Page 22 of Sin

He says you like he means both of us. But his eyes are on me and the implication lands sharp and hot under my skin.

I lift my chin before I can think better of it. “As you know, many long hours of testing go into our products, Mr. Sinclair.”

His jaw flexes.

“This is the fifth prototype,” I add.

The point hangs there between us, bright and cutting. If he had been here, he’d know that. Mason’s gaze narrows, and then, slowly, it travels over me again. This time, he doesn’t pretend it’s accidental. From my face to my mouth. Down to my bralette. Lower, to the tight line of my skirt. Then back up, inch by inch, until his eyes lock with mine.

My breath catches.

“I’ve been well informed of your progress, Ms. Cross.”

The way he says my name feels like a warning. Then his gaze cuts to Jack.

“As for you, I’ve heard you’ve been allowing your other duties to suffer in favor of assisting Ms. Cross on this project.”

Jack’s cheeks flush red. “Sir, with all due respect⁠—”

“I’d suggest you end that sentence there.”

The room goes painfully still, and I feel Jack’s embarrassment like a spark to dry kindling, and suddenly all the heat in my body has somewhere to go. Anger. And it’s the kind that burns cleaner than desire and feels safer to hold.

Mason looks at me again. “Ms. Cross, be in my office first thing Monday morning.”

Normally, the sober part of me would recognize that as an order. The smarter part of me would nod, put on my blouse, and live to fight another day. Unfortunately, both of those parts are currently drowned in merlot and outrage.

“Why wait?” I ask.

Jack makes a small sound beside me, but I ignore it. Mason goes very still. I grab my blouse from the chair, but I don’t put it on. I should. God, I absolutely should. But common sense has already lost, and the reckless part of me wants him to look. Wants him to know I know he’s looking.

“I’m ready now,” I say.

Something dark flashes in Mason’s eyes and his brow lifts before he steps aside and gestures toward the hall.

“By all means, Ms. Cross.” His voice drops just enough to pull a shiver down my spine. “Let’s do this on your schedule.”

I brush past him. Big mistake. His scent hits me first—expensive soap, clean cotton, and that faint trace of cedar that belongs only to him. It slips beneath my skin like an old memory. Like a weakness I thought I’d cured myself of.

I hate that I missed it.

Behind me, Jack says my name. “Laurel⁠—”

I keep walking because if I stop now, I might remember that I’m half-dressed, half-drunk, and walking straight into a room alone with a man I’ve spent two months trying very hard not to want.

In Mason’s office, I flip on the lights and toss my blouse in one chair. Mason takes his time and says nothing behind me as he shuts the door.

I turn on him before he can speak. “If you brought me in here to reprimand me, go ahead.”

He studies me for one long second. “Put on your blouse.”

I laugh once. “That’s your opening argument?”

“My opening argument is that you’re half-dressed and drunk in a lab with one of my employees.”

“One of your employees?” I repeat. “Interesting. Because two minutes ago, he was apparently neglecting his duties by helping me do mine.”

Mason’s eyes narrow. “Jack has responsibilities outside of Lust.”