Dirty Sexy Inked Page 3

  She had no idea how much time had passed, but when she saw Samantha’s gaze move to someone behind Katrina and watched her face light up like a woman in love, she wasn’t surprised to see that the person she was beaming at turned out to be Clay, who had somehow found his fiancée in the crowd. Jesus, had Clay put a tracking device on Samantha?

  Katrina leaned closed to Samantha so she could speak directly in her ear and be heard over the music. “What is Clay doing here?”

  When she moved back, Samantha’s expression was sheepish, and a tad apologetic. “I told him where we were and asked him and the boys to come join us.”

  Which meant that Mason was here, as well. Fucking fabulous, Katrina thought, not at all happy that the boys had just crashed their girls’ night out and fun. Then again, it was hard to be upset with Samantha when all she wanted was to be with her man, but Katrina had expected it to be a Mason-free evening.

  “Sorry to cut in and steal away my beautiful fiancée,” Clay said as he wrapped his arms around Samantha and pulled her close.

  The sinful gleam in his eyes told Katrina he wasn’t the least bit sorry to be able to spend extra time with his bride-to-be before they went to their individual suites for the night.

  “Last I saw, Levi and Mason were getting a beer and heading over to one of those tables with Tara,” Clay went on, jerking his head in the direction where the girls had been earlier. “I’m sure if you ask Mason, he’ll dance with you.”

  Oh, hell no. That was one activity she’d avoided at all costs with Mason throughout the years, knowing that it would be sheer torture for her to have his hard, muscled body pressed so close, and to feel the grind of his hips against hers like a slow, sexual tease. And that’s all it ever would be, since Mason wasn’t attracted to her in the same way she was to him.

  She made her way back to the area with tables and found Levi and Tara at one of them, both drinking a beer. No Mason, of course.

  “Where’s Mase?” she asked, knowing it was a bad idea even before she spoke, and that she wouldn’t like the answer.

  “Doing what he does best,” Levi said, his tone droll, leaving no doubt in Katrina’s mind as to what he meant. Man-whoring.

  “He’s over there by the bar, trying to charm his way into that girl’s pants,” Tara added unnecessarily as she pushed her long, dark hair over her shoulder. “Let’s hope he doesn’t drag her into the bathroom and get himself arrested in Vegas,” she said with a snort.

  Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look. . . you’ll just get upset over something you can’t change, Katrina’s subconscious warned her.

  Like an idiot, she glanced over her shoulder and looked, her stomach in knots even before her gaze zeroed in on the one man who had way too much power over her emotions. It was a scene she’d witnessed so many times before—hot, gorgeous, tattooed Mason flirting with some random girl who had caught his eye, his devastatingly sexy smile promising the kind of pleasure most women couldn’t resist. Judging by the way the pretty girl put her hand on his arm and swayed toward him so their bodies brushed, he was close to sealing the deal.

  Hurt and anger warred within Katrina, the latter of which she had no right to feel. Logically she knew Mason was free to do what he wanted, with whomever he chose, but what upset her the most was the fact that he’d managed to ruin the fun she’d been having. He’d crashed their party, and she resented him being there and forcing her to watch him most likely leave the place with another woman.

  She exhaled a deep breath, trying to release the ache tightening in her chest, but the tension remained, especially when she added in the fact that he’d called her uptight earlier today and accused her of not being able to loosen up and have fun. During that plane ride, he’d suggested she find a random guy to have a fling with, and in a moment of frustration, she’d told Mason that she would.

  She remembered that dumbfounded look on his face, and his shock that she’d actually agreed to do something so out of character. She’d given him that flippant reply because he’d provoked her, but now she seriously considered putting herself out there to see what would happen, and how Mason would react.

  And hell, maybe she’d get lucky tonight, too.

  The Coyote Ugly bartenders were urging women to dance up on the counter, and Katrina realized that it was the perfect opportunity to show Mason that she was fully capable of letting loose and having a good time without him. She was finished standing on the sidelines, waiting and pining for something that wasn’t going to happen because Mason didn’t reciprocate her feelings.

  You can do this, her inner vixen coaxed, bolstering her courage and confidence. Get up on that bar and give Mason a show he’ll never forget.

  And that’s exactly what she intended to do, Katrina vowed as she headed for the stairs that led up to the staged bar, just as Don Henley’s “All She Wants To Do Is Dance” started to play.

  Chapter Three

  One minute Mason was trying to figure out how to nicely extricate himself from the overly aggressive woman who’d seemingly staked a claim on him the moment he’d walked into Coyote Ugly, and the next he was distracted by a round of loud cheers, appreciative male whistles, and catcalling coming from the direction of one of the bars.

  Mildly curious as to what had the crowd all worked up, he glanced over the woman’s shoulder toward the commotion. Every muscle in his body tensed when he saw Katrina dancing on top of the bar, looking hotter and more seductive than he’d ever seen her before. He’d also never seen her so . . . uninhibited, and especially in a public place.

  What the fucking hell?

  A combination of shock and awe held Mason’s gaze hostage, and his mouth went dry as dust as he watched her body move so sensually to the beat of the music. Those small hips circled and swayed with lithe grace, and her cloud of gorgeous blonde hair cascaded down her back as she tipped her head, raised her arms above her head, and drove the men around her wild with a shimmying move that nearly brought Mason to his knees right where he was standing.

  Lust made his blood surge like molten lava in his veins, spilling through him in a rush of carnal hunger. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He could only stare at this bold, brazen, uninhibited woman he barely recognized as his best friend.

  Who was this girl flaunting herself and what had she done with his composed and reserved Kitty-Kat?

  The tight leather pants she wore molded to her sexy curves and her perfect ass—the same luscious ass she was currently putting on display as she bent over and ran a hand up her leg in a slow, sultry caress as she straightened once again. When she lifted her smoky gaze, Mason could have sworn that she was looking directly at him with those dark, come-hither eyes. Teasing him. Taunting him. Tormenting him with what he couldn’t have. Fuck.

  Or maybe his wild imagination was just playing tricks on him, because she’d never, ever given him any indication that she wanted to get down and dirty with him. Then again, this racy performance could be for another man entirely, and why did that thought make his stomach feel as though he’d just swallowed a dozen burning coals?

  Hips gyrating to the music, she continued to skim those mesmerizing hands over her stomach and cupped her breasts over the corset top that was held together with just the thin ties that laced up the front. So fucking naughty. Her lips parted, and a hint of a smile played across her sinful mouth.

  A mouth he suddenly wanted to do filthy, wicked things to. Right now.

  Another ovation of rambunctious cheers attracted even more male attention to Katrina. Some guy offered her up a shot, and she took the glass and tossed back the liquor in one gulp, then sent a defiant glance in his general direction before continuing with her dirty dancing.

  Jesus Christ, was she drunk? It was the only thing that made sense to Mason. Katrina wasn’t an attention seeker, and she wasn’t the kind of woman who paraded herself in front of men. Then again, nothing about her behavior lately had been predictable or typical, and this little display of rebellion was th
e last straw. He’d had enough. Tonight, he was going to find out what the hell was going on with her.

  Before he could figure out a way to get Katrina out of there without causing a scene, one of the guys at the bar made the huge mistake of reaching out and touching her. The dickhead curled his hand around her calf and started sliding it upward, and Mason thought he was going to flip his shit.

  He saw bright red, as hot, fierce jealousy jolted through him. An unprecedented depth of emotion flooded him as he pushed his way through all her admirers to make his way up to the bar. He told himself he was being a friend and protecting her from one of these douchebags who might take advantage of her being drunk, but that didn’t explain the possessive feeling pumping through him with each step he took toward her. Add to that the steady stream of adrenaline ramping him up, and it was a potent combination that had him on edge and itching for a fight.

  Realizing that the mob around the bar was too crammed and it would take him too goddamn long to get to Katrina, he instead went for the stairs that led directly to the top of the bar. As he climbed up, she caught sight of him and her eyes grew wide with panic, as if she realized she’d provoked him a little too far. He narrowed his gaze ominously, conveying his thoughts with that one look. That’s right, Kitty-Kat. Be afraid. Be very afraid because tonight we’re finally going to hash out what the fuck your problem is.

  Now that Mason was on top of the bar—and yeah, he knew men weren’t allowed up there, but tough shit—their audience grew. Heads turned their way as everyone watched the scene about to unfold. Despite how pissed he was, Mason was determined to set aside his anger and be nice and gentle about getting Katrina out of there.

  When he reached her, he circled his fingers loosely around her wrist to make sure she obeyed. “Come on, Katrina, we’re leaving.”

  She yanked her hand out of his grasp and lifted her chin stubbornly. Her face was flushed and her eyes flashed fire. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  Okay . . . Apparently, he needed to line up a Plan B.

  “Yes, you are,” he said firmly, all too aware of all the eyes on them. “I suggest you come with me willingly, or you’re not going to like the alternative. The choice is yours.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, a reckless glint in her eyes as she glared at him. “You’re such an asshole, Mase.”

  Clearly, she was mad at him. For ruining her fun? Or something else? That was the problem lately—he had no fucking clue what he’d done wrong. Since she was already furious, he figured things couldn’t get much worse.

  He sighed. “Since you think I’m an asshole, I might as well live up to my reputation.” Before she realized his intent, he bent low, wrapped his arms around the backs of her thighs, and hefted her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. She was slim and light—he bench-pressed more than what she weighed—and he heard her gasp at being taken by surprise.

  She wriggled and squirmed as he headed back toward the stairs, with the crowd now cheering him on.

  Her fists pummeled his backside. “Goddamn it, Mason Kincaid, let me down!”

  He had no intentions of putting her feet back on the ground, because he knew he wouldn’t get this kind of leverage over her again. “Not gonna happen, Kitty-Kat, so relax and enjoy the ride.”

  “Fuck you!” she bellowed.

  He shook his head in disbelief. Jesus, when had she become such a goddamn hellcat?

  He reached the bottom of the stairs and encountered Clay, who was frowning at him in that reprimanding way of his, and Mason knew that his big brother was going to be all . . . well, big brotherly, and try to interfere.

  Before Clay could say a word, Mason spoke first. “Don’t you fucking dare try to stop me. Katrina and I have some things to hash out, and it’s happening tonight.”

  Surprisingly, Clay backed down, nodded in understanding, and let him pass by. They all knew how out of character this stunt of Katrina’s was, and his brother also knew Mason would never physically hurt her.

  The next roadblock Mason encountered was the big, beefy bouncer standing at the door, muscular arms folded over his chest, who wouldn’t let him walk by.

  “Is she leaving with you willingly?” the bouncer asked gruffly.

  “No!” Katrina shouted as she tried to kick her legs, which Mason held down with his forearm. “He’s kidnapping me!”

  “She’s such a drama queen.” Mason rolled his eyes. “Honestly, no, she’s not leaving with me willingly,” he said, because, hello, he had Katrina flipped over his shoulder and she was yelling obscenities at him. There was nothing willing about this particular scenario or her conduct. “But she’s had a lot to drink and I’d rather her be my problem than yours.”

  The bouncer didn’t budge, his expression dubious. The dude obviously took his job seriously, and while Mason appreciated him being thorough and cautious, quite frankly, he needed the guy to let them through.

  “I can vouch for him.” Levi came up to the door, surprising Mason with his support. “He’s my brother and I’m a cop,” he said, and showed his Chicago PD badge, which he always carried in his wallet.

  The bouncer verified the information, and that’s all it took to convince him that Katrina was safe with Mason. He finally moved aside to let them past.

  “Thanks, man,” Mason said to his brother. “I owe you one.”

  Levi gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, you do.”

  Behind Mason, Katrina pushed up on her hands so she could look at Levi as they walked through the exit—or glare at him, Mason was guessing.

  “You’re such a traitor, Levi!” she shouted at him.

  Mason heard his brother chuckle before saying, “See you two at some point tomorrow.”

  As soon as they were finally out on the sidewalk leading to their hotel, Katrina started up again, thrashing and pummeling and cursing. She drew curious stares from strangers, but Mason just smiled and nodded at the passersby as if this was normal for the two of them, and kept strolling toward the Bellagio.

  “I can walk, you jerk! Put me down already,” she demanded as she smacked and pinched his butt, then growled in frustration when she encountered mostly firm muscle.

  “Nope. And quit wiggling around.” When she didn’t obey, he returned the favor, slapping her bottom so hard she gasped and arched her back from the direct contact. His palm stung from the sharp swat, which meant she’d likely have his handprint on her ass—and Jesus Christ, the image of that possessive mark on her pale skin made his cock hard as stone.

  She finally settled down. “I hate you,” she said, a pout in her voice.

  There was no vehemence behind her words, but Mason knew that for the moment, for whatever reason, she wasn’t very fond of him. “I know you do, Kitty-Kat. I just don’t know why.”

  “I already told you,” she said, perking up again. “It’s because you’re an asshole.”

  He let it go at that, and when they finally reached the Bellagio, Katrina was dead weight over his shoulder and uncharacteristically quiet. He figured she’d either fallen asleep or passed out from the alcohol she’d consumed.

  He figured wrong. On the ride up the quiet, vacant elevator, she finally spoke.

  “Will you please put me down now?” she asked through gritted teeth, her voice clear enough that he knew she’d been awake the entire time. “You’ve humiliated me enough tonight.”

  “Me?” he asked incredulously as he bent his knees and anchored her feet on the ground, then helped her to stand. They were facing one another now, and he felt his earlier irritation flare back to life. “I was trying to keep you from humiliating yourself up on that bar!”

  Her spine stiffened and her gaze shot daggers at him. “I was doing just fine until you came along and ruined my night. I didn’t want or need your help.”

  “Yeah, well, tough shit,” he shot back as he jammed his hands on his hips and tried to keep his gaze above her neck when her heaving chest tempted him to look at her perfect breasts pushed up so enti
cingly by her top. “That’s what best friends do, Katrina. They make sure their drunk friends get back to their hotel safely instead of leaving with some random stranger.”

  Her jaw dropped incredulously. “I can’t believe that just came out of your mouth. You’re such a fucking hypocrite.”

  Hypocrite? Was that what she really thought when he was trying to be a good guy and do the right thing? Jesus, he’d never seen her so combative, so angry at him. Sure, they’d had squabbles over their twelve years of friendship, but it was as though her current animosity was an accumulation of weeks, or months, of harboring resentments of some kind.

  Before he could demand she explain the hypocrite comment, the elevator arrived on their floor. As soon as the doors slid open, she marched out into the corridor all huffy-puffy and turned toward her suite. He grabbed her upper arm before she could walk too far away, and just like back at the bar, she managed to yank out of his grasp.

  She spun around to say something most likely rude and scathing, her hair flying around her shoulders, and he took advantage and did the only thing he could think of to keep ahold of her so she couldn’t escape him or the discussion they were going to have. Whether she liked it or not.

  Impulsively, his hand shot out and he grabbed the front of her leather pants. He seized the waistband in his fist and jerked her toward him so abruptly that she stumbled on her heels and inhaled a quick breath. Her hands landed on his chest, which allowed her to regain her balance, but she was quick to try and push away from him. She only managed about a foot of space because his grip was strong and unrelenting, and he didn’t intend to let her go.

  “What the hell, Mase?” she said, her shock as profound as his own.

  As he stared into her wide eyes that were a bit too bright with what he would have sworn was desire, he wasn’t sure if her surprise was a result of him asserting a bit of physical control over her, or the fact that he’d tucked four long fingers between the fly of her pants and her lower stomach. Fuck, his knuckles were grazing the softest, silkiest flesh he’d ever had the pleasure of touching.