Wild Thing (Naughty Things 3)

It’s a long drive into the city. Mason and I are mostly quiet until we are well away from the house and the urban skyline welcomes us in the distance. With each mile we put between ourselves and the mansion I feel better. More myself.

There’s a lot of traffic as we start to approach downtown. I don’t even know what day it is. Just that it must be a weekday from the look of the rush-hour traffic.

When he gets off at an unfamiliar exit I realize he’s not taking me back to my apartment. “Where are we going?” I ask, breaking our long silence.

“My place,” he says. “I’m sick of sleeping in unfamiliar beds. I think we both need something a little more normal right now.”

“Well, I’m not complaining,” I say, leaning back as I exhale out a long breath. “I kinda want to see where you live. Is it a tall building?”

“Yeah,” he says. And I think the city relaxes him too. Because he smiles. “It’s on the north central side of the park. I’m sure it’s not up to your standards, princess. But it’s not bad, I promise.”

I turn in my seat so I can look at him as he drives. It’s overcast and raining out, so the city lights reflected on his face kinda shimmer as we pass under them. Reds, and blues, and yellows.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say. “A little hungry.”

“We can get takeout.”

He looks excited at that. After all my stupid comfort foods, I don’t blame him.

And then he talks about our dinner options. Quizzes me on what I like. Fills me in on what he prefers. And then we are pulling into the garage below a very tall building.

He pulls into a parking spot with the number P-9 stenciled on the concrete wall and turns the engine off.

“Penthouse, huh?” I say, motioning to his parking spot number.

“Yeah.” He laughs. “But don’t get too excited. My version of penthouse and your version of penthouse probably aren’t the same thing. I mean, every building has a top floor, right?”

“I’m unreasonably excited about meeting the real Mason Macintyre.”

“Hmm,” he says, looking at me in the semi-darkness of the garage. “Well, I’m looking forward to meeting the real you as well.”

We get out and Mason grabs our bags. He took all his new clothes with him. Stuffed it all into one department-store shopping bag. And he grabs my stupid unicorn backpack too, frowning at it.

“Geez,” I say. “Sorry to spoil your mood with my backpack.”

“It’s just weird, Lyssa.”

“It’s just the first thing I saw.”

“Also weird.”

“Whatever. We can throw it in the trash if it makes you so upset.” I grab it from his hand and walk over to a dumpster near the entrance to the elevators, but he grabs my other hand and pulls me back to him.

“Forget it. It’s fine.”

He’s right about the building. It’s not like the one I live in. There’s no cool decorative architectural features to remind you of its early days, or live person in the elevator to push your floor button for you. And the penthouse he lives in is just one of a dozen small, but bigger than most, units on the top floor.

However…

“Holy shit,” I say, walking towards the twinkling city sky that dominates the entire length of his small, long apartment. “Now that is a penthouse view.”

“Yeah,” Mason says, putting our bags down near the bedroom door. “It’s not your side of the park, that’s for sure. But it’s not bad.”

I turn to him and smile. “I think it’s wonderful.” Then I look around and decided I think all of it is wonderful. It’s not very big. Maybe a thousand square feet. But it’s interesting. The kitchen is elevated a few steps up and it’s modern and beautiful with dark gray cabinets, black countertops, and stainless-steel appliances. I walk up the stairs and turn to look out the window.

The view is even better. And the ceiling is high and arched. No beams. It’s too modern for beams. But it makes the small space feel airy and open.

“What do you do again?” I ask him. Because I don’t think he ever told me.

“I’m a bounty hunter,” he says.

“Princess bounty hunter.” I laugh. “OK, I knew that part. But that’s made up. What do you really do?”

“I bring in criminals who jump bail.”

“Hmm,” I say. “How did my stepfather find you?”

He shakes his head. “You know what? I don’t really know. Looked me up online, I guess? Or maybe he has a friend in bail bonds?”

“Weird,” I say.

“Yeah, kinda is,” he agrees. Then he looks at me with a serious expression. “I’ve never done this before. I’ve never kidnapped anyone. I’m not a criminal, Lyssa. I mean, I know guys like that. The ones who hunt down people for other reasons. Lots of guys like that, actually. But I’m not like them. I’m one of the good ones.”