Page 65 of Sin

I pull my hand back.

“It’s fine,” I say.

His jaw tightens. “It’s not fine.”

“It’s a room. We’re adults.”

That is a bold statement from a woman who packed a nine-inch dildo because might want to see what it feels like later…

“I’ll take the couch,” I add, giving him a tight smile. “Come on. We both need sleep before the presentation tomorrow.”

“No.”

I blink. “No? I don’t think you can reject my offer on my behalf.”

“I can when it’s a bad one.”

“Fine. Then you take the couch.”

His expression doesn’t change. “I was already planning to.”

The concierge clears his throat. “It is a suite, sir. There is a sofa, but it may not be suitable for⁠—”

“I’ll manage,” Mason says.

The concierge shuts up immediately. Smart man. He hands over the key cards with the sort of trembling politeness that makes me feel terrible.

“Your luggage is already being sent up,” he says. “Again, we’re very sorry for the inconvenience.”

“It’s not your fault,” I tell him.

Mason gives me a look.

“What?” I ask as we head toward the elevators.

“I’m pretty sure it is his fault. He’s the one who overbooked the hotel.”

“I’m choosing kindness.”

“How unlike you.”

I gasp. “Rude.”

His mouth almost curves. Then the elevator doors open, and whatever tiny relief I felt evaporates when we step inside. Because it’s just us. In a mirrored elevator. After a long flight. After an almost-kiss.

After finding out we have to share a hotel room in Amsterdam.

My reflection looks too composed for someone whose nervous system is currently trying to crawl out of her body and book its own separate accommodation.

Mason stands beside me, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense like he’s using every muscle in his body to keep from reacting. That should not be attractive. Unfortunately, it is.

“You can still go to another hotel,” I say.

His gaze jumps to mine in the mirror. “The concierge said there are no rooms.”

“You’re Mason Sinclair. I’m sure someone would give you their room if you glared hard enough.”

“I’m not leaving you alone.”