“Oh my goodness, are you bleeding?” I reached out and took his hand
between mine, frowning with sudden concern, but Mason’s soft laugh drew
my eyes back to his. Little laugh lines had appeared at the corners of
eyes glittering with amusement. My stomach did another flip.
“No, that’s paint. I was working while you rested.” His hand felt
warm and slightly calloused in mine, and I found that I had difficulty
letting it go.
“You’re decorating?” Well, that was a surprise. I would have assumed
that a man who could afford to live in a magnificent place like this would
have other people to do things like decorating for him.
Mason’s eyes narrowed a touch, and the amusement was replaced by
confusion. “No, I’m a painter—an artist.”
I foolishly realized that I had done no research whatsoever on Mason
Greene, so carried away with the excitement and anticipation of my
adventure. At the very least I should have Googled his damn name.
In spite of the commotion he caused around the agency, the girls never
spoke about Mason—or any of the other clients for that matter. Vivienne
had a very strict confidentiality policy, and the girls never compromised
I pasted on the best sheepish smile I could manage. “Ah, of course. My
brain hasn’t quite caught up with my body yet.”
Mason’s lips twitched. “Would you like to see?”
“Yes, that would be lovely.” My eyes fell on the bowl of strawberries,
and Mason laughed.
“Bring them with you, by all means.”
My cheeks heated in a blush, and I picked up the bowl, smiling. “They
really are delicious.”