Daisy’s eyes were fixed on the smooth, tanned skin peeking through the tiny V he had created at the base of his throat, and she swallowed heavily. Her breath came in rapid pants while her entire body felt as if it was on fire.
“Of skin”—another button. How could a man’s throat be so sexy? Oh God, she could see his clavicles now. She wanted to run her tongue over them. They looked so strong and masculine. What was happening to her?
“At a time”—a fourth button slid free of its hole to reveal the tiniest portion of his chest. She could see the slightest sprinkle of light-brown hair, and she absolutely ached to run her hand over the silky-looking stuff, to feel the velvety texture of his glorious skin beneath the palm of his hand. She ran her tongue over her dry lips and swallowed again.
“You okay, Daisy? You’re looking a bit flushed.” His hands dropped back to the table, and Daisy stifled a groan when she realized that the impromptu little demo was over. She glared at him; he had done that deliberately, the bastard. He had known exactly how he was affecting her and had teased her mercilessly nonetheless. Daisy didn’t know what game he was playing with her, but she didn’t like it.
“It’s a little hot in here, that’s all,” she lied, and he allowed the untruth to go unchallenged, merely nodded his acceptance.
“It is a bit uncomfortable,” he said agreeably.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mason felt like a bastard. Why had he done that? He couldn’t explain his motivation even to himself. All he knew was that he enjoyed teasing her and that he had pushed them both way too far with that stupid little strip show. Her pupils were still huge, only a sliver of gray rimmed them; her breath came in huffs; her hands were trembling; and she still had that delicious rosy flush highlighting her cheeks. God, she was sexy when she was turned on, and all Mason wanted was to get her someplace private and fuck her senseless. But if ever a chick had “complicated” stamped all over her, it was this one, and Mason knew that any sex with her would come with way too much baggage, and he sure as hell didn’t want her enough to have to deal with any emotional crap.
He preferred quick, easy, and uncomplicated, but the Daisy McGregors of the world wanted hearts and flowers and commitment—he shuddered discreetly at the thought—with their sex. Best to steer clear. He’d be better off going to a woman like that Shar bitch for his sex. A shame she left him cold.
Still, he hadn’t had more than one hookup since getting back from London, and that had been nearly eight months ago. Jerking off was getting old, and he figured he was way overdue for some fun between the sheets with a pretty, flirty thing who wouldn’t expect much more than a roll in the hay from him.
Sadly, because Riversend was so small, he’d have to venture further afield for his sex. God knew he didn’t want the whole town knowing whom he fucked. That was the one drawback of being home, everybody knew everyone else’s business. He had to ask Spencer where the prime pickup spots were around these parts.
He cleared his throat and tried to regroup his thoughts and felt like a total shit all over again when he glanced over at Daisy and saw that she was having a hard time meeting his eyes.
“So tell me everything I need to know about this wedding,” he invited, wanting to get them back on task. She looked up, and he could see the relief in her eyes at the change of subject.
“Well, it’s going to be a big deal: a destination wedding, with an intimate”—she used air quotes—“rehearsal dinner at the venue. Very sophisticated and elegant; Clayton’s parents insisted.”
Something in Daisy’s voice alerted Mason to the fact that she wasn’t too impressed with her future in-laws, and his eyes narrowed.
“Tell me about the groom.”
Daisy shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t like Clayton, she didn’t trust him, and she hated the way he made her feel. His comments about her body when nobody else was listening, so subtly insulting but couched beneath layers of bonhomie, had set her teeth on edge from the very beginning. The way he crowded her space when he spoke to her, the “accidental” brushes against her breasts when no one was looking—usually followed by insincere apologies and jokes about how her chest was hard to avoid—and the times he patted her butt with seemingly casual affection. He made her skin crawl, and she avoided being alone with him as much as possible. She hated the fact that Lia was marrying him but didn’t know how to verbalize how she felt.
The last time his hand lingered a little too long on her waist, she tried to confront him about it, and he had blinked at her innocently, affected surprise, and made her feel like she was reading way too much into the “affectionate” and “brotherly” pats.
“You’re hardly my type, Daisy doll,” he had guffawed. “Maybe you’re the one harboring less than sisterly feelings toward me. After all, it’s not uncommon for a younger sister to covet what her older sister has. But I’m a taken man, sweetheart. So don’t read too much into my hugs. I’m just trying to be brotherly.”
“Daisy?” She blinked in response to Mason’s gentle prompt and shook her head slightly as she came back to the present. “Where’d you drift off to?”
“Nowhere. Sorry. I was just trying to think of how to describe Clayton Edmonton the Third to you.”
“That’s a mouthful.” He chuckled, and she grinned.
“He insists on always being introduced that way.”
“Well, that tells me a lot more about him than you could possibly imagine,” Mason said.
“Really? Such as?”
“Such as the fact that he’s a pompous ass for one.” Daisy snorted in response to that, and he grinned. “Go on, tell me I’m wrong.”
“I can’t,” she confessed with a helpless laugh. “That was pretty much spot on.”
“You don’t like him much.”
“I don’t like him at all,” she corrected, and his gorgeous eyes went somber.