“Lots of things could be simpler,”I muttered into his shoulder.“Calculus is simpler. Gerrymandering is simpler. Peace in the Middle East is a goddamn cakewalk compared to this tangled-up mess of a—”
And then his hand was in my hair, gentle but insistent as he titled my chin upwards for a kiss, his lips covering mine. It was a slow, warm kiss, tender at first but then increasing in intensity, his mouth growing greedy as he pulled me into his lap, my breasts pressed against his chest as his tongue slipped between my lips, as his other hand gripped my hip. I could feel him hardening against my thigh, and heat flushed between my legs, I could feel myself already wet for him— He grinned against my mouth, pulled away just a fraction of an inch.“We seem to get along so much better when we communicate like this, don’t we?” he murmured, that voice like dark chocolate and sea salt and sin.
He tried to kiss me again, but I pushed him back into the seat, away from me. I couldn’t do this. We couldn’t do this. Not again. I had to keep my head on straight.“There’ll be none of that.”I tried to clamber off his lap; he held me tight.“Dammit, Grant, this is business!”
Oh, why did I drink all that champagne, why did he have to be so warm and firm and lovely, why he have to be my boss and off-limits, why did he have to be an asshole when all I wanted to do was touch him, feel those firm shoulders like the foundation of a building, those cheekbones that could cut diamonds, those soft and supple lips that lit a fire in me—no, no, no!
“I’m serious, Grant, we have to stay on the ball here.”
“I can think of other things I’d like you to stay on,” he murmured with a rakish grin.
Dammit, no one had a rakish grin in real life! Rakish grins were for sexy pirates and dashing seventeenth century French spies with ruffled shirts! I refused to melt for an attribute real people weren’t even supposed to have.
“You’re not a pirate,”I informed him.“You don’t have a parrot or a hook hand or anything except the sexiness, so you can just stop with the pirateness right now and get back to business.”
It’s just possible that I was becoming tipsy. Maybe. You make a not entirely weak argument for the tipsiness hypothesis.
Grant didn’t even blink at my verbal sidetrip into pirate territory. “Business, hmmm? Ah, a girl with her eye on the prize. Are you into diamonds? Or did you see that movie about blood diamonds and become a sapphire girl?” His hand came up to stroke my cheek; I leaned into it without thinking. “Rubies would certainly be enchanting with your complexion.”
“Please stop talking,” I said into the skin of his palm. Oooh, nice skin. Just slightly weathered enough to be rugged, and so warm.
“If you insist,” he replied with a glint in his eye. He leaned closer.
I slapped him away.“Not like that! I’m pretty sure you can stop talking without using my lips as a breaking mecha—mechamis—stopping thing!”
He pouted. I was nearly overcome with the urge to kiss him in order to stop him from pouting. It would have been for the greater good of humanity. Pouts like that could drive the entire female population of Earth to sex-based insanity.
“Is that really how you want to treat your fiancé?”he asked, his eyes wide in a parody of tragic disappointment.“Lacey, I do believe you’ll give me a complex.”
“You’re not my fiancé,” I mumbled.“The question is invalid.”
“I know a few hundred people who would disagree,” he said.
“Fuck those guys,” I said eloquently.
“I’d rather fuck you,”he said bluntly, and my entire body lit up like a volcano, magma pulsing through my veins as I swooned towards him, melting.“Though if you’d prefer to wait for the wedding night, I might let myself be persuaded.”
Contrary to this statement, his hand began a leisurely journey up my thigh, occasionally pausing to take in the sights and soak up the atmosphere. I was torn between derailing it and telling it to stop snapping vacation photos and get to its final destination before its hotel reservation was canceled.
“Now, as to the wedding dress and wedding ring—”
The beacon light of the neon Steddy Tatts sign had never looked so inviting, like the shining beam of a lighthouse saving me from the stormy seas of hormones, really bad decisions, and future humiliation. I practically leapt out of the limo almost before the driver had come to a full stop, avoiding spraining my ankle Lord-only-knows-how as I blurted:“We will talk about this tomorrow goodnight goodbye!!”
Grant’s voice pursued me up the steps to my apartment, his accent only broadened by his obvious amusement:“Don’t leave me in suspense, Lacey: do you prefer princess, or square-cut?”
Princess, but there was no way in hell I was telling him that.
TWO