Page 56 of Sin

Tate clears his throat. “Technically, you’ll be surrounded by thousands of adult product professionals.”

“Not helping.”

“I sensed that.”

Mason leans forward, forearms on the table. “You will have your own hotel room. Your own schedule. Your own return flight, if you prefer.”

That should make me feel better and it does. Unfortunately, my brain latches onto hotel room and refuses to behave. Mason in a suit with his tie loosened after a long day of saying things like market penetration and product demonstration while I try not to combust in a convention center full of vibrators.

I reach for my water and find it empty. Great.

“Your face is doing something,” Tate says.

I glare at him. “Your face is about to be wearing wine.”

Mason’s gaze stays on me. “You don’t have to go.”

That surprises me.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t have to go,” he says again, quieter this time. “If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll send someone else.”

The table goes quiet. The offer should relieve me. Instead, it irritates me because now it sounds like he thinks I can’t handle him.

“I’m not uncomfortable.”

Tate coughs and I elbow him in the side.

“Ow.”

Mason’s eyes darken faintly. “No?”

“No.”

“Then what are you?”

I should say annoyed. I should say hungry. I should say absolutely not thinking about the logistics of tinted windows, private hotel rooms, and the fact that Amsterdam is probably full of places where bad decisions can be disguised as cultural experiences.

Instead, I say, “Concerned about customs.”

Tate frowns. “Customs?”

“Yes. I assume we’re bringing prototypes, right? What am I supposed to say when airport security opens my bag and finds half the Sins line? ‘Don’t worry, officer, that one’s just Pride. It’s still learning how to release properly.’”

Tate laughs so hard he nearly knocks over his wine while Mason closes his eyes for half a second. I feel victorious.

Then he opens them and looks directly at me. “We’ll ship the prototypes ahead of time.”

“Oh. Good. So no one has to ask why I’m traveling internationally with a suitcase full of sin.”

His gaze drops to my mouth.

“Not unless you pack your own.”

My lips part and Tate goes very still. Mason does too, like even he didn’t expect to say that out loud. The restaurant noise swells around us. Forks against plates. Low voices. Someone laughing near the bar. All perfectly normal sounds while my body tries to decide whether to blush, panic, or ignore what just happened.

I choose to ignore it.