And nearly swallowed her tongue.
Holy mother of hotness.
Mason Swift was delicious wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He was devastating in a tuxedo. But he was intoxicating curling barbells in a room full of mirrors while wearing nothing but a pair of black shorts. His jaw flexed with each curl. A sheen of sweat glistened off his tanned, sculpted muscles. She’d never seen a man whose body looked like a work of art.
Mason was that man.
Her mouth went dry as her eyes trailed over his sculpted pecs. The word Goodbye was tattooed over his heart. She wondered about that, but she couldn’t hold on to the thought as her eyes drifted down to his abs. Forget bouncing quarters off them. She wanted to lick them. And his thighs? Thick didn’t begin to describe the power straining against those shorts.
“Never seen a guy work out before?” he asked with a smirk, snapping her from her Mason-induced trance.
She tore her gaze away. “I just didn’t expect to see you in here.”
He didn’t look like he believed her, but whatever. She had bigger things to deal with. Like figuring out how to make her heart stop racing. She stretched her arms over her head, then out to the sides, trying to distract herself from her tingling nerves and the lust pooling inside her. God, she was a terrible person. He had a girlfriend and she was still getting turned on by him.
“Did you sleep okay?” he asked.
Back to business as usual.
Okay, she’d take it.
“Yes. Sorry I got a little tipsy last night. I’m a lightweight. I almost never drink. I shouldn’t have asked you to dance.”
“No sweat, Princess. I know you couldn’t help yourself.” He grinned and pumped out a few more curls. When he set the weights on the rack, he said, “Seriously, though, I hope you had a good time with your friends.”
“I did. Thank you for getting me out of there before there was a scene. Pictures of me at a club like Decadence would definitely make for some ugly headlines.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” As he loaded weights on the bench-press bar, he said, “There is something else we need to talk about.”
She began stretching her legs, praying he wasn’t going to bring up the way she’d practically thrown herself at him.
“Food,” he said flatly.
Oh thank God!
She stepped onto the treadmill and increased the speed to a fast walk to warm up.
“I’m not going to harass you about what you’re eating, or rather, what you’re not eating. But you’ve got no eggs, milk, bread, or meat. I’m a big guy. I need to eat, and you said you’re having your girlfriends over for a party tomorrow night. What are you going to feed them?”
“You can have my boxed meals today and we can order you meals from the service from now on. I’ll just order something in tomorrow.”
“I prefer to cook my own meals.” He finished loading up the bar and lay on the weight bench. His shorts pulled tight across his groin.
Everywhere she looked she saw that bulge reflected in the mirrors, making it impossible not to think about it. It was like the universe was paying her back for trying to sneak out on him. Geez!
He lifted the bar from the rack, his muscles straining as he said, “I thought you told Aiden you wanted to be like a regular person.”
“Jesus, do you remember every word I ever said?” She told herself to calm down. At least he wasn’t embarrassing her about last night. But really, gym shorts should be banned for that man.
“Usually.” He gritted his teeth through several more reps.
Remi increased her speed to a run, trying to distract herself from all the hotness wafting off him as he stood and stretched. But when he guzzled water from a bottle, she caught sight of his Adam’s apple sliding up the center of his neck, and for some reason it made him even sexier.
He’s taken.
Taken, taken, taken!
“You know, most normal people cook for their friends,” he said as he lowered himself onto the bench again. He gritted and flexed, his arms shaking as he pushed out a few more reps—the last one with the sexiest groan she’d ever heard.
She amped up her speed to a sprint, trying not to think about how that groan would sound in her dark bedroom as he lay naked on top of her, his muscular thighs pressing down on hers.
Mason pushed to his feet and sauntered over to the treadmill. She swallowed hard, sure he could sense her desire like he sensed everything else about her.
He eyed the digital display. “Nice pace. So, was that all just talk about wanting to be treated like a regular person?”
“No.” She scrambled through her memory bank, trying to remember what they were talking about. Food. Tomorrow night. Got it. “I never learned how to cook.”
“Slow down to a walk,” he said. “If you do interval sprints, you’ll get more out of your workout. Do you usually work out with weights, too?”
She turned down the speed, and he reached over, reducing the speed even more.
“I don’t do much with weights.” She panted, trying to catch her breath. “I think it’s more feminine for women to be toned but soft.”
A wicked smile curved his lips. “I couldn’t agree more.”
He needed to stop looking at her like that, and she needed to stop noticing.
After another minute he said, “Kick it back up to a run. How long do you usually do aerobics?”
She quickened her pace. “An hour.” He looked concerned, and she wondered if he expected her to say two.
“Don’t you have a personal trainer?”
“I did, but it seemed silly to pay someone to watch me work out. Why?”
“Because an hour on the treadmill for someone your size, who eats like a bird, is ridiculous. You really do need me, Princess. I can help you tune up your workout so you aren’t wasting your time. A few weights, the right aerobics, and you’ll feel better and have more energy. You need resistance training as you get older anyway, for bone health. It’s easier to get into the habit at twenty-five than it is at forty.”
After three minutes, he motioned for her to turn down her speed again, which she did. She completed two more intervals of running and walking, already more winded than if she had been running the whole time. She was also less stressed about last night. He obviously wasn’t going to bring it up, and for that she was beyond thankful.
“I have a few years before I hit forty,” she panted out. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-four. Why do you get meals brought in if you don’t eat them?”
“Aiden feels better knowing I’ve got three square meals at my disposal, but it’s too much food, and I don’t always feel like eating what they send.”
“I’m glad to hear he’s thinking about your nutrition, but it’s no good if you aren’t eating. What do you say we hit the grocery store, stock up on fresh food? I’ll show you how to cook for your friends and how to make a few things that won’t add to your waistline but that you might actually eat.”
“It’s such a pain going to the grocery store.”
“Regular people grocery shop.”
“I don’t mean because it’s an errand. Regular people don’t have fans taking pictures of their cart and then selling them to rag magazines so they can print headlines about how they only eat carrots or they must be bingeing and purging. Normal people don’t get stopped every ten minutes for their autograph. I love my fans, I really do, but sometimes it’s just easier to order in.”
He motioned for her to increase her speed again. “Last run. You don’t like living in a glass house, and I get that. But you can’t go through life pleasing everyone else and making yourself miserable.”
“I’m not miserable.”
“I didn’t mean it literally. I mean, you have to be able to live your life, not avoid it. Eating premade meals from boxes isn’t living your life. But I’ve got an idea. You have access to great makeup artists. They’re on set today, even though you’re not filming. Let’s head over an
d get you a disguise that’s better than a baseball cap. We’ll hit the grocery store, and then I’ll show you how to cook a few things. See how you like the life of a regular person. If you like it, great, then we’ll start working on boundaries next.”
“Next? So you think I need to be fixed?”
“No, Princess. I think you want to live your life, but you’ve created a life that makes that difficult. People approach you so often because you make yourself approachable.”
“It’s called catering to fans. And please don’t think I’m not grateful for my position, because I am.”
“I realize that. But did you see Raz or the other actors signing autographs between every scene? Once a day is great, admirable even. It gives your fans something to look forward to, and it gives you a chance to breathe between doing other activities that require your focus and energy. But you signed autographs four or five times nearly every day this week. I think it’s fantastic that you want to be available to your fans, but not at the risk of losing yourself. If you can’t even go to the grocery store without being mobbed, then you’re on the fast track to becoming a hermit.”
He paused, as if he were letting the words sink in. They did more than that. The truth in them rocked her a little off-kilter.
“You’re always going to be Remi Divine. Maybe it’s time to take control of what being Remi Divine means for the rest of the world.” He motioned for her to decrease her speed.
Mason seemed intent on protecting more than just her physical being, and even though he was taken, she couldn’t stop her budding emotions from blooming. She slowed to a walk, wondering if she could keep her emotions in check enough to remain in the friend zone without getting hurt. She gripped the side rails, trying to halt the discomfort of that thought, when for the first time in her life she wanted so much more.
He covered her hand with his and said, “What do you say, Princess? Grocery store, cooking, and maybe work on some of those fan-related boundaries?”
She tried to ignore the way his caring made her insides warm. “Even if I wanted to, I don’t know how to start creating those types of boundaries without looking like a bitch.”
“That’s where I come in.” There was that grin again, the one that said he was a man who knew exactly what he was doing. “Trust me?”
He had no idea how loaded that question was.
Later that morning, Mason paced outside the makeup trailer, waiting for Remi. He’d touched base with Aiden last night and checked in with his contacts to ensure there was no funny business going on at Remi’s LA residence. He had two of his top men monitoring her other residences—a cottage on Cape Cod and a rural cabin about an hour from Harmony Pointe. There had been no movement at any of them, but while that should give him some peace of mind, he knew better and kept his guard firmly in place.
The trailer doors opened, and a young guy stepped out. Frayed jeans dragged past the heels of his black sneakers as he descended the steps. His scruff was unkempt and shaggy, a few colorful tattoos decorated his left forearm, and he had a trendy haircut, longer on top, shorter on the sides. He wore a maroon T-shirt with a picture of a mustache and MY MUSTACHE MY RULES written beneath it. A black backpack hung over one shoulder. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his narrow shoulders rounding with the insecurities of a younger man as he nodded at Mason and said, “What’s up?”
“How’s it going?” Mason crossed his arms, sizing him up.
The guy shrugged, kicking at the ground with the toe of his sneaker. He lifted his gaze, meeting Mason’s eyes. It took only a second for Mason to recognize Remi’s sweet hazel eyes, and it took less than three seconds for the undercurrent of white-hot lust to stain Remi’s cheeks.
“Damn, woman. You make one hell of a guy.” Mason chuckled.
Remi lowered her eyes, shyly touching the scruff glued to her cheeks. “You could tell it was me? I thought they did a better job than that.”
“They did a hell of a job. If you’d been anyone else, I wouldn’t have been able to tell.”
“What does that mean?” she asked, kicking at the ground again.
He stepped closer and her breathing hitched. He shouldn’t enjoy that as much as he did, and he definitely shouldn’t be leaning in even closer and saying, “I think you know what I mean.” But man, the desire in her eyes was so blatant, so captivating, he wanted to memorize it. Hell, he wanted to see it long after he was done being her bodyguard.
She made a soft sound, a cross between a whimper and something else, and that small sound jerked him back to reality. Realizing he’d crossed a line he shouldn’t have, he stepped back, cleared his throat, and said, “What’s in the backpack?”
“Makeup remover.” Her eyes shifted from him to the trailer. “They used glue for the facial hair.”
He focused on facial hair to get himself under control. “Sounds like you’re all set. Ready to hit the grocery store?”
She nodded, kicking her toe at the ground again.
Fuck. She was so freaking adorable, even in that getup, he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss the embarrassment off her face.
What the hell? He was attracted to her even in male form? He ground out a curse at how far gone he was as they headed for the parking lot and said, “Don’t kick your toe.”
“Okay. Why? Too girlie?”
“Too Remi.”
She giggled. “Don’t clench your jaw.”
He arched a brow.
“Too Mason.” Another giggle slipped out, and in a rougher, lower-pitched voice, she said, “Let’s go pick up some chicks.”
Christ, this was going to be interesting. It was like a secretive game, where he was the only person who would know that beneath that masculine exterior was a gorgeous, smart-mouthed, vulnerable woman.
Remi took selfies on the drive to the grocery store, making stern faces, which she probably thought made her look tough. Now that Mason knew it was her beneath the makeup, he saw even more clearly her plump lips, her adorably pointy chin, and the wariness in her eyes she tried so hard to cover up.
When they got to the grocery store, she shoved her hands in the front pockets of her jeans, pulling them tighter across her ass.
Great. Now he looked like he was checking out a dude’s ass.
“I’m nervous,” she whispered on the way in.
He started to put his hand on her lower back but quickly realized his mistake and pulled back. “You look great. Just act like a guy.”
“Like this?” she said in a low, husky voice. She clenched her jaw, her brows slanting.
“Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”
“Why do you scowl and clench your jaw so much?”
Because it’s hard to shift my focus from you as a woman to you as a client. He grabbed a shopping cart outside the entrance, and as they went inside, he said, “Habit. Let’s hit the veggies first.”
There were several other shoppers making their way through their lists and checking over vegetables and fruits. Nervous energy buzzed around Remi.
“Here, you push.” He relinquished the cart.
“Why?” she asked softly, in her normal voice.
“Because you need something to focus on. What’s on tap for tomorrow evening?”
“I don’t know. You’re the cook,” she whispered.
“Do your friends like guacamole and pita bread?”
“I love guacamole,” she said excitedly in a high-pitched voice, causing two women to glance over. Her hand flew over her mouth as she said, “Shoot!”
“It’s fine,” he said for her ears only. “Just breathe. You’ve got this.”
In a deeper voice, she said, “Yeah, guac is cool.”
“There you go. Roll with that.” He grabbed a few tomatoes, then moved to the next area and selected several avocados. “Channel your inner dude.”
“My inner dude, got it.”
“We’ll make skinny guac to keep the calories low. How do you feel about grilled chicken and shrimp kabob
s?”
“They’re cool,” she said huskily.
“Awesome. Making progress. Cobb salad? Gazpacho?”
“Yum!” Her eyes widened, and she lowered her voice again. “Um, I mean, great.”
After gathering fruits and vegetables, they worked their way down each aisle. Mason made suggestions of meals they could make during the week, and Remi seemed open to everything. As they walked through the aisles, Remi became more confident in her getup and her male voice.
“Hey, man, how’d you learn to cook?” she asked as Mason looked over cuts of meat.
“Chuck taught me.” He tossed a few packages into the cart.
“Really? Are you related to him?”
“No.”
“Oh,” she said softly. Then, in a rougher voice, she said, “How do you know the guy?”
He headed for the fish and said, “I lived downstairs.”
“He was your neighbor?”
“Yup. What kind of fish do you like?”
She looked over the choices in the display case and said, “Anything except eel. You?”
“Same,” he said, though he’d never tried eel. It didn’t sound appealing. He gave the guy behind the counter his order and said, “How do you feel about egg-white omelets?”
“I try not to eat a lot of cheese. Does your family live in New York? Is that where you grew up?”
Did she really think she could sneak in questions without him realizing it? Disregarding the question, he grabbed the fish from the counter and said, “I make omelets without cheese. Just spinach and other veggies. Cool?”
“Cool. Did you grow up in New York?” she asked again.
So much for ignoring the question. “Yeah.”
“That must have been amazing. There’s so much to do there,” she said in her normal voice, then quickly realized her error and lowered her pitch. “Do your parents still live there?”
He ground his teeth together, fighting the urge to shut her out like he did most people when they asked personal questions. He didn’t usually let anyone get close enough to feel comfortable asking about his family, but Remi had been different from the start.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she said softly. “I’m sorry if that’s too personal. You’re so easy to be with, I forgot this was just a job.”
This is Love Page 8