his shoulder and run for the closest room with a bed and a lock.
He heaved a sigh. No, that wasn’t fair. And frankly, he needed to stop thinking about sex. He couldn’t take it as a forgone conclusion that they would make it anywhere near a bed.
He might have been joking about crying all alone before, but at the thought of not touching all of Leyla’s glorious skin, he could have sworn he felt a tear gather in his eye.
Veiled Desire
Chapter Eight
The food was divine, the wine was plentiful, the atmosphere was intimate, and all Leyla wanted to do was get Mason home and naked.
She sighed. No, she needed to be strong. Mason had worked hard on this night, and she could hardly pooh-pooh his romantic efforts.
She tried to focus past her horniness to savor sitting in the exclusive restaurant. She was alone for the moment, Mason having excused himself to go to the restroom.
The place really was lovely, the theme understated romance and elegance. They were seated in a plush private booth. The slight tinkle of glassware and hushed murmur of conversation created a pleasant accompaniment to the superb dinners.
Her eye caught on an older couple sitting a few tables away, and she studied them. They were in their sixties, but that wasn’t what separated them from the masses of other couples in the restaurant. Her purse wasn’t designer, and his suit jacket was clearly a bit too snug for him. They’d only ordered one entrée to split between the two of them. Their hands touched, their heads bowed close to each other. When she spoke, the man leaned in to listen. When he laughed, her eyes lit up. As Leyla watched, he reached up a wrinkled hand and caressed her cheek.
Leyla looked away, unable to help but feel that she was intruding on a private moment. Her throat was choked with longing.
All her adult life, she’d wondered if maybe she was abnormal for not feeling more of a desire to date and pursue men in that relentless fight to find the one that she’d watched her other friends embark upon. But now she wondered if she’d been so indifferent toward most men because deep down she’d known they wouldn’t be able to give her what that couple clearly had. That love and devotion and enjoyment of just being with another person. No man had ever made her feel as though she could be with them for years down the road. Except Mason.
She smiled as she watched him walk back toward her. He was so tall and beautiful, but she’d seen him at his worst, when he was grouchy or sloppy, and she still found him wildly attractive.
They’d started out at opposite ends of the booth, but by the time the entrées had come, they were sitting fairly close together. He slid in right next to her. “I hate it when they have attendants in bathrooms. It makes me feel like I’m being watched.”
His silly comment was so at odds with her grave, deep thoughts, she was startled into a laugh. “It’s supposed to make you feel pampered.”
“Hell, if they want to give me a massage, awesome. I don’t need someone to hand me a towel to wipe my hands. How’s your food?”
“Good.”
“Let me try some of that.”
She cut the juicy chicken breast and scooped it up with a forkful of pasta. Enjoying the novelty of feeding him, she scooted in a bit closer so they sat hip to hip and held it out.
His full lips closed over the fork, and he gave a slight moan. Her heart stuttered just a bit. His eyes were laughing as he pulled away, as if he knew how he affected her. “Very nice.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, and his gaze heated. Without warning, he dipped his head and gently touched his tongue against hers.
“Stop teasing,” he murmured as he drew away.
Leyla was short on breath. “I’m not the one teasing.”
“Yeah, right.” He smiled and cut into his steak.
Leyla tried to concentrate on her food, but it was hard to go through the motions when hunger was really the least important need racking her body. Her eye caught on the
He heaved a sigh. No, that wasn’t fair. And frankly, he needed to stop thinking about sex. He couldn’t take it as a forgone conclusion that they would make it anywhere near a bed.
He might have been joking about crying all alone before, but at the thought of not touching all of Leyla’s glorious skin, he could have sworn he felt a tear gather in his eye.
Veiled Desire
Chapter Eight
The food was divine, the wine was plentiful, the atmosphere was intimate, and all Leyla wanted to do was get Mason home and naked.
She sighed. No, she needed to be strong. Mason had worked hard on this night, and she could hardly pooh-pooh his romantic efforts.
She tried to focus past her horniness to savor sitting in the exclusive restaurant. She was alone for the moment, Mason having excused himself to go to the restroom.
The place really was lovely, the theme understated romance and elegance. They were seated in a plush private booth. The slight tinkle of glassware and hushed murmur of conversation created a pleasant accompaniment to the superb dinners.
Her eye caught on an older couple sitting a few tables away, and she studied them. They were in their sixties, but that wasn’t what separated them from the masses of other couples in the restaurant. Her purse wasn’t designer, and his suit jacket was clearly a bit too snug for him. They’d only ordered one entrée to split between the two of them. Their hands touched, their heads bowed close to each other. When she spoke, the man leaned in to listen. When he laughed, her eyes lit up. As Leyla watched, he reached up a wrinkled hand and caressed her cheek.
Leyla looked away, unable to help but feel that she was intruding on a private moment. Her throat was choked with longing.
All her adult life, she’d wondered if maybe she was abnormal for not feeling more of a desire to date and pursue men in that relentless fight to find the one that she’d watched her other friends embark upon. But now she wondered if she’d been so indifferent toward most men because deep down she’d known they wouldn’t be able to give her what that couple clearly had. That love and devotion and enjoyment of just being with another person. No man had ever made her feel as though she could be with them for years down the road. Except Mason.
She smiled as she watched him walk back toward her. He was so tall and beautiful, but she’d seen him at his worst, when he was grouchy or sloppy, and she still found him wildly attractive.
They’d started out at opposite ends of the booth, but by the time the entrées had come, they were sitting fairly close together. He slid in right next to her. “I hate it when they have attendants in bathrooms. It makes me feel like I’m being watched.”
His silly comment was so at odds with her grave, deep thoughts, she was startled into a laugh. “It’s supposed to make you feel pampered.”
“Hell, if they want to give me a massage, awesome. I don’t need someone to hand me a towel to wipe my hands. How’s your food?”
“Good.”
“Let me try some of that.”
She cut the juicy chicken breast and scooped it up with a forkful of pasta. Enjoying the novelty of feeding him, she scooted in a bit closer so they sat hip to hip and held it out.
His full lips closed over the fork, and he gave a slight moan. Her heart stuttered just a bit. His eyes were laughing as he pulled away, as if he knew how he affected her. “Very nice.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, and his gaze heated. Without warning, he dipped his head and gently touched his tongue against hers.
“Stop teasing,” he murmured as he drew away.
Leyla was short on breath. “I’m not the one teasing.”
“Yeah, right.” He smiled and cut into his steak.
Leyla tried to concentrate on her food, but it was hard to go through the motions when hunger was really the least important need racking her body. Her eye caught on the
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