Page 93 of High Sea Seduction

“No, you’re not going to answer it, or no, you don’t need privacy?”

“No to both.”

“Okay.” We eat in silence, until the silence becomes too loud. “Why?”

He sighs. “Because I was married to her. Which unfortunately grants her a little insight into which buttons of mine to press for the desired response. When I’m within contactable distance, she finds ways to push those buttons. And I’m wired to respond in a certain way. One that never bodes well for either of us.”

“So by ignoring her…”

“I’m saving one of us the need to check into a facility at the end of the month for emotional distress.” A hard, wry smile curves his mouth, and I lose my appetite. “See? I’m turning over a new leaf.”

“Why not uproot the whole tree and lose her number?”

He gives me a sad smile. “I’m a sadist?”

“You asking or you telling?” I quip.

“Crap, I’m losing my powers if you can’t tell.”

I reel a little as I stare at him. The intense, brooding man I met in Montauk is still very much present, but I dare to imagine I see another side to Mason Sinclair, one that entices gentler creatures, like his ex-wife to their doom. But what if it’s a side that’s genuine? And needs bringing out more? By me?

I shake my head at my insane line of thinking. “Seriously, why leave her dangling?”

All laughter fades from his face, and he links his hands over his stomach. “Because we’ll always share an unbreakable connection.”

My heart pounds, its roar filling in my ears. I bite my tongue until it bleeds, then I ask anyway. “Your son?”

Emotions flit over his face, before it settles on a poisonous sadness that rakes white-hot coals across my ravaged soul. “My son.”

Before I know it, I’m standing. Rounding the table to slide into his lap. He doesn’t move his hands to accommodate me, and I know I’m risking a hell of a lot by pushing where I may not be wanted. But the compulsion is stronger than I can handle.

I tuck my head into the crook of his shoulder and cup his rock-hard jaw. “Tell me about him.”

“No, kitten.”

“Please, Mason. Tell me.”

He shakes his head and tension spears from his body into mine. I’m glad it locks us together, because now there’s no escaping me.

“Thinking of it doesn’t put me in a good place. Telling it will make it worse.”

The warning is clear. But I’ve kicked danger in the nuts before. I didn’t come out well, but the kicking felt good. “I can take it.”

He laughs, and the sound is a cruel, sadistic one. “I seriously doubt that.”

I raise my head, anger fighting with compassion. “You can’t praise my courage in one breath and belittle it in the next. Tell me if you want to, or don’t, but don’t be cruel about it.”

I start to rise, but his arms shackle my hips. I’m thrown back against him and my hand falls on his chest. His heart pounds beneath my open palm, and I raise my gaze to see the seething self-flagellation in his eyes.

“It’s not a good story,” he says, his voice a mangled pain-filled rumble. “It’s a very, very bad one.”

“I know. Tell me anyway.”

He shuts his eyes and drops his forehead to the top of my head. He’s going to refuse. I know he is. A part of me doesn’t blame him. Another part of me refuses to stay in the dark. “Tell me his name.” He asked the same of me in the dark of night. I’ve earned this little right.

“Toby.” The sound is ripped from his throat. “His name was Toby Callum Sinclair.”

I absorb that and curl into his chest. His heart continues to pound with the weight of mournful memory, and I keep myself wrapped close about him, this man whose pain calls to me like an addict to narcotics.

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