Page 24 of The Masks We Burn
“What about camping?” William’s voice pulls meoutof my thoughts anddeeperinto them simultaneously, forcing me to squeeze my legs together.
“With no solid roof over our heads? No thanks. How about a resort?”
“For mani-peds, and massages you can get anytime? I’ll pass.”
“Resorts have other things to do, you Neanderthal.” My pulse tics harder as I type aggressively into my computer’s search browser. “There’re massive pools, walking trails, and in-house clubs with bars. All sorts of stuff. Plus, it will help keep the girls in one place, and the guys in the other.”
“But they want it together.”
I grunt, rolling my eyes. “They want to be in the same vicinity but not doeverythingtogether. Use some common sense.”
William sits up, leaning so close I have to back away to keep a few inches of space between us. “You only got a few more times to insult my intelligence, Mora.”
I lean forward, and though he doesn’t move, I keep my face serious. “Or what,Will?”
His intense green eyes flash to my lips, and my breath shudders, all the stored clapbacks evaporating. He keeps his gaze there, tilting his head, a low rumble vibrating his chest as he speaks. “I’ve been waiting all week to shut you up. Would you really like to find out ‘or what’, dear fiancée?”
His words do a few things to my body. For starters, my panties are in shambles—completely ruined. Second, there’s drool. Like real fucking drool forming at the edge of my mouth. I feel it and I know if I lick my lips, it will send the wrong message, but at the same time, if I don’t, and it slips out, I’m going to look like a damn fool.
Did I say a lot could happen in a month? Who knew I really meant an hour.
Fucking hell.
A sharppingcuts through the air, and my shoulders drop in relief. I scooch back and stand, running a hand through my hair and turning my head as I suck in the drop of moisture trying to claim my dignity.
In silence, I pull the muffins out, turn off the oven, and wait a minute before putting a few into a small bowl.
“Here.” I plop the container on the counter, ignoring his smug little smirk. He knows he’s thawing my cold shoulder with his heat, and he’s feeling himself too much for my liking. “Just because I made it, doesn’t mean you need to eat it here.”
William nods and takes the container as he stands. “Well, thanks for breakfast, sugar. Maybe I’ll be seeing you tonight.”
I wave him off, but my eyes follow his muscled back as it flexes with his steps toward the door. He stops in the threshold, a hand on the frame. “Also, I’ve been checking the radar, and it just passed us, so don’t stress yourself out of a good breakfast. These smell too good to waste.”
Without waiting for a response, he leaves, but I jump up and check for myself. Sure enough, a dark cloud looms in the corner but the sun is finally shining on Solace Square.
After I shut the door, I lean into it, my mind reeling from the past twenty-four hours. Maybe if we just fucked once—literally my specialty, and also his from what I hear—we could focus more.
Yeah, once. Hit it and quit it. Smash and pass. Wham, bam, thank you ma’am.
I chew into my lip as I mull it over and walk back to the dining room chair. Drumming my fingers against the wood, I contemplate how to bring it up. I’m not shy by any means, and it’s brutally evident he wouldn’t mind the idea either, but I can’t seem to bring myself to type anything.
And as if on cue, my phone dings, making me drop the damn thing. When I pick it back up, I almost wish I hadn’t.
Mom: When you get a chance, let’s talk about a date.
And just like that, my horny bubble pops and quickly I’m reminded, even with the extension, I’m still on a time clock.
For the rest of the morning, and well into the afternoon, I sit in front of my computer searching for jobs.
Maybe in the end, I’ll still have to settle, but a career is easier to change than a husband.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The only way for me to describe the feeling of freedom is flight. It’s a type of lightness in the body, offering an almost aerodynamic sensation, giving off the illusion as if gravity doesn’t exist.
It’s a high that can only be achieved by doing the things that get your blood pumping so fast, you feel like you’re flying. It’s pure bliss.
I can’t understand how people become content with not chasing the euphoria currently spreading through every limb as I walk through the doors of Orlov Association. It’s in one of the many hotels owned by Amora’s father. It’s in a high-rise that looks like it’s been plucked from the middle of Italy. Everything is all shiny gold, bright chandeliers, and murals of small naked flying babies. Nothing less than I’d expect considering the huge foyer is filled to the brim with tuxes and flowy gowns.
