Page 4 of Man of Lies

"I wasn't—" He broke off, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair."I know what I'm doing."

"Sure, you do." I flicked the edge of his helmet, letting it clack under my knuckles. "Nothing says 'I've got this handled' like almost wiping out at ninety."

Mason sighed and pulled off his gloves with slow, methodical tugs, like he needed something to focus on. His fingers flexed once before he curled them into a fist, knuckles pressing into his thigh. "You're an ass."

"Takes one to know one, counselor." I stepped closer, just enough to get under his skin and crack his composure. He smelled...expensive. "What's the deal? You spend all day calling the shots, and now you're out here trying to see how the other half lives?"

Damn. If looks could kill.

His lips flattened into a hard line, but he didn't answer. All walls and no doors—same as always. Except tonight, cracks were starting to show: the tight jaw, the vein twitching at his temple, the way his hands kneaded his thighs like he didn't know whatto do with them. His cheeks were flushed from the ride, and his hair was damp at the temples.He'd look almost boyish if I ignored the fire banked in those bright eyes. They were weapons, and he wielded them like one, trying to cut me with a single look.

People didn't intimidate me. Sharp edges didn't mean shit—I'd seen enough to know they were usually just window dressing. Everyone had a tell, and Mason's was how he held himself, wound tight as a tripwire. His glasses had slid halfway down his nose, and he ripped them off, shoving them into his shirt pocket with a rough, irritated motion. It shouldn't have been sexy, but somehow, it was.

"You know," I said, dragging out the words like I was turning them over, "if you needed to blow off steam, you could've just said so. I can think of a few ways that don't involve wrecking your bike."

His gaze snapped to mine. "I'm not?—"

"Oh, I know," I cut in smoothly, letting a slow grin curve my lips. "You don't need anything. You're fine. Always in control." I tilted my head, watching the pulse flickering beneath his jaw. "Except you're not, and we both know it."

"Stop pushing me, Silas," he warned.

"You want me to push you."I reached out, grabbing the edge of his bike's handlebar and leaning in. "It's the reason you keep turning up. You don't touch my booze, and you're not looking for company.So what is it, counselor? You like how it feels when I back you into a corner?"

His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip—a tell he probably didn't even realize he had.

"You want to lose control?" I asked, dropping into a deeper register. "Let me help you."

His breath hitched, and his hands tightened on the handlebars, but he held his ground and met my eyes. That was all the invitation I needed.

I closed the gap between us, one hand sliding over his to pry it off the bar, the other gripping his jaw to tilt his face up.His pulse fluttered under my thumb, breath coming fast and uneven.I leaned in close enough for our noses to brush, close enough to absorb the heat from his skin.

"You're already halfway there, wildcat," I whispered, my breath skating over the seam of his lips. "Take the last step."

His eyes widened, and his breath hitched. His chest heaved beneath that damp, clinging shirt, every inhale unsteady, like he was fighting himself. That kind of self-control might have impressed me—if I didn't already know it was hanging by a thread.

"This is what you wanted tonight," I murmured, stroking his jaw with my thumb, holding him exactly where I wanted him. "So take it."

His throat bobbed on a hard swallow, and I saw it—the push and pull of desire. The battle against whatever was holding him back. He wasn't going to make the move. No matter how bad he wanted it, he was too afraid.

I could only be so patient.

So I took the choice out of his hands and kissed him.

Chapter Three

SILAS

When our lips met,I knew I'd been right—he needed this just as bad as I did.

His body locked up for a single heartbeat before he broke, fisting my shirt like he couldn't decide whether to pull me closer or push me away. I chose for him, wrapping an arm around his waist and hauling him straight into my arms.

That answered my first question: he was slim but tight with lean muscle. So, he didn't spend all his time in the office.

I pressed him back against his bike, sliding a hand into his hair to wreck whatever careful styling he'd done that morning. It was softer than I’d expected. The way he shuddered under my touch woke the primal monster deep inside me. My other hand settled on his hip, tugging him flush against me as I deepened the kiss.

"You don't make things easy, do you?" I murmured against his damp lips. "So damn stubborn."

"Shut up," he growled, nipping at my bottom lip and glaring when I pulled back enough to meet his gaze. Color spread down his neck, but I knew it wasn't embarrassment. His breath wascoming fast. I'd barely touched him, and he was already primed to explode. I grazed my teeth over his jaw, then bit down just hard enough to win a hiss from between his teeth.

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