Page 49 of Sin

I stare straight ahead, breathing like a normal person. Or trying to.

“Very educational truck ride,” I say.

His mouth curves. “You asked about the windows.”

“I regret that.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Maybe I’m just gathering product research,” I say, because joking is safer than whatever just happened. “Private environments. Confined spaces. Practical applications.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

I nod. “Yes. Market analysis.”

“Sounds thorough.”

“I’m very committed to my job.”

His gaze lands on me. “I know.”

The rain keeps falling. The truck keeps moving. Chicago slides past us in dark glass and wet pavement, and suddenly I’m aware of every forbidden inch between my body and his. I look back at him. He’s watching the road, but his jaw is tight. His hand flexes once against the wheel.

When we pull up in front of my building, neither of us moves right away. The rain is still coming down hard, drumming against the roof, blurring the entrance to my apartment into a watercolor mess. Mason puts the truck in park, and I unbuckle my seat belt too quickly.

“Thank you for the ride,” I say.

Very polite and professional. Very much like I’m not picturing climbing into his lap and finding out if his mouth is as controlled as the rest of him.

“You’re welcome.”

I reach for the door handle.

“Laurel.”

My hand stays on the handle. “Yes?”

He turns toward me and the cab feels smaller.

“About earlier,” he says.

“The corn?”

His mouth twitches. “Not the corn.”

“Then I have no idea what you mean.”

“Liar.”

The word is soft this time and I make the mistake of looking at him. His eyes are on me, and there is nothing unreadable about him now. Not in this light. Not in this truck. Not with the city washed away outside and the heat building between us like we’ve been waiting for the storm to give us permission.

It would be so easy.

That’s the worst part. I could lean forward. He could meet me halfway. One kiss. Just one. A terrible, stupid, unforgettable kiss that would answer every question my body keeps asking against my will.

My gaze drops to his mouth.

His breathing changes and my fingers loosen on the door handle. Mason’s hand moves. It settles on the console between us, close enough that if I moved mine an inch, our fingers would meet.