Page 80 of Fallen Hearts

“Is there any room for negotiation?”

“Such as?”

Pia plopped her elbows on the counter, resting her chin on her hands. “Let me think.”

After a few minutes, when she didn’t say anything, I stood up. Moved behind her. Made good on what I’d wanted to do all through dinner as my hand reached underneath her shirt, splaying on the bare skin beneath. Inching my way up to her breasts, I covered Pia’s lace bra with both hands, rubbing my thumb over her nipples.

“Still thinking?” I whispered.

“Mmhmm,” she murmured, leaning into my hands.

“Any way I can help?”

She sat up so that her back touched my chest. “You’re actually doing just the opposite. My brain isn’t working now.”

“Good,” I said, pulling down the material of her bra. I could have taken an extra few seconds to unclasp it, but this would do.

“Mason, you’re not playing fair.”

“How about this for fair,” I asked, slipping one of my hands from under her sweater down to the button of her jeans. Making quick work of that, and the zipper, my fingers found their mark. She was already so fucking wet.

If Pia wanted to negotiate, she could do it with my hands all over her, my mouth finding her ear and telling her exactly how this night was going to go, starting with a climax on this stool and ending with me claiming her body in every goddamn room she could handle.

Not letting up until she thrust into my hand and screamed my name, I decided to start a count.

“That’s one, sweet Pia. How about we talk again after a few more of those.”

27

PIA

“A little early to start drinking for you, isn’t it?” Beck asked as I sat at the bar.

I gave him “the look” but that didn’t stop Beck.

“Someone a little on edge about the meeting today?”

“I was hoping you could take my mind off it,” I said. Mason had now been with Paul Baker for nearly two hours. “Not remind me of the fact that he might be agreeing to sell Heritage Hill as we speak.”

All week, we’d avoided the topic. In fact, since he’d made dinner, we hadn’t talked about the future at all. Or any of the scenarios Mason had gone through, all of which, in retrospect, were a fairly accurate representation of where we stood. Even if, at the time, I hadn’t liked the clinical nature of his relationship assessment, as if I were a mission to be planned.

“He’s not gonna sell.”

At four in the afternoon, O’Malley’s was just getting going, even for a Friday, leaving Beck to hang with me a bit. I could have called my mom or sisters, or friends back home, or Delaney, but when I got restless enough sitting behind my desk, I’d come here.

To talk to Beck. Of all people.

“You don’t think?”

“Nah, I don’t. He told me about your proposition. Sounded to me like Mace thought it was a real viable option. Why sell if you’re willing to take it over, you know?”

“True,” I said. But the longer the meeting went, the less sure I became.

Beck went behind the bar, poured something and handed it to me.

“What is it?”

“Gin Gimlet.”

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