Page 32 of Sin

“Mason,” I say quietly.

“You’re cold,” he says.

The words are simple. Professional, even. So why do they feel like something else? I pull the jacket tighter around myself before I can think better of it as another silence stretches between us.

Then I clear my throat and pick up my pen. “The prototype.”

“Yes,” he says, sitting back down.

But his voice is different now. Rougher.

So is mine when I say, “Show me how you think this works.”

His gaze stays on me for half a second longer than it should.

Then he reaches for the sketch and turns it toward us both.

“Gladly.”

We work for over three hours, arguing the entire time over Lust. By the time we leave, I’m convinced I’m being punished by god.

He calls over his shoulder, “Same time tomorrow. I’ll have a new prototype.”

The next morning, I arrive ten minutes early. It’s not because I’m eager. It’s because I spent the entire night thinking about valve housing, pressure control, and Mason Sinclair’s jacket over my shoulders, and at some point, sleep became less likely than me voluntarily joining a company softball league, which Opal has asked of me many times.

So I get to the office early.

When I reach Conference Room B, the lights are already on and Mason is inside, standing at the table with his jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms, and a new Lust prototype in his hand. He sets the prototype carefully on the table.

“Good morning, Ms. Cross.”

I step into the room and close the door behind me before I think better of it. Then I immediately think better of it but it’s too late. Mason’s gaze flickers to the door, then back to me, but he doesn’t say anything.

I move to the table and look down at the prototype. It’s sleek. Cleaner than the last version. Same overall shape, but the housing is tighter, adjusted exactly where he sketched it yesterday. There’s a new seam along the base. A better seam. Damn him.

“You built this last night?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“You do realize we have an entire product development team.”

“I’m aware. I wanted to see if I was right.”

I look at the prototype again. I hate that my fingers itch to pick it up. I hate more that I’m impressed.

I reach for it anyway.

Mason’s hand moves at the same time and our fingers brush. Still, the contact shoots straight up my arm like a warning flare.

I pick up the prototype and turn it over in my hands. “You changed the seal.”

“I reinforced it.”

“You also changed the angle on the tip.” I glance closer. “And added suction?”