Dirty Sexy Inked (Dirty Sexy 2)

“She’s such a drama queen.” Mason rolled his eyes. “Honestly, no, she’s not leaving with me willingly,” he said, because, hello, he had Katrina flipped over his shoulder and she was yelling obscenities at him. There was nothing willing about this particular scenario or her conduct. “But she’s had a lot to drink and I’d rather her be my problem than yours.”

The bouncer didn’t budge, his expression dubious. The dude obviously took his job seriously, and while Mason appreciated him being thorough and cautious, quite frankly, he needed the guy to let them through.

“I can vouch for him.” Levi came up to the door, surprising Mason with his support. “He’s my brother and I’m a cop,” he said, and showed his Chicago PD badge, which he always carried in his wallet.

The bouncer verified the information, and that’s all it took to convince him that Katrina was safe with Mason. He finally moved aside to let them past.

“Thanks, man,” Mason said to his brother. “I owe you one.”

Levi gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, you do.”

Behind Mason, Katrina pushed up on her hands so she could look at Levi as they walked through the exit—or glare at him, Mason was guessing.

“You’re such a traitor, Levi!” she shouted at him.

Mason heard his brother chuckle before saying, “See you two at some point tomorrow.”

As soon as they were finally out on the sidewalk leading to their hotel, Katrina started up again, thrashing and pummeling and cursing. She drew curious stares from strangers, but Mason just smiled and nodded at the passersby as if this was normal for the two of them, and kept strolling toward the Bellagio.

“I can walk, you jerk! Put me down already,” she demanded as she smacked and pinched his butt, then growled in frustration when she encountered mostly firm muscle.

“Nope. And quit wiggling around.” When she didn’t obey, he returned the favor, slapping her bottom so hard she gasped and arched her back from the direct contact. His palm stung from the sharp swat, which meant she’d likely have his handprint on her ass—and Jesus Christ, the image of that possessive mark on her pale skin made his cock hard as stone.

She finally settled down. “I hate you,” she said, a pout in her voice.

There was no vehemence behind her words, but Mason knew that for the moment, for whatever reason, she wasn’t very fond of him. “I know you do, Kitty-Kat. I just don’t know why.”

“I already told you,” she said, perking up again. “It’s because you’re an asshole.”

He let it go at that, and when they finally reached the Bellagio, Katrina was dead weight over his shoulder and uncharacteristically quiet. He figured she’d either fallen asleep or passed out from the alcohol she’d consumed.

He figured wrong. On the ride up the quiet, vacant elevator, she finally spoke.

“Will you please put me down now?” she asked through gritted teeth, her voice clear enough that he knew she’d been awake the entire time. “You’ve humiliated me enough tonight.”

“Me?” he asked incredulously as he bent his knees and anchored her feet on the ground, then helped her to stand. They were facing one another now, and he felt his earlier irritation flare back to life. “I was trying to keep you from humiliating yourself up on that bar!”

Her spine stiffened and her gaze shot daggers at him. “I was doing just fine until you came along and ruined my night. I didn’t want or need your help.”

“Yeah, well, tough shit,” he shot back as he jammed his hands on his hips and tried to keep his gaze above her neck when her heaving chest tempted him to look at her perfect breasts pushed up so enti

cingly by her top. “That’s what best friends do, Katrina. They make sure their drunk friends get back to their hotel safely instead of leaving with some random stranger.”

Her jaw dropped incredulously. “I can’t believe that just came out of your mouth. You’re such a fucking hypocrite.”

Hypocrite? Was that what she really thought when he was trying to be a good guy and do the right thing? Jesus, he’d never seen her so combative, so angry at him. Sure, they’d had squabbles over their twelve years of friendship, but it was as though her current animosity was an accumulation of weeks, or months, of harboring resentments of some kind.

Before he could demand she explain the hypocrite comment, the elevator arrived on their floor. As soon as the doors slid open, she marched out into the corridor all huffy-puffy and turned toward her suite. He grabbed her upper arm before she could walk too far away, and just like back at the bar, she managed to yank out of his grasp.

She spun around to say something most likely rude and scathing, her hair flying around her shoulders, and he took advantage and did the only thing he could think of to keep ahold of her so she couldn’t escape him or the discussion they were going to have. Whether she liked it or not.

Impulsively, his hand shot out and he grabbed the front of her leather pants. He seized the waistband in his fist and jerked her toward him so abruptly that she stumbled on her heels and inhaled a quick breath. Her hands landed on his chest, which allowed her to regain her balance, but she was quick to try and push away from him. She only managed about a foot of space because his grip was strong and unrelenting, and he didn’t intend to let her go.

“What the hell, Mase?” she said, her shock as profound as his own.

As he stared into her wide eyes that were a bit too bright with what he would have sworn was desire, he wasn’t sure if her surprise was a result of him asserting a bit of physical control over her, or the fact that he’d tucked four long fingers between the fly of her pants and her lower stomach. Fuck, his knuckles were grazing the softest, silkiest flesh he’d ever had the pleasure of touching.

He gritted his teeth. Christ, he literally had his hand down her pants.