Bachelor Swap

money? Count me in. I have a few things to wrap up, but could be there around seven, if that works.
Me: Perfect. See you then, Cowboy.
Matthew: I’ll be there.
With a quick check of the clock, I slip my phone back into my pocket. It’s nearing three thirty, which gives me just enough time to stop by the market and grab a few things to make the spinach and cream cheese stuffed chicken breast recipe I found online. I screenshotted it months ago, but never had a reason to make it. Until now. I can stop by the store and grab what I need, take a quick shower, and have dinner ready by seven with no rush at all.
But first, a quick ride on Dolly.

Chapter Nine
Mason
For the second time, I give George the night off and opt to drive my brother’s car. The thought of him either waiting for me, while I’m at Kyla’s, or having to call him to pick me up, like a teenager calling Mom for a ride home, doesn’t sit well with me. Instead, I input the address Matthew left me in his paperwork in the GPS and drive myself to Kyla’s place.
When I pull up in front, I’m left awestruck at the magnificent building standing before me. In a way, it reminds me of my brother’s residence, but more ornate. Doormen and valet services, gold-etched window trim and deep burgundy coverings.
“Good evening, sir. Are you visiting?” a young man in a valet uniform asks as he approaches the driver’s door.
“Yes, Kyla Morgan. I’m Mas—Matthew Wilder.”
Fuck. I almost screwed that up by giving the wrong name.
The man doesn’t seem to notice my blunder and gives me a polite nod. “She’s expecting you, sir. Corbin is right inside and will assist you with the elevator,” the younger man says, his white-gloved hand extended for the keys.
After handing them over, I head for the front entrance. “Good evening, sir,” the man at the door says.
“Good evening,” I repeat, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans and stepping through the doorway. I tried to put on a pair of khaki slacks before heading over here but hated them the moment I buttoned them. I kept the blue button-down but traded the pants for a pair of blue jeans.
“This way, Mr. Wilder,” he states politely, leading me toward a bank of elevators.
Glancing around as we walk, I’m impressed. The building she lives in, while a tad over the top with their chandeliers and ornate architecture, seems relatively secure, with extra safety measures in place, including a doorman. It gives me a sense of relief, knowing she’s in a place that values her safety and that of those around her.
We stop in front of a bank of elevators, the man using a key card and his palm to open the one on the far right. “This elevator will take you straight to the penthouse, sir. If you need anything, let me know. I’m Corbin, and I’ll be here until eleven. Miss Morgan can call down to let us know when you’re departing, and valet will have your car brought around. Enjoy your visit, sir.”
And then I’m left alone inside the elevator, being whisked up to the penthouse floor.
I almost canceled tonight’s dinner, but I was being honest with her earlier in my text. After three days of going down to the bar and listening to the rich assholes comparing dick sizes, I was more than ready for a change of scenery. If I hadn’t received her text, I would have ordered something from a local restaurant or diner. A big juicy cheeseburger and fries or maybe baked lasagna with garlic Texas toast. You know, comfort food. Things the diner back home in Montana is famous for.
The door opens and I step directly into Kyla’s apartment. It’s massive. Two floors with a wide staircase, a formal sitting area, and a view of Boston Harbor. As much as I’d like to check out the water, I catch a whiff of something mouthwatering.
“Oh, hey. I didn’t hear the elevator.”
I turn around and find Kyla standing at the threshold between the sitting area and the kitchen. She’s wearing a light blue and green striped apron with an embroidered hand mixer on the chest and a welcoming grin. “I just got here,” I reassure her, my legs carrying me toward her all on their own.
The second she’s within reaching distance, I wrap my hand around her waist. My intention is to place a kiss on her cheek, but that’s not what happens. Instead, the moment my fingers grip her side, my mouth finds hers. She seems taken by surprise, but only for an instant. Her mouth quickly opens, allowing my tongue to slip inside. Blood swooshes in my ears, and fire races through my veins.
When I feel her fingers slide up my chest and grasp my shirt, I rip my lips from hers. We’re both breathing hard, her eyes a little unfocused and dilated. “Well, hello to you too,” she whispers.
All I can do is stare at her swollen lips, and fuck, if I don’t want to kiss her again.
Yeah, this is definitely not how tonight was supposed to play out.
I clear my throat. “Sorry,” I mumble, guilt replacing the fire once coursing through me.
Kyla giggles. Fuck, she giggles the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. “Please don’t apologize for kissing me. I kind of liked it.” A blush sweeps up her neck and stains her cheeks.
“Me too,” I confess. More than I should, all things considered.
She clears her throat and adds, “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Would you like some white or red wine? I think I have some scotch, whiskey, and possibly brandy in the liquor cabinet. Or there’s a little beer in the fridge.” My eyebrows draw together in question, causing her to grin. “Sometimes I prefer a beer at the end of the day over a glass of wine.”
“A woman after my own heart,” I tease, following