Page 16 of Hypnotized By Love

That was definitely flirting, and it wasn’t allowed. Words jumped to the tip of my tongue, and I wanted to tell him that I’d refused to work with Timothy and that he’d repeatedly hit on me after I rejectedhim and how unethical it all was, but I knew that Mason would find a way to turn it back around on me. If he was going to write an article, there was no way I was going to give him even a hint about the whole censure situation.

It would be like pouring chum into shark-infested waters.

This was different. This was a one-and-done situation. Mason wasn’t going to be a client and wouldn’t be back in my office ever again.

And this flirting wasn’t real. He was only attempting to throw me off my game. I had to remember that.

But he was making it hard to keep my wits about me. I started to speak, but he was staring at me.

Not that that was new—he’d been staring at me a lot lately—but this was different. It was more ... assessing. Like he had a question and was searching my face for an answer.

I tried to keep my breathing even and steady, but it was hard to do. His eyes moved slowly, as he leisurely took all of me in. My pulse was racing, like the time I accidentally had two energy drinks in a row and thought my heart was going to explode.

It made me feel vulnerable, utterly exposed to him. As if he could see through me, into my soul, and there was nothing I could do to stop him.

No barrier I constructed, no wall I erected, would be strong enough to keep him out.

Then his expression shifted and he appeared satisfied, like he’d found what he’d been searching for, and his face broke into an annoyingly glorious smile.

I didn’t know what to make of that, so I cleared my throat and began the session. “Let’s get started. Your head needs to be supported. You’re free to lean back or lie down.”

It was amazing how normal my voice sounded, because I was shaking from that thorough visual examination he’d just given me.

Another slight smile from him and then he lay down on the couch. He put his right arm behind his head and his left hand against his chest. Another gesture so familiar to me that it was painful to see. That was how he always lay down. And I’d been foolish enough once to imagine myself curling up beside him, that left arm wrapped around me, holding me close.

The thought made me ache all over again, which strengthened my resolve to stay mad.

I couldn’t let him affect me this way. But I was also finding it a bit impossible to speak. I didn’t trust myself.

“This feels a little like the calm before the storm,” he announced, shattering the silence.

“Says the storm generator,” I retorted, once again forgetting to stay professional and not let him bug me. If nothing else, at least his remark loosened my tongue and got me talking again.

He closed his eyes, giving me the chance to study him for a moment. This was truly pathetic, but I decided I’d take one last look and then get this out of my system. He really was handsome, and time had been overly kind to him. The angles of his face seemed slightly sharper, the muscles in his biceps a bit larger, his shoulders wider and stronger than I remembered.

And he was so tall he barely fit on my couch, his feet dangling over the edge.

As a tall woman, I’d always appreciated that about him.

“By the way,” he said, opening one eye, “in case you do wipe my memory in order to steal my PIN number and I forget to tell you later, you look really pretty today.”

All of the oxygen left the room.

CHAPTER SIX

He closed both of his eyes after his shocking announcement.

My first totally irrational thought was that Mason had somehow read my mind and knew that I’d been appreciating his finer physical qualities.

Too bad they’re attached to a lying dirtbag,I said internally, but nothing inside me believed that. All of my cells were too busy responding to all of his gorgeousness.

I thought of Camila and her warning. How I had to avoid even the appearance of wrongdoing, and here was Mason complimenting me before a session. Technically it was fine, but if the wrong person overheard him, I might be deemed unprofessional. Despite what his mom had asked of me, my instincts were urging me to kick him out. Now.

The problem was I didn’t want to make him leave. Even if I suspected him of trying to trick me, of possibly using me, of not being sincere, without even counting what he’d done to me years ago—

None of it seemed to matter.

I wanted him to stay.

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