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FREEFALL (The Indigo Lounge Series) #5
Nineteen. The age I threw my life away.
Twenty-Five. The age I decided to try it a second time.
Twenty-Five plus one day. The age Benedict Mason Sinclair III walked into my life.
Mason Sinclair III:
She was a curse.
A sex bomb.
A perfect reminder that not having a heart was the best choice I ever made.
Orion’s Belt. Cassiopea. Ursa Minor—
I feel him approach but I keep my gaze upward, searching feverishly for that which grounds me. Refusing to let the consternation take over.
I am above that. I am woman. I am strong. The blush grows from my neck and covers my cheeks, my face. Damn it.
“What the hell do you want?”
“It’s thirty-six degrees out here, without the wind chill. I figured you could use a blanket,” his deep, growly voice says behind me.
As if reminded that I’m barefoot on a beach in Montauk in late February, my body immediately sends distress signals to my brain. I shiver so hard, I nearly upend myself.
He steps closer.
“I don’t need a damn blanket. If I wanted one, I’d have brought one with me.” I lift the bottle of vintage Oenotheque Dom Perignon clutched in my right hand to my mouth and take a huge, bracing gulp.
My best friend, Bethany Green, just got officially engaged to the catch of the century and the love of her life. Personally, Zachary Savage wasn’t my type—all that caveman, possessive shit just gets on my nerves. But they are ecstatically happy. He worships the ground she walks on, and after the year she’s had and the snippets of his past I’ve become privy to, they deserve a little, no make that a lot, of happy.
And if a small part of me was jealous of all that happiness, I intended to drawn it dead with a little help from Dom P. As soon as this intruder, the reason for me blushing like a damn schoolgirl virgin, went away.
“The reason I came out here, Einstein, was to be alone. So if you don’t mind…?” I dangle the question, seeing if he’d take the bait. If not, I intend to shove it down his throat.
“Take the blanket. Then I’ll leave,” he says again. This time I’m not sure if my shiver is to do with the ridiculously low temperatures, or his voice. Whatever.
“Fine.” I sigh and reach out my left hand behind me. I don’t want to turn around.
Because I don’t want to see his face.
The things I just said in Bethany’s kitchen weren’t embarrassing in and of themselves. Hell, I talk about my vagina all the time. I feel zero embarrassment for that part. It’s the desperation, the fear, the neediness as I’d clung to my best friend while I prattled nonsense that makes me not want to face the man behind me.
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