Restraint (Mason Family 1)

“Are you in town for work?” I ask.

“No,” she scoffs. “I’m on vacation.” Her long, thin nose crinkles at the end. “For three long days.”

“You say that as if it were a death sentence.”

“I’d rather be working.” She stops in front of a wall of windows. The sunlight streams in, highlighting the red and gold tones in her hair. “My brothers arranged this. How could I not come?”

I laugh. “That was nice of them. My brothers would’ve sent me to work and taken the vacation on their own.”

“How many do you have?”

“Four.”

“I have three, and they’re a giant pain in my ass.” There’s a slight upturn to her gorgeous lips as she says the words, and I find myself wondering how much of that I really believe.

“I’ll trade you,” I offer.

Our eyes lock, her grin pulling my own wider as the throng of bodies hustling around us thickens. A thousand questions are on my lips, an itch to know more about this intriguing beauty in the middle of Savannah Hilton Head International Airport. Before I can figure out which way to go with this conversation, she gestures toward an exit.

“I apologize for running into you,” she says. “It was nice to meet you.”

“No, wait.” It’s too quick, too telling—and not my style. I make fun of men for tripping over themselves like this, but it comes out before I can think. “Can I take you to dinner sometime?”

The question surprises me as much as it seems to surprise her, but I don’t regret it. As a matter of fact, I like the idea. A lot.

She hesitates, her response on the tip of her tongue, but she doesn’t let it pass. I almost think it’s on purpose, but I’m not sure if she’s fucking with me, or if she has plans. Or a man.

For about a half a second, I contemplate if I care about the latter.

I don’t.

My phone buzzes in the jacket pocket of my suit, and I know it’s Oliver asking me where I am. I’m never late. But I can’t even mull that over right now, not with her standing in front of me and looking at me with the same curiosity about her that’s filling every nook of my mind.

“Ugh,” she grimaces, taking a large step toward me as the crowd begins to fill the entire hallway connecting the concord with the baggage claim. The top of her head barely reaches my eyes. “I’m not a big people person.”

“Me either.” I lift my briefcase and step so that my back is against the wall, giving her more room. “So … dinner?”

She considers this. “I don’t typically go to dinner with nameless men.”

“That’s an easy fix.” I grin. “I’m Holton Mason. My friends call me Holt. All three of them.”

She laughs, her long lashes fluttering. I fight from reaching out and brushing the stray strand of hair off her cheek.

A hundred people might be swarming around us, but it may as well just be her in front of me. A circus could be clamoring down the hall, complete with elephants and man-eating tigers, and I wouldn’t notice.

“I’m not sure what my plans are, actually,” she says finally.

“Well, let’s meet up, and I’ll help you make them.”

She smiles. “I bet you would, Holt.”

“Ah, you used the nickname. That’s a good sign.”

“I just feel sorry that only three people like you.”

“Does that mean you’ll give me your number?”

Digging in her bag and pulling out a small notepad, she rips off the bottom of a sheet in a crisp line. She offers it to me along with a pen. “No, but you can give me yours.”

“I could text it to you.”

A single, perfectly arched brow rises farther. “And I could exit those doors and get into my rental car. Your call.”

My fingers wrap around the scrap of paper, glancing at her delicate fingers in the process. Visions of them gripping my cock pop immediately to mind, and I have to shake them away.

“I can’t say I’ve had a woman refuse to give me her number before,” I say, the words mixed with a chuckle.

A part of me wants to refuse, just to see if she’ll bend. But when I look at her standing there, the resolution in her eyes means she’s not bluffing. So while that’s frustrating in a plethora of ways, it’s also really kind of hot.

“But there’s a first time for everything, right?” I scratch out my digits and hand the paper back to her.

She presses her lips together and drops the pen and paper into her bag without even looking at it. “Thanks.”

“I look forward to seeing you again,” I say as she turns toward the doors.

“Nice to meet you,” she replies with no indication that I will see her again. In a split second, she disappears.

Like a damn fool, I don’t move. I just stand and watch her, breathing in the remaining notes of her perfume. It’s a second too late before I realize I don’t even know her name.