Mason’s Intern


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Fighting his own demons might prove to be Mason’s toughest case.

Attorney Mason Hintley gives new meaning to working for the weekend. Come Friday night, he’s ready to exchange stuffy suits for colorful outfits that would make even Liberace sit up and take notice. One night stands only, no keepers need apply. But sometimes even the best-laid plans of handsome gay lawyers go awry. All it takes is the right match to start a fire…

Jeremy Brooks has wanted Mason ever since he first met him, but as an intern at his father’s law firm, where they both work, it seems like mission impossible. Until the unexpected becomes the possible, and a drunken phone call opens a door that could lead to forever.

Can Jeremy tame the call of the wild in Mason’s soul, and bring out the pussycat inside of him?


The bed Mason sat in was a king-size with a comfortable mattress, thick pillows, and soft sheets in a calming blue shade. Mason couldn’t see any used condoms, lube bottles, or toys. Plus, he wasn’t sore. Either he’d topped—not likely—or he hadn’t had penetrative sex. Which was a relief, because Mason couldn’t remember sleeping with anybody last night. Who knew if he’d thought about using protection in his inebriated condition.

Mason put his head in his hands. Oh, God, he had to go to the clinic to be sure. Again. That would be the…what? Second time this year? Given that it was only February, he should think about joining a monastery.

Mason pressed his head into the soft pillow and groaned. Not because his head fucking hurt—which it still did—but because the pillow smelled divine. Cologne, musk, and man.

When he moved underneath the covers, he became aware of another detail. With trembling fingers, he lifted the blanket and confirmed that, yup, he only wore his boxers. Wait, Mason didn’t even own any boxers. He only wore tight briefs or the occasional jockstrap.

Double crap. Strange boxers hugging his ass and privates meant that he’d undressed at some point, and that he’d done God-knows-what. Maybe it was better he couldn’t remember anything.

“Finally awake?”

Startled by the deep, male voice, Mason scrambled around and let out an unmanly squeak—one he’d deny later, even under oath. His sudden movement caused his naked legs to tangle in the sheets. In a frantic effort to free himself, he rolled off the mattress and landed on the hardwood floor with a painful thud.

“Ow! Fuck.” Mason held his head. He grabbed the mattress and pulled himself into a sitting position until he saw his host over the edge of the bed. “Fucking headache. Can’t even drink anymore without feeling like—” The rest of the sentence died a strangled death in his throat.

Leaning against the door frame, dressed in casual sweatpants and a white wife beater, stood Jeremy. Jeremy Brooks. The twenty-four-year old son of Mason’s boss.

Mason’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh, fuck me now.” Was this the younger man’s room and bed? Had they met last night and hooked up? Mason was so going to hell. After Thomas Brooks fired him. He’d never drink again. “I’m a dead man.”

Jeremy laughed. He studied Mason’s struggle to free himself from the sheets with an amused smile playing around his lips. He sipped something from a mug, the smell clearly hinting at coffee.

Mason would kill for coffee right now, but his tongue was too tangled to ask for a cup. He wasn’t even able to convince his legs to help him back up. So he simply sat there and eyed his…whatever he was.

Jeremy was tall, like six-foot-five or something tall. As if that wasn’t enough, his athletic body was proof the sports bag and barbells weren’t for decoration only. Maybe he’d played football in college? After all, he’d finished his undergrad at Salisbury University a couple of months ago and worked in Thomas’ law firm as an intern. College boys with the body of a Greek god played football, right?

Mason had participated in gymnastics back then, but Jeremy screamed football. His wife beater clung to his broad shoulders and his strong chest, thickly muscled and tapering down to a trim waist.

Jeremy held the coffee cup in one strong hand. The other he’d casually placed against the doorjamb. The same brown locks that tumbled around Jeremy’s head covered his corded forearms and his chest. Mason dropped his gaze to the long legs that filled Jeremy’s pants perfectly, and he wondered where else the guy was hairy.

Mason had never met a man who looked that tasty in fucking sweatpants. They were usually an unflattering garment. At least on Mason. He looked good wearing spandex, though. Finally untangling his legs, Mason climbed back on the bed and threw the sheets over his naked legs when he saw Jeremy ogling them.

He blushed. Freaking blushed! He, Mason Hintley, one of the most hard-assed employees in his boss’ firm. He never blushed, especially not in front of a kid.

“I…um, where…” Mason clutched the sheets tightly, his knuckles turning white. Great, now he looked flushed and flustered. Nervous and searching for words wasn’t something one would find in his personality description. Mason never had to search for a fitting response. Ever.

“You have no idea what happened last night?” Jeremy’s twinkling eyes didn’t bode well.

Darn. Mason really needed to go to the clinic. “Happened?” he squeaked. “Oh, Gawd, please tell me nothing happened between us!” Putting his face in his palms, Mason slumped his shoulders. “Your father is going to kill me. And then he’ll pin my head to his office door as a warning not to mess with his son.”