by Amelia Wilde
Juliet laughs again, and the sound sends peals of joy through my chest. “What are you, some kind of prince in disguise?”
I raise my hands in the air. “Look, some ladies like that kind of thing.”
“I’m not one of them.”
“The way you’re blushing says otherwise.”
“Yes, but you just have to go on the words coming out of my mouth. And I don’t need to be flattered.”
“Who said I’m trying to flatter you?”
“You just did.”
“I’m not trying to flatter you. I’ve been wishing I could see your face again for the last four days.”
She looks to the side, then seems to steel herself, forcing herself to look back at me. “I haven’t thought about you at all.”
I look at her for a long moment, and that’s when Juliet gives herself away. For the briefest moment, she slips, biting her bottom lip. “There it is,” I say with a grin, wishing I could reach up and put my thumb against her lip, followed by my tongue.
“There’s what?” Her voice has gone soft, even if she’s still holding herself stiff.
“You have been thinking about me.”
She sucks in a breath, and there’s a flash of something in her eyes. Is it defiance? Is she making a decision?
“It’s not because I want you.” Juliet’s words have that same hint of a lie, that same untruth to them that resonated through me when she said hadn’t been thinking about me.
I give her a level glance. She might be standing here with her chin raised, determined not to give an inch, but she’s already giving in, even if she doesn’t realize it. Juliet is leaning toward me, just slightly, and something tells me that if I just keep pushing, just a little bit....
“That’s a bold claim.”
“So is the claim that you can offer me anything I want.”
Touché. “Maybe you’re right.” Her violet eyes go a little wider, but the more I talk to her, the more I see how in control she is of the expressions that move over her face. It’s only from the tiniest hints that I get any idea at all of what she’s feeling. And I could be wrong about that, too. Clearly. “Maybe I got a little…ahead of myself.”
“I’d say.” Her grip tightens around the handle of her bag.
The urge to touch her is so strong that it takes every ounce of my strength to stay in place on the sidewalk. There’s one thing and one thing only that’s keeping me rooted here, instead of turning my back on her and getting into my car, which is exactly what I would have done if any other woman had toyed with me this long. The reason I’m still standing here is that Juliet hasn’t moved an inch, either.
She’s free to walk away at any time, but she’s still here, letting me get closer and closer.
I throw away every flattering line I could say to her, pushing them all out of my mind. I throw away everything that’s ever worked on any other woman I’ve spent time with. Juliet is an entirely new frontier, and if I’m going to make any headway, I’m going to have to start treating her like one.
“An offer of anything would have made a hundred other women say yes to me without a second thought.” I move half a step closer so I can lower my voice, giving us an illusion of privacy in the middle of the crowd that’s still milling in front of the steps. No doubt it has to do with me. “But you, Juliet James? You’ve turned me down twice. So this time, I think I’ll ask you for something different.”
She’s breathing fast, her breasts rising and falling underneath the fitted tank top she’s wearing. “And what’s that?”
“A single date. One hour. Right now. If you don’t like how it goes, you’ll never have to see me again.”
Juliet narrows her eyes, looking straight into mine, and every fantasy I’ve ever had about a woman swirls around in my mind until they’ve all become images of her—of my hands lifting her shirt and tugging it over her head to reveal perfect breasts, of the pretty way she’d moan when I had her stripped down to the deepest level of desire, of the way she’d hold on to me so tightly, her nails digging into my back while she whispered my name, begging me for more, more. It’s like all those other women never existed.
She bites her lip.
That’s when I throw down the gauntlet—the one thing I know she won’t be able to refuse. Not on a day like this.
Chapter 9
Juliet
A bead of sweat trickles down the back of my neck. It’s hot out, and my skin is alive with it—and alive with the sight of Weston Grant, despite the fact that I was just running away from him to cool off. And then, damn him, right when I think I might burst into flames, right when I’m ready to turn on my heel and go anywhere else....
“My town car has unbelievable air conditioning. It’s running right now, just waiting for me to climb inside.”
He steps six inches to the side, inclining his head toward a black town car parked at the curb, his driver standing by the back door, holding it open. A breeze kicks up—thank God for the wind—and delivers a swirl of the icy air from inside the car as a soft caress over my cheek.
Damn him.
My instinct is to tell him to climb into his car and enjoy it by himself, but the sidewalk is baking in the heat, and standing here, his eyes like the humid center of the jungle, I want so badly to slide across the smooth seat of that car and rest against the cold fabric that I can’t force the words from my lips.
A smile crinkles the corners of his eyes, and I’m done for.
“Fine,” I say finally, making a move toward the car. “But it’s only because it’s so torturously hot out. It’s not because you’re Weston Grant.”
He laughs out loud, the sound sending a tingle of pleasure across my shoulders, and he follows me to the curb. I duck my head and slip into the back of the car, Weston sliding in next to me. His driver shuts the door with a soft click, and then we’re enveloped in the air, an arctic blast in the middle of the late August heat.
I can’t help myself.
I lean my head back against the buttery soft leather and sigh. “This is so….”
“Wonderful?” Weston shifts, totally at home in this space. I’d half expected him to move closer and try to ravish me. The word ravish echoing in my own mind makes me laugh.
“Cold. I was going to say, it’s so cold.”
“Too cold?”
“Not a chance.”
He grins, assessing me from across the seat. “Where to now?”
I sit up straight, giving him a look that makes a deep rumble bubble up from his chest. “This is your car. You don’t have a place in mind?”
Now Weston does lean closer, dropping his voice and looking around like there’s anyone but his driver to overhear us. “I have to tell you something. Something…confidential.”
My heart beats faster in spite of all my resolve not to get excited at the sound of his voice. It’s a pipe dream and I know it—I’ve spent the last four days imagining his voice, his eyes, his body, and in person, all of those things playing at my senses, I can feel that determination starting to crumble.
I can’t let it.
He’s not a good man. I detest the way he makes his money—with brute force and no consideration for the people he’s gouging. I cannot be interested in him…
It’s happening anyway.
“What?” I’ll be damned if I let him see me breathless and excited over it, though.
“I didn’t think you’d say yes.”
“I would never have guessed that.” I flick my eyes up to the ceiling of the car, a playful eye-roll that ends in a smile. “Nobody says no to Weston Grant.”
“Where did you hear that?” His smile flickers between sultry and impish, and the combination is making my heart race. Absolute confidence shines from his face, but I know it doesn’t always. I know, because I surprised him at the Rose. I can’t be the only woman ever to do that, to ever turn him down.
I give him a pointed look. “Who would ever say no to you? I see the papers. You’re taking o
ver other companies every other day. You’ve got your arm around a different woman every week.”
“Not quite that often.”
“Still. I imagine, with a face like yours….”
“Oh? You like what you see?”
He’s sliding closer as we talk, leaning in, his eyes on mine. He’s not searching for another distraction. All of his focus is on me, and it’s so intense—so hot—that it’s overtaking the air conditioning. And now I’ve walked right into a trap that I set up for myself. Who the hell am I around this man? I’m barely holding on to my collected waitress persona from the Rose. “I like what I see,” I admit, because it’s true. It’s just true. Weston Grant isn’t known as the sexiest bachelor in New York City for nothing. “I’m not sure about—” I bite my lip and immediately force myself to stop. “I’m not sure about what a person gets.”
“For a law student, that was surprisingly vague.”
Blush rises to my cheeks. “I don’t know what else to say. I have no idea why you seem to be interested in me, when you could have—”
“Any woman on the planet?”
I nod.
“That’s the thing.” Weston narrows his eyes at the same time that he reaches out, tracing two fingers down the outside of my wrist. The pads of his fingers leave burning trails down my flesh, the hair on my arms rising with full-body goose bumps. “I can’t have any woman on the planet.”
This time, my voice is breathless, though I try my absolute hardest to sound casual. “No?”
“No. Only one woman has ever refused me. And that woman refused me twice.”
I take in a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and instead I get a lungful of his scent, his clean masculine scent, like a mountain river underneath the barest spritz of cologne. Under my shorts I’m slick and wet and ready. All this after one touch, after a few words dropped from his lips like priceless jewels—the kind you could sell for enough money to save your father and yourself.
“Who’s that?”
His eyes are locked on mine, so green that they’re spellbinding. “You.”
I shake my head, trying to clear the haze, but the laugh that I let out doesn’t sound convincing. “That can’t possibly be true.”
“It is true.” He leans back and I gulp in a breath. “Today was my last try. If you said no today, I’d have bowed out of your life altogether.”
My heart thunders in my chest, and there’s a twist in the pit of my gut that takes me by surprise. I don’t have a good reason to care if I never see Weston Grant again. We’re nothing to each other. And yet…. “I didn’t say no.”
A huge smile illuminates his face. “You have no idea how glad I am that you didn’t.” Then he turns toward his driver. “Dave, the Lounge, please.” His driver nods and catches my eye in the rearview mirror. “Juliet, this is my driver, Dave.”
“Nice to meet you, Dave.” I’m still buzzing with the near-miss that I shouldn’t care about, and part of me is dying to return to that conversation, dying to sink back into Weston’s voice. But I straighten my back. “Is that where we’re having our lunch date?”
“It’s one block away,” Weston says, glancing at his watch. “And we’ve already spent ten minutes of the hour. I’m not willing to waste another second with you.”
Chapter 10
Weston
The Lounge isn’t my favorite place in New York City, but it is convenient and relatively private, which is all I care about in this moment. Dave steers the car up to the curb, letting us back out into the heat, which is heavier and more oppressive every time I step out of the car. Juliet’s cheeks are flushed, and she puts a hand up to her eyes as she takes in the low brick building, the front a freshly painted white, sandwiched between an elegant jewelry store and some upscale condos. She takes a deep breath. “So this is where the great Weston Grant likes to eat lunch?”
I shrug, smiling down at her. “If I’m close to the law college and need a place with a decent atmosphere, and I’m pressed for time, then yes, this is where I’d choose to eat.”
“How often does that happen?”
“Visiting the law school, or being pressed for time?”
Juliet laughs out loud. “It’s a stupid question, isn’t it? You must always be pressed for time. Do you even have a free hour to spend with me?”
I offer my arm to Juliet, and she rolls her eyes and heads to the door. “I have this hour,” I call after her, catching up in a few strides. “Given how fast you ran out of Anderson, I think you’re the one with a tight schedule.”
Juliet pulls open the door before I can begin to reach for it and steps into the narrow lobby, her shoulders sagging in the blast of cold air. “Okay, yes.” She turns back to me, eyes shining. “This is an incredible atmosphere.”
“We’re not even inside yet.”
“I could stay right here and be perfectly happy.” She lifts her wrist to glance at her watch. “For at least the next forty minutes.”
“So you do have a tight schedule.”
“I have class.”
Of course she does. “What are we still standing here for?” Juliet laughs a little at that, and I look over her shoulder and give the hostess a nod.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Grant. Your usual table?”
“Please, Meghan.”
“Absolutely.” She removes two slim menus from a shelf in the gleaming black podium and steps across to the entrance of the restaurant, inclining her head.
I turn back to Juliet to offer her my elbow, but she’s not looking at me anymore. She’s not looking at the podium, and she’s definitely not looking into the restaurant. She’s staring at her phone, her mouth pressed into a hard line and two red blotches on her cheeks. It’s a far cry from the gentle flush she had getting out of the car. It’s a damn far cry from the pink that rose to her cheeks when we were talking outside of Anderson. My heart sinks into my gut.
“Juliet?”
She darts her eyes back up at me, then back down at the screen of her phone. “Yes. I’m—” It takes another moment to hear it, but I realize the phone is buzzing in her hand, and the sound sets me on edge. Whatever this is, it’s not pleasant. “I have to take this. I’m sorry.”
“It’s completely not a problem.” Juliet takes one step back toward the door, then turns to the right, her thumb hovering just above the screen. I don’t hesitate, this time. I put my hand above her elbow and steer her to the left, down a hallway that dead ends in a pair of restrooms. Before the restrooms is a sitting room—something left over from the original building, before it was turned into a restaurant. There are a few low tables surrounded by chairs, and Juliet puts her hand on the back of one, swiping at the screen of her phone to connect the call.
“Dad?” She says the word low and urgent into the phone, then straightens her back, raising one hand to grip the handle of her bag. “Darla.” I step back toward the door as soundlessly as I can on the plush carpeting, because she’s clearly forgotten that I’m here. Listening in is just a violation at this point. The last thing I hear as I step across the threshold is, “Is he stable now? No—Darla, I’m working that out. I just need to know—”
I move back down the hallway, heading for the podium as soon as I’m back in the lobby. This doesn’t sound like the kind of conversation that ends in Juliet having lunch with me. Not in the slightest. Meghan looks at me with concern in her eyes. “Everything all right, Mr. Grant?”
“I’m not sure. Would you mind having the kitchen wrap up a couple of Moroccan spiced lamb plates?”
Meghan gives me a serious nod, like I’ve just given her the most important mission in all of New York City. She heads swiftly into the restaurant, making a beeline for the kitchen. She reappears less than five minutes later, two black bags with The Lounge in small silver print on the sides. She’s handing me my card back when Juliet bursts in from the hallway and moves directly to the entrance without breaking her stride. She doesn’t even glance in my direction.
I give
Meghan a hasty thank you and follow Juliet out onto the street. She’s already at the curb when I get to her side, scanning the traffic for an available cab.
“I’m sorry.” She glances over once to make sure it’s me, then turns her focus back to the traffic. “I can’t have lunch.”
“I see that. Where are you going?”
“My dad—” She shakes her head. “You don’t need to know about any of this. I just have to go.”
“Juliet.” She doesn’t look at me, just tenses, getting ready to throw her arm out and hail a cab. It’s taken. It’s lunch hour in Manhattan, and there aren’t many cabs to be found. “Juliet.”
The insistent tone makes her whirl around to face me, her violet eyes wide, sharp. “I really have to go.”
“I can take you.”
“There is no possible way on earth that you have time to take me to Forest Hills.”
“Yes, I do. Come on. Get back in the car.”
She hesitates for a split second. “It’s a forty-minute drive there. Maybe more, if traffic—”
“Watch this.” I yank my phone out of my pocket and dial my lead executive assistant, who picks up on the first ring with a crisp, Hello, Mr. Grant. “Cancel all my meetings for this afternoon. Fit them in tomorrow and Wednesday.” Then I hang up.
Juliet bites her lip and says absolutely nothing for another long moment, a battle waging behind her eyes. I don’t know what the hell it’s about—she took a ride from me to go to lunch, so I’m not sure why Forest Hills is so different, but Juliet is holding herself stiffly above it as long as she can.
It’s not long.
Then her shoulders drop an inch. “Okay. Let’s go.”
I let her get into the car first, sliding in beside her and pulling the door shut hard behind me. “Forest Hills, Dave.” I put the bags on the seat next to me and turn back to Juliet, who’s sitting up straight, eyes on the road in front of us, chin held high. “You can tell me what’s going on while we drive, Juliet James.”