Page 27 of High Sea Seduction

Fuck the voice of reason telling me to take the safe option and call Hani.

I’ve never known a hunger like this for any other woman.

Regardless of whether I risk exposing her to the monster that lives within me, by the time I escort her to the launch that will take her back to her hotel, I succumb to the inevitable.

Keely Benson will be mine.

9

KEELY

I feel too much on edge to settle when I return to my hotel suite.

Fucking Mason Sinclair has imbedded himself in my mind. I’m not sure why I’m so fascinated with him. He’s part freak, part genius, part possible sociopath. The last part I’m not entirely certain of, but something in his eyes scares the crap out of me. Not enough for me to walk away from this project. Or even think about avoiding him.

On the contrary. I’m drawn to him with a singular morbid allure, which spells nothing but trouble with a capital T.

The only thing that comes fractionally close to describing what I feel for Mason is what I felt for another guy six years ago. And look how that ended.

I shiver in the cool evening air as I stand on my balcony and stare at the exquisite, unmistakable lines of the Indigo Lounge yacht. Is he on there? Did he say where he was staying? I barely remember our conversation after that charged exchange about death and killing. Something in the way he said that still makes every nerve in my body want to recoil. But at the same time, I’m fascinated beyond belief; the urge to dive beneath Mason Sinclair’s skin and discover all his dark secrets is a living thing between us.

He wants to do the same to me. I can tell.

Just like I can tell he wants to fuck me. And not just in a quickie-get-our-rocks-off-and-be-done-with-it way either. That also excites me in ways I can’t explain. I shouldn’t be excited. I should hate the idea of anyone dominating me. But all I can think about is the feeling he evoked when he ordered me to recite the constellations on top of his car in Montauk. The release he gave me then was out of this world.

I want that release again.

Along with insight into what lurks beneath his surface.

“For fuck’s sake, Keely,” I mutter under my breath.

Sometimes I hate my curious mind. It’s gained me a well-paid job and a better-than-average living I’m satisfied with. But at times like these, when I know I should leave well enough alone but my brain keeps urging me to explore, I wonder whether I’ll ever learn my lesson.

Because obviously those three harrowing days six years ago didn’t do a good enough job.

I veer away from the view, clutching my wrap tighter around me, and return to the suite. I order room service, eat and channel surf before settling on a game I have zero interest in on ESPN. I balance my laptop on my thighs and think of working for a few hours.

Instead, I find myself googling Mason again. This time, I take my time to read his background, and I frown. Blocks of his life have been missed. Like the ages between his twenty-second and twenty-fourth birthdays, and again his twenty-seventh birthday. From twenty-seven, the details of his life grow even sketchier.

Pages and pages are dedicated to his philanthropic deeds and innovative inventions. But it’s easy to donate to charities if you have a company vehicle taking care of it on your behalf. Of Mason himself, there is next to nothing in the past few years, although his company, S3, continues its staggering growth in the business sector and employs over five thousand people in the US and overseas.

My frown intensifies.

Mason isn’t a recluse, at least not from what I saw of him at Bethany and Zach’s engagement party. So whatever has made him suppress his past has nothing to do with a forced withdrawal from society.

How would you know?

I realize I’m trying to rationalize and humanize the man, and I impatiently shut the laptop. I know, deep in my bones, that he hides a dark secret. I have the dark, dominating Neanderthal freak and the sexy genius bit squared away. But if he’s also a sociopath, I won’t find out until I get to know him better.

The idea that that is exactly what I’m contemplating sends me to my feet and into the bedroom. Rifling through the clothes the butler hung in the walk-in closet, I take out a slinky, black sequined dress and my favorite silver platform shoes, which always lift my mood.

It’s Friday night, and I’m in one of the sexiest, most affluent cities on earth. I may not be in the market to get laid by the first guy I come across—somehow the idea of ending my months-long dry spell as quickly as possible no longer compels my every thought—but there’s no reason why I shouldn’t have a good time.

I squash the voice mocking me that my need is no longer urgent because now it’s found the true source of alleviation—Mason Sinclair—its search is over.

Whatever.

Until I decide where my comfort compass intends to settle when it comes to the man, I’ll be keeping my thighs firmly closed and my super dirty thoughts firmly in my head.

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