Page 55 of Sapphire Spring

Then he left, giving Naser no choice but to follow.

They barely said a word on the drive back to Mason’s house.

Naser’s heart was in his throat by the time they steppedthrough the front door, and as Mason set various butcher-wrapped cuts of meatout on the counter for him to inspect the labels, he heard his responses to theman’s questions as if he were yards from his own body. Once they’d decided onwhich steaks to cook, Naser forgot their decision but was too embarrassed tocheck the labels again because it would reveal how nervous he was.

Mason handed him a bottle of sparkling water he’d apparentlyasked for, and then they were staring at each other. In Naser’s condo, thesurrounding appliances would have made hums and ticking sounds to fill theawkward silence, but in MasonWorther’sbeachhouse—inPeteWorther’sbeach house, hereminded himself—top dollar had purchased a whisper-quiet kitchen.

“It waspretty stuffyin thatstorage room. I’d like to shower.”

“Sure. I’ll wait down here.”

“With you.” Mason took a careful sip of his sparkling water,eyes locked on Naser’s face. “I’d like to take a shower with you,Nas.”

Naser’s bottle froze halfway to his mouth. He could hear hispulse in his ears.

Mason had replaced the cocky swagger of last Saturdaymorning with a directness and intensity that made a hunger so powerful roar throughNaser the skin on his throat got hot. But behind it was stark terror—terrorthat the minute Naser disrobed, Chadwick Brody would explode from a nearbycloset, baseball bat swinging. That this was all a trick or a trap.

But Mason was walking toward him, slowly and carefully.

“Is that something you want?” Mason asked. “To take a showerwith me?”

“I didn’t work as hard as you. I’m not very dirty.”

“I could fix that.” Mason grinned.

“There he is.”

“Therewhois?”

“The guy from Saturday morning.”

“This guy’s a lot more sober, and a lot more capable of…howdid you put it? Staying awake during the act.”

“Sothis isn’t just about showering,is it?”

Mason took another step toward him. Gently, he grazed afinger along Naser’s cheek, just above his beard. Naser’s eyelids flutteredbefore he could stop himself. So much for keeping his cool.

“What do you want it to be about?” Mason’s whisper was thehusky, strained kind. The kind a man tries to place over his desire like a lidatop the raging boil of his appetite. “I’ve got a long list of all the thingsI’ve wanted to do to you since high school. And when I found you in my laundryroom, it only got longer.”

“Youfirst then.”

“I did go first. Almost a week ago tonight, apparently.”

“But you didn’t remember saying it.”

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t the truth.”

“But even if it was the truth, that doesn’t make it betterthat you—”

Mason shook his head. “I didn’t say it did. I said I wantedto do what you want.”

“And forgive me for thinking that you want me to hit myknees right here and take you down my throat because it’ll make you feel lessguilty about those days.”

“That’s a pretty vivid description for someone who’spretending to be averse to the idea.”

“Pretending?”

Mason bowed his head and took a step back, raising his handsin a gesture of surrender. “Just dinner then. But if you don’t mind, I’m gonnaclean up.”

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