Page 45 of Swept Away
I don’t knowhow I’ll face Carter after we did what we did in his living room.
Mason is already in the room, chatting with his friend.
Carter acted like a gentleman while I snuck out behind Mason’s back and made myself invisible as quickly as I could, so I didn’t have to look at him with my hair damp and my dress crooked, barely covering my chest.
I run a damp towel over my legs, my arms, my boobs, and my neck before tossing it into a laundry hamper.
Nervous, I rake my fingers through my hair and make sure no trace of mascara smears my cheeks–my old-time dread–before checking my back in the mirror and heading to the door.
Carter’s place is clean and nicely organized, and I feel bad about the couch, although Mason made me look at the upholstery twice to convince me my fears were completely unjustified.
I tug at my skirt one more time before walking into the living room.
Mason faces me as I enter the room.
He is sprawled in an armchair, his legs leisurely spread open, his elbow on the padded arm of the chair, his eyes straightly connected to mine, a faint smile on his lips.
I walk in, wrapped in a mantle of embarrassment for doing it in his friend’s apartment.
Carter watches me with a smile, propped against the kitchen counter, a drink to his lips, his eyes glinting with curiosity.
“Everything good?” he asks after taking a sip and putting his drink down.
He wears a soft white T-shirt with a deep V neckline that highlights his muscular chest and well-cut arms.
His low-sitting sweatpants do justice to his trim waist.
From the way he looks at me, I can tell he knows exactly what happened on his couch, and not only because he had that exchange with Mason, who asked him to give us a bit more time.But because his mind mirrors Mason’s.
Whatever happened on that sofa somehow made it to his brain, making him smile and me sweat a little.
“Can I get another cocktail?” I ask, giving him something to do and getting a reprieve from the scorching of his gaze.
“Oh. Sure. You liked it?”
“It was good,” I say.
“I’m glad you liked it,” he says, spinning to the dish rack and pulling out a clean glass before mixing another drink for me.
I move to the living room, holding Mason’s eyes.
“Is everything all right?” I ask quietly, hoping that Carter won’t hear us.
“There’s no problem,” Mason says in his normal voice.
“Don’t worry about me,” Carter interjects from the kitchen, hearing us talk about him.
I lower myself on the couch and press my knees together, while keeping my back straight and trying to compose myself before Carter brings my drink.
He walks up to us a moment later, holding two drinks.
He hands me my cocktail and takes a swig of hard liquor from his glass.
After a quick glance around the room, he claims a seat not far from me and asks me if I like the music.
I haven’t even noticed it, to be frank.
I say yes and take a drink, trying to hide my nerves.
