Only For Forever: An Enemies to Lovers, Small Town Romance (Men of Rocky Mountain)

by Alexis Winter

  “I got to them first?”

  “Yes, that’s what I said. You told Remi to follow his heart, and then he ran off to August and did just that.”

  I stare at him for a second before shaking my head. “You know what? I’m not doing this. This is stupid. It’s in the past. They’re married now, so move on.” I’m trying to keep my cool, but I’m doing a shit job of it.

  “Wait, I don’t actually know the full story. What happened?” Steph says, with Marlaina chiming in to agree.

  “You know what?” I slam my hands down on the table. “I’m done rehashing this bullshit. I dated Remi, and he was in love with August, who was also in love with him while Grant dated her. They both finally realized it, admitted it, and got married. End of story. Stop blaming me for shit that was completely out of my control and not my business.” I stand up, pushing back so hard my chair almost falls over. “I’m going to the restroom, and you,” I thrust my finger in Grant’s face, “better be gone when I come back.”

  I storm off to the bathroom on shaky legs, holding my breath and only releasing it when I’m behind the door. I lean against it, closing my eyes and hanging my head in my hands.

  I don’t know why I want him. I hate that I do. He’s arrogant, entitled, and so fucking full of himself with his doctor God complex. I walk to the sink, turning the water to cool and running my hands through it. I look up, staring at myself in the mirror and absentmindedly running my thumb over my bottom lip like Grand did just moments ago. A tingle runs through me and I close my eyes again, imagining his lips pressed against mine.

  This isn’t the first time I’ve allowed my mind to wander through this fantasy—to know what it would be like to be at the mercy of Dr. Grant Rossi. To have his hands caressing my naked body. To feel his warm breath against my skin. Goosebumps spread across my arms at the thought. I imagine his tongue doing small, lazy circles around my clit and I grip the edge of the sink. I glance at the door. It’s a single-stall restroom, and before I can talk some sense into myself, I walk over and turn the lock.

  I turn back to the mirror, staring at myself again as I slip my hand down the front of my body, beneath my dress, and into my panties. I close my eyes, letting my head fall forward as I picture Grant standing behind me, gripping my waist tightly with his arm as his fingers part my slick folds. I imagine the filthy things he would say to me, the way his breath would puff against my curls, and how his tongue would snake out to tease my earlobe.

  I feel the warmth building between my legs—traveling upward to my lower belly and then my chest. My breathing is growing rapid, with a pink blush breaking out across my neck as I grip the edge of the sink with one hand while the other brings me to the edge.

  “Let go, baby,” I hear Grant say in my head. “Come on my fingers. I want to taste you.” I let out a soft cry as pleasure tears through my body. Mere seconds later, I’m ripping my hand away from my body and jerking my dress back down my thighs. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror as I wash my hands. I feel shame overtaking my body at what I just did—at the thought of how badly I want this man I’ve grown to hate to my very core.

  I dry my hands, reaching for the door and taking in a few deep breaths to steady myself before walking back outside. I look over at our table, praying Grant has left, but I still see the back of his thick, dark hair. Whatever he’s saying, it’s drawing an enthusiastic laugh from both Steph and Marlaina.

  Steph looks up, her eyes spotting me. Grant must notice her looking at me, because his head slowly turns around and his gaze settles on me. We make eye contact and the warmth is back, rapidly spreading up my chest and neck to my cheeks. It feels like he’s staring right through me, like he knows all my secrets—like he knows exactly what I just did in that restroom to thoughts of him. I shake the insane thought from my head and march back over to the table.

  “I thought I asked you to leave,” I say, leaning down to swipe his beer before taking a long drink.

  “Well, these two lovely ladies asked me to stay, and we were having a very pleasant conversation.”

  I feel like an ass. I don’t want to be the miserable Debbie Downer at the table, so I decide to take the high road and be the “bigger man.”

  “Look, let’s call a truce. I’m sorry that there’s a minuscule chance I played a part in messing up your would-be marriage.” I roll my eyes a little but swallow down the bitterness that threatens to bubble up. “Deal?” I ask, thrusting my hand out toward him.

  He stares at me, a smirk spreading across his lips as he reaches back for his beer and finishes it.

  “No deal. Only one way we can settle this.”

  “And how’s that?” I ask suspiciously.

  “Go on a date with me.”

  I blink at him in confusion. “What?”

  “Go on a date with him,” Marlaina repeats.

  “I heard him, I just don’t see how—”

  “Well, that’s the only way I’m agreeing to a truce, darlin’,” he says, standing up and reaching into his back pocket and producing a wallet.

  “Fine.” I don’t know why I just agreed, but I can’t take the word back now.

  “Good,” he says, tossing a few $20s on the table. “Give me your phone.” His hand is outstretched toward me.

  “What? No.” I grab my phone and hold it against my chest like a two-year-old who’s worried someone will take her favorite toy. He doesn’t say it again and just raises his eyebrows at me. I unlock the phone and hand it over to him slowly. He grabs it, types something in, and then hands it back to me. I look down. He’s sent himself a text from my phone and programmed his name and number into it.

  Shit, now he has my number.

  “Ladies, it was a pleasure.” He tips his head toward Marlaina and Steph, who giggle and wave like little schoolgirls with a crush.

  Grant reaches down, placing his thumb and forefinger beneath my chin and tipping my head up. “Wear that red dress,” he says, winking before turning and walking out of the bar.

  I feel like I’m about to melt in my seat. My heart is racing, my skin burns where he just touched me, and I’m thoroughly confused.

  “What the hell just happened?” I ask, turning to face my friends.

  “I don’t know, but that man is sooo dreamy,” Marlaina coos. “And if I weren’t married, I’d be chasing him down the street right now.”

  4

  Grant

  It’s been a week since I programmed my number into Leigh’s phone—a week of being on pins and needles. A week of constantly checking my phone every 15 minutes and feeling phantom vibrations when no one texted me.

  I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m annoyed. I don’t normally have to work this hard to get a woman to go out with me, even if she hates me. I’m convinced that Leigh is now doing this out of spite, just to piss me off. I’m done playing her game.

  I finish with my last patient and duck into my office. I haven’t been back to Grand Lake since before my night out with Leigh. I had too many work obligations back in Denver, and honestly, I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me and rubbing it in my face that the ball is in her court. I pull out my phone, bring up the first and only text I sent her, and type out a new message.

  Me: As much as I love being strung along, made a fool of, even . . . my social calendar is quite in demand and is filling up. This Saturday, Capital Grille in Denver. 7 p.m. Don’t be late.

  I smile to myself, already knowing her reply will be something snarky. I welcome it. I toss the phone back on my desk, working through a few paperwork items I need to finish up for the day, when my phone buzzes with Leigh’s name appearing on the screen. I grab it, swiping to open the message, and instantly burst out laughing.

  Leigh: Oh heavens, how am I so lucky that a man so in demand would want to spend an evening in my company? Do please save a waltz for me on your dance card, sir.

  She signs off with the eye roll and middle finger emoji.

  Me: You sure ha
ve a lot of attitude for someone barely over the legal drinking age and hardly tall enough to see over the steering wheel. DON’T BE LATE.

  I reiterate the last statement, knowing it’s bound to piss her off even more.

  Leigh: Bite me.

  Me: Don’t tempt me.

  Me: Actually, do tempt me. Where can I bite?

  I add the vampire emoji.

  Leigh: My ass.

  I want to know if she’s trying to be a tease or if she isn’t picking up on my obvious innuendo when I see the three little floating dots appear again.

  Leigh: THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT AND YOU KNOW IT. STOP TEXTING ME AND GO SAVE LIVES OR DEVOUR YOUR VICTIMS’ SOULS.

  Me: Wear the red dress.

  She doesn’t respond. I slip my phone into my pocket and lean back in my chair, saying aloud, “This woman is going to drive me absolutely crazy.”

  “A candy-red sports car, huh?” I whistle as I admire the Audi she rolled up in. She takes her ticket from the valet, thanking him. My attention is quickly pulled away from the car, though, when I see she wore the red dress. She looks like a snack just waiting to be devoured.

  “What about it?” She cocks her head to one side, side-eyeing me.

  “It’s fitting,” I say with a nod.

  “You seriously giving me shit about a little two-door sports car that literally cost half as much as your Porsche Cayenne GTS?”

  She’s already bristling at me and we aren’t even through the door of the restaurant. If she were a cat, she’d have an arched back and a poofed-out tail right now.

  “I didn’t say a word about the price,” I chuckle as I lift my hands in surrender. “Just that you’re a little spitfire, so the car fits you.”

  She looks at me suspiciously again.

  “It’s cute. You’re cute,” I attempt to explain.

  Another blank stare.

  “I’m paying you a compliment, Leigh,” I say, stepping toward her and placing my hand on her lower back. “Now let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

  The waiter leads us to a table near a window overlooking the city.

  “Wow, great view.”

  “Best in the city.” I take a seat as the waiter introduces himself and asks for our drink order.

  “We’ll take a bottle of the Penner-Ash please.”

  “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, hi
s 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.

  “Take me to bed, Grant,” I whisper against his lips as he walks us down a long hallway.

  His room has an entire wall of windows, with the moonlight bouncing across the surfaces, making it glow. There’s a massive bed in the middle of the far left wall, and honestly, his place looks like a luxury five-star resort.