“Excellent choice, sir,” the waiter says before stepping away.
I turn my attention to Leigh. She’s sitting straight, her back stiff, shoulders squared. I take a moment to take in her defined deltoids and it’s obvious that years of Pilates have left her body sculpted and defined.
“You look uncomfortable.” I pick up my glass of water and take a sip.
“I’m wondering why you asked me here.”
“I thought it was clear. I asked you on a date.” I smile.
“Can we drop the act?” Her shoulders fall. “We,” she motions between the two of us, “clearly don’t get along. We don’t seem to like each other. So did you just ask me out to throw more jabs at me for growing up privileged? Which, by the way, you did too, so pot calling the kettle black there.”
“For the record, no, that’s not why I asked you out, and also, I don’t dislike you. I’ll admit that I—” I consider my words carefully, “enjoy teasing you a little. You just get so defensive.” I smile but she doesn’t reciprocate. “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass. How about we put any feelings of animosity aside tonight and just enjoy good food and wine and each other’s company?”
The waiter brings over the wine and presents it before she can respond. He pours us each a tasting before filling our glasses.
“So?” I ask, raising my glass. A small smile breaks across her lips.
“Deal.” We clink our glasses together and drink to our date.
The next two hours fly by. We laugh and talk and you wouldn’t know that this woman might very well hate me to my actual core. When I pay the check and we walk outside, I grab her hand before she can give her ticket to the valet.
“Walk with me for a minute?”
I look at her, fully expecting her to say no, but she briefly glances down at her feet before wrapping her fingers around my hand and walking next to me.
We walk in silence to the end of the sidewalk on Larimer Street, where I tug her hand and spin her around to face me.
“Why’d you wear the red dress?”
I’ve been dying to ask her since the moment she stepped out her car, her tan legs begging to be touched. She doesn’t say anything, and her eyes are big and unblinking. I take a step closer, our chests now touching. “If you detest me as much as you put on, then why do this little thing for me?”
“Why’d you ask me out on a date?” She doesn’t step back. Instead, she reaches up and grabs the lapel of my suit coat.
“I told you.”
“No, you said you liked teasing me then asked if we could play nice through dinner. That wasn’t a reason.”
“Touché,” I laugh as I look down at her, noting that her parted lips are glistening in the moonlight. “I asked you on a date because,” I reach up and push a strand of hair behind her ear, “I wanted to kiss you.”
My words are barely a whisper by the time I finish saying them. I lean the few inches forward and close the distance between our mouths, my lips pressing gently against hers. The spark is instant, undeniable. I reach my hands up, cupping her cheeks and tilting her head so I can deepen the kiss. I pull back after only a few seconds and she falls slightly forward into me from standing on her tiptoes.
“Why’d you ask me to wear the red dress?” She’s slightly breathless.
This time I don’t hesitate. I wrap one hand around her waist, and the other around her neck and back her up until we’re against the brick wall of the building.
“Because I want to fuck you in it.”
5
Leigh
I know this is stupid. I need to stop, I need to walk away . . . but I don’t want to.
I lean into Grant’s kiss, his rigid cock pressing into my belly as he grabs my hands and holds them above my head. I don’t even mind the roughness of the brick wall scratching at my shoulders and upper back. His scent engulfs me—woodsy with a hint of vanilla and musk.
I tell myself that this is as far as it goes, just a taste. But I’m always the sensible one. I’m always the person who does the right thing and doesn’t take a risk. Maybe tonight—just this once—I can let my guard down and give in to this temptation. To know what it’s like to lose myself in a man who wants me so unapologetically.
“Let’s go back to your place,” I murmur against his lips. He pulls back, studying me for a brief second, and just when I think he’s about to tell me it’s not a good idea, he releases my hand, pulling me after him as he marches back down the sidewalk toward the valet.
He hands the young man his ticket, giving him a generous tip of a few hundred dollars. He grabs my ticket from my hand, showing the young man.
“Make sure this car stays safe. We’ll be back for it later.”
“Yes, sir.” The kid smiles broadly at the wad of cash in his hands before running around the corner to pull up Grant’s Porsche.
A million thoughts race through my head. There’s still time to back out. To tell the kid to get my car so I can drive home. The SUV arrives and the kid hops out. Grant walks me to the passenger-side door, opening it and offering me his hand in assistance. I hesitate for a moment, looking at his hand then over at him. His eyes are dark, his pupils dilated. I watch as he swallows, his throat constricting, and my eyes drop to his chest. His dress shirt is unbuttoned at the top, and a small square of his tanned flesh is exposed. My mouth waters at the thought of exploring the ridges and grooves of his chest with my tongue. I thrust my hand into his, sliding into the passenger seat as the door closes.
The drive back to his condo is quick and silent. The air in the vehicle is thick with the unsaid idea of what’s about to happen. Grant slides his hand from the console to my upper thigh, his warm fingers delicately fingering the material of my dress. I watch him from the corner of my eye and his gaze is forward, his jaw set. He looks tense, a far cry from the laissez-faire attitude he usually displays. His look is determined, as are his movements. He whips the car into a parking garage, the tires screeching as he rounds the corners and pulls into a designated spot. He puts it in park, unbuckling both of our seatbelts at almost the same time before hopping out. He’s around the vehicle in a few long strides, pulling my door open and helping me step down.
I want to ask him about the building. Does he like living here? Does he own the penthouse? How much is a place like this? But it all feels pointless. His hand is pressed firmly against my back as he leads me wordlessly to the elevator, placing a fob against a panel inside and hitting the top floor. Of course.
The doors slide open and before I can make a joke about him living in the penthouse, he’s spinning me around, crashing his lips against mine as my purse falls from my hand. He’s unfazed, his hands delving into my hair as a startled moan escapes my lips. His tongue presses against my lips, demanding entrance, and I welcome him in. He’s forceful and deliberate but not rushed or sloppy.
I pull at him, needing—wanting—more. I rip his shirt from his pants, fumbling with his belt as the door opens into a grand entrance. I don’t have the chance to look around and take in the view of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Denver. Grant picks me up, wrapping my legs around his waist as he kicks my purse from the floor of the elevator into the foyer.