The hotel staff had even thoughtfully laid out a complementary spread of delicacies for us: salmon tarts, curry chicken finger sandwiches, summer pudding, pickled watermelon spears, lemon white chocolate squares, almond bark dipped in acai berries, and more things that I couldn’t identify but that smelled simply divine.
I say ‘smelled’ rather than ‘tasted’ because my stomach still absolutely refused to let me eat anything, and mounted a full-scale revolution every time I thought about doing so. In fact, Grant wasn’t eating either.
What we were doing—in our quiet, dignified, and elegant way—was freaking the fuck out. I was slowly destroying my fingernails with fiddling, and Grant was pacing up and down the suite like a cat. I was pretty sure he was going to wear a hole in the carpet, or at least a trail.
“How long will this take?” Grant muttered for about the sixtieth time, wringing his hands.
“As long as it needs to,” I soothed, despite my own anxiety. “Give the shareholders some time. It just means they’re thinking it over.” If only they’d think faster.
He kept eyeing the walls like he wanted to punch them, which was just putting me further on edge. What if he took out a painting? True, he could probably cover the cost, but if these were the originals of whom I suspected they were, my guilt over the loss to the art world would never let me sleep at night.
Grant started wringing his hands, honest-to-God wringing them, and when he made a fist, that’s when I knew I couldn’t take it anymore. I jumped off my cushion and leapt in front of the nearest maybe-Van Gogh. I could at least protect one of them.
“Enough, Grant!” There was an edge to my voice, more frayed nerves than actual anger. He paused mid-stride, startled by my shout. “Please. We’re both freaked out right now and you either need to stop pacing the room, or…or find some other way to redirect all that nervous energy.”
“Oh, I do, do I?”
A smile quirked his lips as he raked his gaze up and down my body, and I saw the unmistakable hunger in his eyes. I felt heat flushing my cheeks.
“I didn’t mean—” I started, but he was already striding toward me.
Okay, I’ll admit it: my arms may have already been held out as he swept me up and carried me into the bedroom, laying me down on the bed as though I were a fragile piece of china he was afraid might break. His lust-darkened eyes devoured me, and I felt my heart speed up, my breathing go short.
“Didn’t mean what?” he asked.
“Nothing.” I reached for him.
He took my hand, his strong fingers interlacing with mine and squeezing tight, as if to reassure him that I was still there.
“I need you,” he said.
I kissed his cheek. “I know.” And I did.
He bent over me, his warm lips lighting fires below my skin as he kissed my neck. Somehow, he also managed to wrestle himself out of his tux, which I’d never realized had so many working parts involved. And God but it took a lot of willpower not to ask him to put the bowtie back on once he was down to his underwear.
My left hand slid across his bare chest, sketching the planes of his rock-hard muscles, teasing at his light chest hair, before dipping lower and rubbing him through his black briefs. He immediately hardened further against my fingertips, and he groaned deep against my skin; I flushed and grew wet between my thighs, already desperate to have him inside me.
His left hand still interlaced with mine, his right began to stroke and squeeze my breasts through the filmy fabric of my dress. Impatient to feel his touch on my bare skin, I reached over and unzipped it; Grant slipped it down my body with an impassioned growl and tossed it to the floor, descending to suck and bite at my breasts through the silk of my bra.
He abandoned his grip on my hand, his fingers trailing down to stroke over the lace of my panties, and then he dipped inside.
I yelped as he touched my clit, seeing stars. He slid down the length of me, and I savored the feel of his every muscle against my skin. His hot tongue teased at the hem of my panties before his hands tugged those down as well, and then his clever tongue was stroking against me, feinting at my clit, diving deep within me.
I arched shamelessly against his hungry mouth, my hands gripping at his powerful shoulders as I twisted and moaned his name, “Oh, Grant, oh, Grant, oh Grant…”
My eyes slid shut in ecstasy, and he stopped. “Look at me,” he ordered, his voice gravelly and deep. “Look me in the eyes while I lick you. Look me in the eyes and tell me how much you like it, how much you want it.”
I forced myself to keep my eyes open, looking into the forceful blue pools of his, even as the connection threatened to overwhelm me with its intensity, push me over the edge.
“Oh Grant, please—I want it—I want you—”
I pulled him free and a groan escaped him as he raised himself up on his arms, and then slid into me like he was coming home, a look on his face as if he knew he was exactly where the universe wanted him to be.