Page 28 of Sin

He moves around the edge of my desk and reaches for the pencil near my keyboard and turns one of the printed diagrams toward him.

“You’re solving the pressure issue from the wrong side.”

I lean in closer despite myself. “No, I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Mason.”

His gaze darts up, and I realize too late that I used his first name. So does he. For one stupid second, we just stare at each other.

Then he looks back at the paper, but his voice is lower when he says, “The problem isn’t the opening. It’s the valve.”

I focus on the diagram because it’s safer than focusing on him. “We already changed the valve twice.”

“Not like this.”

He sketches a quick line across the design. Then another. Damn him for being right.

I lean closer, studying it. His shoulder brushes mine. Still, my entire body reacts. Mason stills. So do I. The pencil stops moving, but neither of us pulls away.

That’s the worst part.

The silence stretches, thin and hot, until I can hear my own breathing. Until I know he can hear it too.

Then Mason says, very quietly, “This is why I told you to put your blouse on.”

My stomach drops and I pull back immediately. Anger rushes in to save me from embarrassment.

“Don’t.”

His eyes come to mine. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t make this my fault.”

“I didn’t.”

“You implied it.”

“No.” His voice hardens. “I implied I know my limits.”

I laugh, because the alternative is shaking. “That’s rich.”

His expression goes still.

“What does that mean?”

“It means you keep talking about limits like I’m the only one testing them.”

He says nothing. So I keep going, because apparently I’ve learned nothing from Friday night.

“You’re the one who followed me into your office.”

“Laurel.”

“And you told me you were having a hard time remembering why you shouldn’t touch me.”

The words hang between us. They seem worse in daylight because neither of us can pretend I misunderstood. Mason’s face gives nothing away, but his eyes do. His eyes are a confession.