Undeniably Married (Boston’s Irresistible Billionaires Book 4)

I wake up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room to an unfamiliar life. It takes me a second to realize where I am, and when I do, I roll over and grab my phone. It’s after eight. Wow. I never sleep that late. We didn’t get home until about two, and though I didn’t drink much, my head is still foggy. Mason was already asleep, and it felt weird walking in here. I live here now. It’s strange and foreign and not quite comfortable.

Despite that, the room is very nice. It has a large bed, a walk-in closet, and a private bathroom that’s pretty, if not a little girly, since it has a small crystal chandelier over the soaking tub. The apartment is also clean and smells nice. It smells like Mason, and that scent has new meaning to me now. One I shouldn’t like as much as I do.

It’s been like this every time I’ve come over to hang out. I remember being surprised the first time. It’s not what I thought I’d find in a football player’s house. A younger football player at that. Brody is a year older than I am, and when I first went to his place, it felt like a frat house complete with the toilet seat up, dishes in the sink, and the bed unmade. He didn’t even try to impress me, and why I continued to date him after that is still a mystery to me.

I love that Mason is so different from Brody.

I love that Mason tries and cares to put in an effort.

Speaking of, I know Mason has questions and I need to talk to him. I also need to ask him not to flirt or push the whole my wife thing so much when it’s not necessary. I need boundaries. Lines he won’t cross. I like his flirting, and I like how he looks at me. I like how he feels and smells. I like how he touches me and seems to know what I want even before I do.

On the surface, he’s the perfect guy.

Easy to get lost in, but that’s not something I can do with him. My head isn’t on straight, and the last thing I want is to get hurt again.

And Mason would hurt me.

He’d never intend to, but it would happen.

Mason likes women, and I can’t deal with another player. Not ever.

Wren showed me pictures of the woman he went out with last year before I moved back to Boston. A model. He dated a freaking twenty-two-year-old model. Before her, he’s been photographed with dozens of women. All young. All beautiful. None lasted more than a couple of months.

That’s who Mason is, and it’s easy to forget that when he makes me feel like the center of his universe, but I refuse to ignore the reality of what’s in front of me. I’ve been blind long enough.

After climbing out of bed, I use the bathroom, brush my teeth, and take a quick shower. I feel out of sorts here. None of this is actually mine, and I can’t wait for these three months to be up so I can find a place of my own again. Mason’s apartment is huge, and though I’ve hung out here about a dozen times over the last year, I haven’t explored much beyond the great room, kitchen, and media room.

I hear a noise coming from a room a few doors down from mine, and I pad along the soft, neutral hardwood floors until I stumble upon an exercise room that might be bigger than my last apartment. Then again, he’s a professional athlete, so I shouldn’t be surprised. Mason is running at a hard pace on one of his treadmills—he has two—with sweat running down the tanned skin of his back, his honed muscles moving and flexing in a practiced rhythm. He’s only wearing gym shorts, and damn does he make that look good.

For a minute, I can’t stop staring at him as heat rises within me. He picks up a towel draped over the side of the treadmill and wipes his face, chest, and neck without breaking stride.

I do yoga, Pilates, and speed walking, but I can’t run like that.

“Hey,” I call out, entering the gym and looking around at all the equipment he has in here. An elliptical, a stair climber, free weights, several weight machines, yoga balls, and mats—the man legit has everything. I’m going to use this space. It’s like walking into Home Depot and getting inspired to build something when you’ve never built much before. Still, I can feel its energy and buzz.

Mason has his AirPods in, but he must catch me out of the corner of his eye because he glances back over his shoulder and grins, his green eyes warm and piercing on me before he turns back to the treadmill, slows it down to a walk, and then stops it.

“You don’t have to stop for me.”

He pops the AirPods out of his ear. “What?”

I repeat myself so he can hear me.

“I’m not. You’re simply giving me the excuse I was looking for.”

He jumps off and wipes at more sweat, his eyes all over me before they linger on my mouth for a split moment. A flutter hits my stomach, and I quickly look away, suddenly having as much trouble catching my breath as he is.

“How was your night?”

“Fun,” I tell him, because it was. “It was nice to hang out with the girls and be with my sisters. It’s been a while.”

“How long since Serena was home last?”

“About six months, though she’ll be back for fashion week this fall. My brothers left while I was in Vegas. They needed to get back to work.”

“They’re doctors in London, right?”

I nod.

He whistles through his teeth as he walks over to one of the weight benches, drops his towel on it, and goes for two one-hundred-pound weights. “I have to imagine that’s tough considering how close you all are.” He picks them up with a small grunt and walks them back over to the bench. Holy shit. It’s like watching porn the way his muscles bunch and ripple as he moves. He’s not even trying to show off.

It takes me a second to remember he said something. What was it? Oh, right. “It’s the worst, and with my work schedule, I don’t get to Paris as often as I’d like.”

His lips twitch, catching me in the act of ogling. “Or London?”

“Right. Or London.”

I mentally smack my forehead. As it is, I feel a blush creep over me.

He sits on the bench, a barbell in each hand, before he lies back and starts to thrust them up in the air. And if I thought I was blushing seconds ago… whoa! I need a fan at full blast on my face and vagina. I try not to bite my lip as I watch him.

Holy Moses in a basket. I can’t remember if I grabbed my vibrator from Brody’s, but if I didn’t, Amazon has same-day delivery here in Boston.

Mason is pressing more than I weigh. Does that mean that he could⁠—

“And yesterday with Brody?” he questions with a small grunt as he thrusts up, and Jesus, now I’m sweating. And my nipples are painfully hard, which I’m sure is visible through my thin T-shirt. My panties are totally soaked, but thankfully that’s hidden from him.

“Huh?”

“Brody?”

“Oh. Right.” I laugh. It’s awkward. My weight shifts, and I don’t know where to look because the only place I want to look is the one place I totally shouldn’t. I force my gaze away and attempt to calm myself down, but there’s a mirror lining one wall, and it’s like a magnet for my eyes, and I find myself watching him from this angle.

I clear my throat. “Fine. We talked.” I emit a humorless laugh and stare down at the black rubber floor. “I think it was the most honest and straightforward we’ve ever been with each other. It felt good to get all of that off my chest. He didn’t get it. I’m not sure he still does.”

“How do you mean?”

“It was like he figured if he ever got caught, he’d just apologize and buy me something to make it up to me, and we’d move on. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that I was so upset and called it quits.”

“That’s because he’s selfish,” Mason asserts with more grunting that reminds me of exactly what he sounds like when he’s inside of me. It’s getting more difficult to stay in here and have this conversation with him. I’m two seconds from straddling him and making him bench-press me.

“Yes. I agree. He’s moving back to New York.”

He nods, his expression giving nothing away.

I take a step back toward the door, desperate to flee when he stops me with, “I heard about New York. How do you feel about that?”

“I’m glad he’s going,” I tell him truthfully. “It takes a lot of pressure off me worrying if he’ll come around or I’ll run into him.”

He throws me a quick glance before returning to the weights. “And he didn’t try to get you to go with him?”

I shift my weight again, feeling strange about answering this, though I don’t know why. It was twenty-four hours of sex with Mason. Nothing more, and he’s my friend. Friends ask each other these types of questions.

“He did. I didn’t say yes.” I’m not sure I said no either, but that’s irrelevant. I’m not going back to New York, and I already told Brody that it’s over.

“Were you tempted?”

“No, I wasn’t.” I laugh because that hits me. “I wasn’t tempted at all. I’m glad he’s going. It wasn’t just Eloise he was fucking, but it’s more than that. He wasn’t right for me. I just didn’t see it before.”

He smirks, rolls up to a sitting position—an act that does amazing things to his abs—and sets the weights down. “I knew he wasn’t.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re just saying that because you hate him.”

He shakes his head. “No. I knew.” Standing, he returns the weights to the metal shelf. “I had an idea for today if you’re up for hanging out with me. We might be photographed, but it’ll be easy and relaxed, and with that and the statement my PR people made yesterday, it might start getting the press off our backs.”

I hesitate. Spending alone time with Mason goes against my trying to keep my distance plan. I also haven’t mentioned the flirty stuff, but so far this morning, he’s not flirting. In fact, he’s acting like the Mason of old. The one I knew and hung out with before Vegas happened.

So maybe what happens in Vegas actually stays there. Other than marriage, of course. I’m relieved, I tell myself. It makes this so much easier. Less stressful.

I find myself smiling for the first time all morning. “What did you have in mind?”