Mason couldn’t stop staring at Katrina and how stunning she looked as she walked slowly down the aisle of the small chapel in the Bellagio hotel, and what the hell was that light, pansy-ass fluttering sensation in the pit of his belly? If that unfamiliar reaction wasn’t weird enough, then the increasing beat of his heart as he continued to watch Katrina float toward him like an angel made him wonder if he was getting sick or something. Though he wasn’t nauseous and he didn’t have a fever.
He exhaled a deep breath that calmed his stomach a bit, but his heart wasn’t cooperating. He’d always thought that Katrina was pretty and attractive, but he’d never seen her so breathtakingly beautiful before. Her blonde hair was swept up into some kind of fancy style, and her makeup was soft and subtle, including the pale pink color on those lips he hadn’t gotten nearly enough of last night.
The light pink gown she wore was strapless, and the soft, flowing material swirled around her legs with each step she took toward the flower-covered archway. Pearls circled her throat and pierced her ears, and she held a small bouquet of pale pink roses in her hands. She looked graceful and radiant, and all of a sudden, he felt like an infatuated teenager experiencing his first crush.
What the hell was up with that? He’d liked plenty of girls over the years, but he’d never had a crush on any of them, which implied emotional and romantic feelings. And he didn’t do emotional and romantic. Ever.
Standing between Clay and Levi as one of his brother’s groomsmen, Mason shifted on his feet and pulled on the collar of his stuffy, buttoned-up shirt. Maybe the tie around his neck was too tight and it was making him fucking delusional. Yeah, he’d grasp on to that excuse, because he refused to allow himself to go there with his best friend—even if they’d had the hottest sex ever. And that’s all it had been, he firmly reminded himself—one tempestuous, lust-filled encounter that never should have happened between them in the first place.
But it had. And now he couldn’t stop thinking about Katrina’s uninhibited response to his kiss, his touch, and the brazen way she’d begged for it, hard and deep and rough, just how he liked it . . .
His dick twitched inappropriately in his suit pants, and knowing that Clay wouldn’t appreciate him sporting wood during his ceremony, Mason shoved those dirty thoughts out of his head and focused on Tara, who was next to walk down the aisle and took her place next to Katrina, on the opposite side of where the men were standing.
The music changed to a traditional wedding march, and all five of them glanced toward the back of the chapel as Samantha appeared at the double doors in a simple but elegant wedding gown that conformed to her curves and flared out below the knee. She, too, wore her hair up with soft strands framing her face, and Mason could have sworn he heard Clay suck in a quick, sharp breath—and couldn’t blame his brother for that uncharacteristic show of emotion. Then again, Clay had become a totally different guy since meeting Samantha—more mellow and patient and unafraid to show a softer side to his feelings when it came to the woman he loved.
Samantha’s gaze met Clay’s, and she smiled almost shyly as she seemingly glided down the rose-petal-strewn runner toward the bridal party waiting for her. Her eyes sparkled with joy and happiness, and her complexion glowed as she finally came to a stop beneath the arch of flowers and beside the man who was about to become her husband. She handed her bouquet to Katrina, then Clay took both of Samantha’s hands in his, and the minister started the ceremony.
Mason glanced past the bride and groom to Katrina, who was watching the pair with a soft expression on her face. It didn’t escape his notice that she’d avoided all eye contact with him today so far, and the fact that she was seemingly ignoring him, as if last night had never happened, irked the hell out of Mason. Especially when he couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter, and her. Not as the best friend she’d been for years, but the sensual woman who’d been his perfect sexual match.
Since Katrina hadn’t so much as glanced his way, Mason returned his attention to his brother and Samantha as they spoke their vows and exchanged their wedding bands. Then the minister finally announced that they were now Mr. and Mrs. Clay Kincaid, and Clay could kiss his bride.
His brother did so with a dramatic flourish, bending his new wife over his arm and sealing their vows with a passionate kiss that made the small bridal party laugh and cheer. When he finally let Samantha back up for air, she was grinning from ear to ear and blushing at her husband’s very public display of affection—something else that was new for Clay.
The bride and groom headed down the aisle first to exit the chapel, and Mason stepped up and offered Katrina his arm. She looked up at him with a smile, and he couldn’t quite gauge whether it was real or forced, then she placed her hand in the crook of his arm to let him escort her out while Levi did the same with Tara. Once they cleared the doorway, Katrina was quick to let him go to congratulate Samantha and Clay once again.
They all toasted with a glass of champagne, then pictures took another hour. Whenever he was required to stand next to Katrina, or touch her, she didn’t respond in any way that gave him a solid indication of her mood or feelings toward him. She just acted . . . normal. He should have been grateful that there wasn’t any awkward, day-after tension between them, especially since she also worked for him as the manager of Inked, but he found himself growing increasingly annoyed instead, because he so didn’t feel normal anymore when it came to Katrina and their friendship.
Jesus, he was so goddamn fucked, and he needed to straighten this mess out and get his head back on straight. Hopefully, his dick would follow suit.
“I’m done with the wedding party photos,” Sara, the photographer said, much to Mason’s relief. “Samantha and Clay, I’d like to get some shots of the two of you by yourself.”
The bride and groom went back into the chapel for those couple shots, and Mason decided to confront Katrina head on about last night’s hookup—and the fact that it hadn’t exactly ended well, though you wouldn’t know that by looking at her right now. Maybe if they got everything out in the open and dealt with any lingering issues, he could move the fuck on and be satisfied that nothing between them had truly changed. He needed that reassurance.
He headed over to where Katrina, Tara, and Levi were standing together, chatting and laughing while they waited for Samantha and Clay to finish up. He came up beside Katrina and lightly touched her arm to get her attention. Startled—since he’d come up from behind her—she glanced at him with wide green eyes, looking very much like a deer he’d just caught in the headlights.
Maybe she’s not as immune to me as I thought. “Mind if I talk to you privately for a minute?”
Because he knew Katrina so well, he didn’t miss the quick spark of wariness that flashed in her gaze, then she blinked and it was gone. Yeah, she was a pro at hiding her emotions when she wanted to.
“Uhh, sure,” she said with a nonchalant shrug.
She followed him down the corridor that eventually led back to the Bellagio Hotel and Casino. When he knew for certain they were out of hearing distance, he stopped and she did the same.
“What’s up?” she asked casually, like the good buddy she’d always been.
Again, her reverting back to best friends should have relieved him, but he couldn’t stop the surge of irritation that was trying to work its way to the surface. He searched her expression for something . . . more, but her features were carefully guarded and gave nothing away.
She stared at him expectantly, and he rubbed his hand along the back of his neck, suddenly feeling like a fool. “I just want to be sure. . . Are we okay?”
Her brows rose in surprise at his question. “We’re fine. Why?”
She honestly had to ask why? As if she didn’t remember how goddamn deep he’d been buried in her pussy?
He forced his clenched jaw to relax. “Because after what happened last night, I just want to make sure we’re good.”
She reached out and patted his chest in a placating manner. “Of course we’re good,” she said much too easily. “You do this kind of thing all the time, Mason. You and me last night was just like any of your other random hookups.”
That was part of his problem, because she hadn’t been a casual fuck for him, and he couldn’t believe she thought he’d feel like she was just like those random, faceless women. And no, he didn’t miss the irony of the situation, which sucked.
“You didn’t force me into anything I didn’t want to do,” she reassured him. “The sex was good, we both got what we wanted, so don’t make it weird between us, okay?”
He raised a brow and couldn’t stop the words that came tumbling out. “The sex was just good?”
She shrugged a bare shoulder. “On a scale of one to ten, I’d say it was a solid seven.”
Which was . . . average. He couldn’t tell if she was being serious or totally fucking with him, but his damn pride and ego asserted themselves. “You’ve had better?”
She laughed, clearly enjoying his annoyance. “I don’t kiss and compare.”
He resisted the urge to kiss her right here, in front of everyone, and make damn sure that there was no comparison to how his mouth thoroughly claimed hers. Instead, he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his slacks and changed the subject.
“By the way, you look beautiful in that dress, with your hair up like that.”
She smiled softly at the compliment. “You don’t look so bad yourself in that nice suit. Hard to believe there’s a tattooed bad boy beneath all the finery.”
He tugged at the uncomfortable collar and tie. “Trust me, I’d only do this for one of my brothers. I can’t wait to get this damn thing off.”
Before Katrina could say anything else, Samantha and Clay came back out of the chapel, hand in hand and happy smiles on their faces.
“Who’s ready for some dinner?” Samantha asked as they all started toward the hotel and casino area.
“I’d love a burger,” Mason said seriously.
Samantha laughed. “We have reservations at Picasso here at Bellagio for an amazing French meal.”
Mason made a face. He so didn’t do fancy-schmancy.
“It’s our wedding, Mase,” Clay cut in good-naturedly. “So suck it up and mind your manners. It’s a fine dining establishment. Don’t embarrass us by using your fingers and chewing with your mouth open.”
Mason flipped him off, causing his brother to chuckle. “You might be married now, but you’re still a dick.”
“But now he’s my dick,” Samantha said, then her eyes grew wide in shock. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe I just said that out loud.”
Levi chuckled. “You’ve officially been corrupted. Welcome to the family, Samantha.”
They arrived at the restaurant and were led out to the private terrace, where a linen-draped table had been set up just for the six of them and they had an unobstructed view of the Bellagio fountains and a water performance every fifteen minutes. Despite Mason’s beer budget tastes, they ate the most amazing food, went through a few rounds of drinks, and had their own little celebratory party out on the open patio.
Whenever the fountain shows came on, they took advantage of the music and danced, though it didn’t escape Mason’s notice that Katrina partnered up with Levi every single time, so he danced with Tara. Despite Katrina’s assurance that everything was fine between them, there was no doubt in his mind that she was deliberately keeping her distance. It bugged the shit out of him, but he let her keep up the pretense. For now.
After dinner, they headed to the casinos for some gambling and fun, still dressed in their wedding attire. After a few hours, Clay announced that he had better things to do with his bride than gamble the night away, and they had a marriage to consummate. Samantha blushed, but didn’t stop Clay when he swept her into his arms—wedding dress and all—and carried her through the casino to the bank of elevators that led to the penthouse suite.
“The night is just getting started,” Tara said once Samantha and Clay were gone. “And it’s a Saturday night in Vegas. What do you say we all go and change out of our wedding clothes and check out the nightclub, Hyde, here at the hotel?”
Levi shrugged, always the easygoing one. “Sounds good to me.”
“Sure,” Mason said—not ready to call it a night just yet, either. “Count me in, too.”
The three of them glanced at Katrina, who gave them an apologetic smile.
“I hate to be a party pooper, but I think I’ll pass,” she said, still not looking at Mason. “It’s been a long day and I’m exhausted.”
Mason just barely refrained from rolling his eyes at her excuse. And he knew that’s exactly what it was—an excuse to avoid spending any more time with him. Fine. She could spend the evening alone in her room, but he was going to Hyde with Levi and Tara, and he was going to have a good time. Hell, maybe what he needed to do was find a willing woman to take his mind off of Katrina and erase last night from his mind so he’d quit obsessing over his best friend.
Yeah, that’s exactly what he needed to do, he decided.
They all went back up to their rooms to change, except for Katrina, who told them to have fun—and Mason was fucking determined to do just that. Forty minutes later and dressed in a pair of black jeans and a black shirt that left his sleeves of tattoos on display, Mason led the way into Hyde, with Levi and Tara following behind.
The place was starting to fill up, and one glance around at the clientele and Mason knew he’d have no problem finding the distraction he’d come here looking for. The women who’d come to the nightclub for a good time were easy to spot. They wore tight dresses that barely covered their asses, and their tops were so low that their fake boobs were one breath away from popping out.
The interested ones blatantly checked him out, their gazes openly issuing an invitation. They pushed their chests out a bit farther and they smiled flirtatiously. They licked their lips, tossed their hair, and made direct eye contact. Yeah, he knew all the sexual gestures and body language. He’d been around and played the game for so many years that he was a goddamn pro.
Yes, this was exactly what he needed to forget Katrina and last night.
He turned to Levi and Tara, who were looking for a place to sit in the lounge area and have a drink. “Don’t wait around for me tonight, kids,” Mason said meaningfully. “There’s no telling where I’ll end up.”
Levi raised a brow. “Or with whom?”
Mason shrugged. “You know me so well.”
Then he noticed that Tara was frowning at him, her expression etched with unmistakable annoyance. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked her.
She pursed her lips. “I just thought that, well, after last night you and Katrina were, well, you know.”
He settled his hands on his hips and cocked his head curiously. “You know?” he repeated back, not sure what direction this conversation was heading, but he wasn’t about to say anything until he knew what you know meant.
“Hooking up,” Tara clarified.
“Did Katrina tell you that?” he asked, still not giving anything away.
Tara shook her head, still watching him disapprovingly. “No. She said nothing happened, but I would have sworn that something had.”
So, Katrina had denied having sex with him. She hadn’t even confessed the details of last night to her good friend, because they both knew it wasn’t going to happen again. She obviously wanted to keep it a secret, and out of respect for Katrina, he did the same thing.
“Nothing happened,” he said, backing up Katrina’s claim.
“Fine,” Tara said, and backed down from her protective mode. “Have fun popping your Vegas cherry.”
Mason smirked.
“Don’t forget that our plane back home leaves tomorrow at noon and the four of us are meeting in the lobby at ten,” Levi said, always thinking ahead when Mason preferred to act on impulse, which was why his brother was reminding him of their schedule for the next morning.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there,” Mason assured him. “You two don’t get into too much trouble tonight,” he said dryly, knowing his teetotaler, by-the-book brother wouldn’t dare do anything to compromise his straight-laced personality.
As Levi and Tara went into the lounge area, Mason strolled through the nightclub. There wasn’t a dedicated dance floor, so everyone was dancing around the booths and tables, and a couple of times, a few women grabbed his arm for him to join them, but he wasn’t in the mood to dance.
He flashed them one of his bad boy grins but shook his head and kept on perusing for a woman who stirred his interest, and his cock. Usually, that wasn’t a problem for him. But tonight, it seemed that his dick was being particular, and that realization was beginning to irritate the shit out of him.
He glanced over at the bar. A curvy brunette in a short black dress with a halter-style top that plumped up her breasts was sitting on a barstool in the far corner, sipping a cocktail and watching him. As soon as his gaze met hers, she smiled at him, then patted the vacant chair next to hers, beckoning him over.
Figuring he was running out of options because he was being too damn picky, he walked over and slid into the seat. She set her empty glass on the surface of the bar as her bright red lips curved seductively at the corners, her eyes filled with an unmistakable invitation that he knew would lead to exactly what he was here for.
“Care to buy me another drink?” she asked in a sultry voice as she slowly, suggestively, slid her finger around the rim of her glass.
A drink and polite formalities first. “Sure,” he said amicably. “What are you having?”
“An apple martini.”
Mason motioned the bartender over and placed their order. “She’ll have an apple martini, and I’ll have a Bulleit neat.”
The bartender moved away to make their drinks, and the woman turned her body toward him on her seat and pushed out those breasts toward him. Yeah, he had no doubt she’d done this before, too. Perfect.
“So, are you visiting Vegas, or do you live here?” she asked as she crossed one slender leg over the other.
“Visiting from Chicago,” he replied, wishing like hell his body would get on board with his plan to get laid, so he could get it over with. “I’m here for my brother’s wedding this weekend.”
“That’s nice. Are you with anyone here at the club?”
He didn’t think she cared about his brother and Tara, but was instead asking about a significant other. Katrina once again popped into his mind, and the unexpected guilt that twisted in his gut made him shift in his seat. He had nothing to feel remorseful about, he told himself, and tried to focus on the woman next to him.
“No,” he replied. “I’m here on my own.”
“Me, too,” she said, and licked her bottom lip.
All Mason could think about were Katrina’s lips, and all the dirty, filthy things he still wanted to do to that soft, warm mouth. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough last night.
The bartender delivered the drinks, and Mason pulled two twenties from his wallet and gave them to the guy. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks, man,” the server said, and moved on to another customer.
The woman took a generous sip of her martini and placed her hand on his thigh, clearly making the first move. Normally, his cock would perk right up and he’d be raring to go. He didn’t feel so much as a twinge of sexual desire. Nada. Nothing. His dick was giving him a big ol’ fuck you. How in the hell was he going to shake off Katrina if his body refused to cooperate?
“So, you’re here all alone, and so am I,” the woman said as she brazenly skimmed her fingers up his thigh until her hand was palming the front of his jeans. “How about we finish these drinks and go somewhere more . . . private?”
She was massaging the bulge beneath the zipper with expert hands, and he waited for it to happen, for his shaft to get hard and . . . zilch. Beyond frustrated, he closed his eyes and instantly recalled the way Katrina had cupped him through his jeans last night, how she’d rubbed and squeezed him until he’d thought he was going to come in his pants.
His cock suddenly throbbed at the erotic memory and finally started to stiffen, but now this woman’s caresses felt dirty and wrong.
“Fuck,” he swore irritably, and pushed the woman’s hand away, harder than he’d intended.
She sat back, looking more pissed than hurt. “Jesus, are you gay?”
He would have laughed if he weren’t so damn aggravated at the entire situation. “No, I’m not fucking gay.”
“You don’t have to get defensive about it,” she said peevishly. “They have things you can take for that sort of . . . problem.”
This time, he did laugh, the sound low and harsh. The only thing that would cure him of his problem was Katrina herself. Until then, his own dick was cock-blocking him. Fucking fantastic.
He tossed back his whiskey and gave the woman an apologetic glance. It wasn’t her fault that his cock had suddenly gone on strike. “I’m sorry,” he said, and decided to go before he embarrassed himself further.
He didn’t bother to tell Tara and Levi that he was leaving, and they’d probably assume that he was off somewhere getting laid, which would have been the case if his penis weren’t on protest. Feeling uneasy and restless, he went back to the casino and sat down at one of the high-dollar blackjack tables that required a minimum of one hundred dollars per bet.
After losing five hundred dollars in the span of five minutes, he did the smart thing and stopped . . . but there was no shutting down his undeniable need for one woman, and one woman only. Katrina. And that realization scared the shit out of him, because it made him feel way too vulnerable, like he was losing control not only physically but emotionally, too.
He craved the relief that only she could provide, and he needed it badly. One time and she’d become his fix, and he desperately needed one more hit so he could fuck her out of his system, so that when they returned to Chicago, they could revert to being best friends, because that’s all he could ever be for her. He was too fucked up, and she deserved a man who could love her wholly and completely.
One more night. That’s all he needed, he told himself like the addict he was as he headed toward the hotel elevators, that frantic anticipation already surging through his veins. Lust. Desire. That was what he knew. What he understood. And once he had a few hours to wring every ounce of pleasure from Katrina’s body, he’d be able to walk away, leaving them both satisfied, and still friends.
