And I don’t like you, Mason Sinclair.”

  He studies me for almost a minute before a blinding smile spreads over his face. The transformation in his features makes me eternally grateful to be holding onto the rail when I feel the power of that smile move through me like a potent burst of electricity.

  I remain in place as he drops his arms and closes the distance between us. “Why don’t you like me?” he asks. The smile is gone, but his voice remains darkly amused.

  “Do I have to have a reason?” I ask, denying myself the urge to breathe deeply and take in more of that earthy scent pulsing off his body. I want to bury my nose in that scent. Roll around in it like a goddamn bitch in heat.

  He reaches up and toys with a strand of my hair, moving it through his fingers like it’s his divine right. Like I’m his possession.

  “No, you don’t. Same way I don’t have to have a reason for the need to strip you of every stitch of clothing you’re wearing—bar those fuck me boots—bend you over this rail right now and ram my cock so far up inside you, you’ll taste me in your mouth for years. I just do. And unlike you, I don’t intend to fight it.”

  I stare at him, feeling hot. And dirty. And more turned on than I’ve been in my entire life.

  I also feel afraid. Because that look is back, lurking in his eyes. The one that says he’s riding an edge that could take a wrong turn at any moment. Like a tornado you think you’re safe from, only to watch it twist your way and annihilate you in the blink of an eye.

  He continues to caress my hair, the back of his fingers faintly grazing my cheek. Then he steps closer and brings his mouth to my ear. “I know how tight your abstinence has made you. Or it could be you’re that naturally tight.” His chest rises and falls and he seems to be lost in his own head. “No matter. Either way, the first time will be fast and a little rough. I haven’t fucked anyone in a very long time. But after that, I’ll take my time...make you ready to accommodate me. But not too much time. I want to stretch you, make you feel every inch of me. To do that, I’ll have to get a little rough. But you can take it, my little nerd girl. Can’t you?” he breathes in my ear.

  A full body shiver engulfs me. I turn my head slightly so my mouth is close to his ear. I wait a beat, make sure I have his full attention. “Maybe I can. Maybe I can’t. You will never find out,” I say.

  I step back and summon a smile I’m far from feeling.

  His eyes gleam with a simmering fire before his features smoothen into a blank canvas I find impossible to read. “You’re fucking someone else?” he bites out in a low but ferocious tone.

  I laugh at the sheer audacity of him. “You think the only reason I refuse you is because I have someone else in my bed? It can’t be that I don’t want you?”

  “Are you denying that you do? Or are you denying that you’re involved with someone else?” he challenges, his eyes narrowing.

  “What does it matter which one it is?”

  He grabs my upper arms in a tight hold, and his nostrils flare in such animalistic exhibition of rage that I swallow. “I’ve never quite mastered the art of sharing my things, so yes, it matters which one of those two things you mean.”

  I fight the heat dragging through my pelvis with everything I’ve got. Through the material of my sweater I feel the naked stamp of his touch on my skin. “There’s this wonderful little thing called free will that lets me say yes or no to whatever and whomever I want.”

  “Answer the question, Keely. Are you fucking someone else?”

  I wish with all my heart I can answer in the affirmative. But even the mind your fucking business that rises to my lips dies a quivering death when confronted with the dangerous vibes spiking from him.

  I open my mouth to answer when a throat clears
behind us. “Excuse me, sir—”

  “Leave!” Mason snarls, his gaze not once moving from my face.

  I gasp at the depth of his rudeness, and my head swivels to see the crew member hightailing it down the stairs. “You can’t speak to the staff like that!”

  He catches my chin in his hand and forces my gaze to his. “Keely,” he breaths my name with a rumble that shoots straight to my belly.

  “Jesus! No, I’m not screwing anyone right this minute. But I can’t promise that won’t change anytime soon.” I pull myself forcefully from his arms, and he lets me go.

  “Do you have anyone specific in mind?” he enquires silkily.

  “Why?” I toss back, bewildered at the path of this conversation.

  “So I can ensure they meet an unfortunate end before they get anywhere near you.”

  Normally, a statement like that would be uttered with a smile or joviality intended to take the threat and bite out of it. Mason Sinclair says the words with a lethal bluntness that makes my eyes widen. “Did you crawl out from under some rock recently?”

  “Yes,” he answers, again with that deadpan look. “I’ve spent most of the last four years in the Amazon with a tribe cut off from the rest of civilization.”

  My mouth drops open. “You...are you serious?”

  His lashes sweep down in a slow blink. “Why would I lie about something like that?”

  I shake my head to clear the conflicting messages bombarding me. “Regardless of that, there’s no excuse for your rudeness considering who you are.” His eyebrow starts to spike, and I purse my lips. “Yes, I know exactly who you are. I googled you. People do that nowadays. In fact, it’s considered an insult not to google a person you meet at the first opportunity.”

  His mouth twitches. “Duly noted. But the facts that interest me about you won’t be online. Unless you’ve been a very naughty girl,” he drawls.

  God. I can’t make up my mind where my exasperation ends and my excitement begins with this man. All I know is I need to get away from him. Now. Before I lose my mind. Or throw myself at this hard wall of a body.

  I drag my gaze from said body and look around to see that while we’ve been engaged on what can only politely be labeled verbal intercourse, the sun has set and lights have come on aboard the other boats and along the marina.

  “I’m going to find the captain of this yacht. I’m sure he’ll give me a tour since you don’t seem inclined to.”

  I hurry to the sofa where I dropped my clutch and head for the stairs, which lead god knows where. As I near the stairs, I hear him behind me.

  “I’ll give you your tour. But bear in mind that each hour you force me into this useless dance with you is another hour I clock up on your punishment board.”

  I hide a shiver of excitement and thread a bored tone through my voice as my feet click on the solid wooden floors down a wide hallway. “Give it up, Mason. Not every woman you meet is destined to fall at your feet in abject worship.”

  I come to a halt when the hallway forks into four crossroads. With all that’s happened so far, I feel like this is some sort of ominous sign.

  Mason stops behind me. His breath brushes the top of my head as the heat from his body engulfs me. Every single cell in my body stands to attention at the ominous feeling that washes over me, as if the moment is an important one that I can never retrace my steps from.

  I feel his touch a second before his fingers trail down my arms, eliciting a deep shudder he can’t miss. “No. But you are. You’re destined to fall at my feet and stay there. Not because I want you to, but because you’ll like it. And because you won’t want to be anywhere else. I promise you that, Keely.”

  Chapter 8

  mason

  My fingers trail over the delicate skin of her inner wrists, and I can feel her stiffening herself against another shudder. I want to tell her not to bother. I already know her body’s reaction far better than she thinks I do. But I hesitate.

  I’m not even sure who I’m hesitating for. Her, for the skittishness she’s desperately trying to hide. Or me, for the line I know I shouldn’t cross but can’t help caressing and toying with. Everything she’d said on the deck was right. Well...almost everything. I have no intention of taking her fast. I already did that on top of the car in Montauk. And as much as the need pounding through me demands a fast, bough-breaking release, it won’t be that way.

  Not with her.

  If I end up taking her.

  I told her when we first met that I won’t play any games with her. And I still won’t.

  But the fact of the matter is that I still haven’t picked up the phone to Hani; haven’t done anything to alleviate the diabolic edge riding me. I’m playing a dangerous game of chicken with myself that could explode into a steaming shit storm if I’m not careful. I know this. And yet, I’d let Zach talk me into this project, knowing very well it will keep me here in an environment I detest. With people I despise even more.

  But not this woman in front of me.

  I don’t despise her. I’m compelled by her. My intense fascination is enough to make me want to do things to her that would probably be against any law in any land.

  “Are you going to respond to what I said?” I ask, noting her tripping pulse with dark satisfaction.

  “No. I’ve decided to let you exist in your deluded little bubble.”

  I almost smile at her tart tone. She’s contrary in a way that mesmerizes me. In another time, I’d have loved to break her down, piece by piece, and build her up again just the way I wanted her. To do that with her now would need time, patience. Neither of those commodities is available to me right now. The strain I’m under is too much to even think about adding to it.

  “Okay, princess. I’ll let you keep pretending everything we’re both feeling right there, right now is all in my head. Which way do you want to go?” I ask, reluctantly lifting my fingers from her skin.

  “I came to see the whole yacht, so it doesn’t matter which way we start, does it? And please don’t call me princess.”

  I step up next to her, and she has to tilt her head up to look me in the face. My gaze trails over her vulnerable neck and the pulse beating at her throat, and admit I like the sight of it a little bit more than is healthy. “Why not?”

  Her beautiful green eyes shadow before her eyelashes sweep down, hiding her expression from me. “Because I’m about as far from a princess as you can get.”

  From any other person, I’d have believed that statement was a coy attempt to gain my interest. From her, I believe she really means it. Just as I believe it stems from whatever pushed her into throwing herself in an icy sea two weeks ago.

  I shrug internally. I’ve never been the sort of guy who doles out pet names. Although, if I allow myself to think about it, she reminds me of an alley cat—all claws, sharp teeth and vulnerable underbelly just itching to be stroked.

  It’s that vulnerability I want nothing to do with. I don’t want to know her weaknesses. The temptation to exploit them will be too great. My subtle, insidious ability to twist weaknesses to my advantage was the reason my mother called me a monster when I was eleven.

  It was the reason my father handed me keys to his kingdom on my eighteenth birthday, slapped me on the back and toasted to my genius when I quadrupled the family fortune by the time I was twenty-five.

  It was the reason Cassie was a sitting duck the moment she entered my orbit. She never really stood a chance.

  Thoughts of Cassie bring the clarity of mind I need. “Point taken,” I say to Keely.

  Her eyelids start to lift, and I turn away, knowing the tiniest hint of interest would tip me in the wrong direction. I head down the first port hallway, away from the entertainment lounges.

  I enter the first room and let her wander in. As she passes me, I smell her perfume and stem the need to breathe her in like a greedy, sick fool, regardless of the fact that it’s exactly what I am.

  Enough is never enough for you, is it? Yo
u have to take and take and keep taking until there’s nothing left! You know what you are? You’re fucking EVIL!!

  I block out Cassie’s voice and keep my eye on Keely.

  She walks down the arena-like cinema, taking in each detail of the seats and the adult accessories attached to the plush upholstery. She picks up a remote and examines the buttons before she looks at me.

  “Are there no privacy settings on the seating areas?” she asks.

  “What’s the point? Isn’t part of the thrill of being in this room the exhibitionism?”

  The room is too dark and she’s too far away for me to see if my response makes her color rise, but I see her shrug. “I’ve seen a few of the Indigo jet blueprints. I just thought clients here would be given the same options.”

  “Zach didn’t design this boat. I did.”

  Her head jerks up. “You? I thought you were just refitting the adult entertainment areas? From what I recall of the initial design, this cinema was already here.”

  I fold my arms. “It was, from when I owned this boat.”

  Her mouth drops open in that adorable way that makes me have to lock my knees to keep from moving in her direction, and reacquainting myself with those lush lips. “You owned this boat?”

  I don’t respond. She knows who I am. Or at least she thinks she knows enough about me. What she doesn’t know is that I’ve ruthlessly erased about eighty percent of my past from every known, and most unknown, databases. Everything she’s been exposed to so far has just been online fluff pieces gossip whores find salacious.

  I hide a grim smile.

  If they knew the truth...if she knew the truth, she wouldn’t be standing here, running her hands over the velvet cushion like she wants to fuck it.

  “Are we done here?” I ask tersely. Watching her hands move like that over the seat is making me a little nuts. And in my world, a little nuts isn’t the same as most people measured it to be.

  She glances at me for a second, and I know something in my voice has thrown her. She debates whether to heed that inkling of danger, then pulls out a mini-tablet to make a few notes. “I’m done here.” She throws the words out in that sexy, snappy way that makes my cock jerk to full attention again.