Gray's Girl

by Mina Carter

  Just the thought of her had his cock hard and heavy, ready for action, in his hand. He couldn’t resist a small pull. A soft groan rolled through his throat as he did it again, wrapping a big fist around the rigid shaft. He let his head drop back, resting against the cool tile of the wall as his hand sped up. She’d be thirty-two now, not that the fact she was older than he was bothered him. It had never bothered him. At first it was the excitement of the older, more experienced woman but it had quickly become all about her. The way she walked, talked, the cute little way she’d tilted her head to look up when she spoke to him.

  She was small and dark; when he was fifteen he’d been taller than she was. He felt like a hulking brute next to her, but that was good; it fed his teenage ego to be taller. Like he could protect her from the world if necessary. Like the time in the kitchen when she’d dropped a glass and he’d lifted her so she didn’t cut her feet. He’d had her in his arms for less than three seconds but that hadn’t stopped him reliving the feel of her slender body against his. For weeks afterward, that brief touch had the starring role in his nocturnal activities beneath the sheets of his single bed.

  He stroked harder, hand firm on his cock as thoughts of her filled his head. She had been petite and slender with the sort of lines to her that promised to fill out into curves that would tempt a saint. Leighton was no saint and didn’t pretend to be. If he was taking her out tonight, then damn sure he was going to try to get into her bed. The rigid shaft in his hand jerked and pulsed. Her bed? He’d take her any freaking way she’d let him. Forget leaping off wardrobes; he’d dress in bloody drag if it got her rocks off.

  His mind dropped to base fantasies as his hand moved faster. Thoughts of her writhing under him, the tight sheath of her cunt around his cock as he drove into her filled his mind. Her on her knees, lips wrapped around him as she sucked him off. His hips got in on the action, shoving his thick cock in and out of the warm cave of his hand like a piston.

  Pleasure coursed through him, wrapped around the back of his hips like a thick belt and caressed his balls. They grew tight, the big vein in the shaft above them pulsing as his movements faltered, became harder. Jerky. He bit his lip to keep the groan in as he came in jagged movements, his ass tight and his hips working overtime. Cum jetted from his cock to cover his hand as he worked the last bit of pleasure from his body. With a groan, he dropped his hand and leaned his head back against the tiles, letting the hot water wash away the evidence of his lust as he shuddered in visceral reaction.

  God, if wanking off to thoughts of her got him this bad, what would it be like when he had her under him for real?

  * * *

  “I have no idea, Robby. Why don’t you ask Keisha?” Frankie Cross snapped, living up to her surname as she crossed her brother’s living room to take her call in the kitchen and not disturb Damon or his girlfriend, Sophie, with her call.

  “But babe,” the male voice on the end of the phone wheedled. “She’s an airhead…”

  Frankie closed the door behind her and leaned against its cool surface with a sigh. She didn’t need this. Dolled up for a double date with her brother and his girlfriend, a blind double date no less, she really didn’t need another call from her ex.

  Both investment bankers, they’d met while working for the prestigious London bank Reed & Hayes. She’d been bowled over by the charismatic and charming Robby when they’d been assigned to the same merger and acquisitions team. They’d quickly become a double act, in the office and out of it.

  She’d thought her life was perfect. A luxury apartment in a good area of the city, a partner who not only understood the long hours she worked but actively encouraged it, even when they’d moved onto other teams and he’d become a rising star at Reed & Hayes.

  Until she’d come home unexpectedly one day and found her loving boyfriend in bed with the model wannabe from the apartment down the hall. She’d packed and moved out the same day, living off a friend’s couch while she worked her notice.

  “…she’d have no clue what to do with the Cortez account.”

  Ah, there it was, the crux of the matter and the reason for his call. The reason he’d been bugging her for the last week, no doubt. Unable to accept that she’d left him, he’d bombarded her with calls. He’d tried everything, from shrugging it off as meaning nothing, through wheedling and begging, and finally to outrage and blaming her.

  Though recently his calls had changed, become idle questions about various projects he was working on. It hadn’t taken a genius to realize he’d done that throughout their relationship, using her knowledge and experience to bolster his own, and she would bet not a word of credit for her part passed his lips.

  Wanker.

  “Well, you should have thought of that before you decided to play away, shouldn’t you?” Already annoyed that Damon had decided to arrange her life without so much as a by-your-leave, Frankie’s “give a shit” button was decidedly broken so her reply was short and to the point. “Next time you fuck about, you might want to pick someone with more than two brain cells to knock together.”

  “Hey, there’s no need to be nasty.” Robby’s voice bridled with annoyance and outrage. “Keisha’s a nice girl; she was good to us when we moved in, remember?”

  Frankie snorted. “Yeah, she’s a regular Good Samaritan, isn’t she? So good that she made sure to open her legs to stop you feeling all lonely when I was working late.”

  “You’re not going to help with the Cortez thing? Pwwwease…you know you have that magic touch with these things.” True to form, Robby switched tracks and came at her from another angle, using the baby voice that, when coupled with a pleading expression from his puppy-dog eyes, used to melt her heart and usually got him what he wanted.

  Right now though, she’d happily stick the merger and all accompanying paperwork where the sun didn’t shine. The sound of the bell and the front door being opened filtered through the kitchen door, followed by the sound of deep, male voices. Saved by the bell.

  “No, I’m not. Sorry, Robby, you’re on your own. Don’t call me again.”

  With no small amount of relish, she hung up on him. Serve the twat right if R&H realized what a two-faced, lying little cheat he was and kicked him out on his ear. Which would happen just as soon as they realized he hadn’t a fucking clue what he was doing. Grinning to herself, she slipped the phone into her evening bag, opened the door, and walked back into the living room…and stopped dead, her jaw dropping as she clocked the guy standing next to her brother.

  Dressed for the evening in black trousers and a white shirt open at the neck, tall didn’t cover it. He had to be well over six and a half feet, his shoulders wide enough to make a barn proud. She bit back a whimper as her gaze latched onto feet the size of boats—What did they say about foot and cock size?—and wandered up his body. Strong legs, lean hips, narrow waist, and a broad chest. And muscles. Oh God, he didn’t just have muscles. He had muscles on his muscles. The sort of muscles that had her quivering with the need to explore them with her fingertips and lips. She liked her men well built, strong…big. And so far this guy was ticking all the boxes.

  Abruptly her annoyance at Damon disappeared. She’d been pissed that he’d arranged a date for her tonight when she had been quite happy to go alone, especially when he’d told her it was one of his player friends. She knew rugby players and the last thing she’d wanted was a night of drinking and the testosterone-laden antics that normally followed. But now… She could kiss him.

  Her gaze moved upward, over a strong neck, until she reached her date’s face.

  Fuck me…

  “Leighton?”

  The sound of Frankie’s incredulous query brought Gray’s head around sharply. Her steps silent on the plush, thick carpet, he hadn’t heard her come into the room and mourned the loss of seeing her entrance. That he’d missed the look on her face as she recognized him. He swept her from head to toe with a quick, assessing look, and much as he wanted to, was careful not to li
nger on the areas that would get him labeled a pervert.

  What he saw took his breath away, stealing the words from his tongue midsentence as he just stared. Petite and dark-haired, she’d always been stunning, but the years had filled out the slenderness, packing her delicate frame with mouthwatering curves. Curves he itched to explore, to touch, to run his hands along to make her yield all her secrets to him.

  Heat flared in his body, settling in his gut and groin as all the things he wanted to do to her flashed through his mind like an erotic movie on speed. His big hand around her waist, cupping her breast as he parted her thighs…his hand in her hair as he pulled her head back, baring her neck as he claimed her with one slick, hot, wet thrust.

  “Shut yer mouth, mate. You’re dribbling on the carpet.” Damon chuckled. “It’s only Frankie, for God’s sake. Scrubs up well, don’t she?”

  Anger flared to mask the desire filling his body and Gray shook his head, taking the two steps to her.

  “Only Frankie?” he said softly, his gaze claiming hers as he reached for her hand and drew it up to his lips. He had to bend a little, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now she was here.

  Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, but the look in them softened at his words, her hand delicate and oh so small in his. Another crippling surge of lust almost took him to his knees. He steeled himself, using the iron control he used to keep himself on his feet on the pitch, no matter how battered and bloody he was. If he went down, then she was ending up under him and to hell with anyone watching, even her brother.

  “No, only an angel,” he whispered against her skin, brushing his lips over her knuckles as her perfume wove around him. Something deep, musky, and erotic. A real perfume, the hint of oils warm on her skin rather than the cloying chemical and synthetic perfumes most of the bimbos his teammates took out wore. It was different, classy. Sexy as hell. “My angel.”

  Her lips formed a little pout of surprise, parting a little as she wet them with the tip of a pink tongue. An unconscious movement, but one that was highly erotic. He bit back his groan and lowered her hand, resisting the urge to haul her into his arms and finally find out what her lips tasted like.

  “Who do you think you are, fucking Casanova?” Damon’s laugh broke the moment, and Frankie pulled her hand back, color staining her cheeks. His back to the other man, Gray closed his eyes for a fraction of a second in irritation. If Damon wasn’t his best mate, and had been for years, he’d lay the guy out in a heartbeat.

  “Yeah, well. Some of us think that there’s more to wooing a woman than some straggly flowers and a mangy box of chocolates,” he shot back, finding an easy smile from somewhere and plastering it over his face as he reached for her hand without looking, and tucked it firmly in his. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t going to get very far with the sister if he punched her baby brother’s lights out, now was he?

  “I’ll have you know they were expensive! Cost me four-ninety-nine from the petrol station. They were classy, I tell you.” Damon ducked down to look out the front window at the road outside as his girlfriend, Sophie, walked in from the hall. “Taxi’s here. We’d best get a move on.”

  Chapter Two

  When the hell had little Leighton Gray grown up?

  Frankie slid a glance at him from under her lashes as she sipped her drink. She’d been functioning in a daze since they’d left Damon’s place, not quite believing she was looking at the shy, gangly teenager she remembered from years ago. He’d been tall back then, sure, taller than she was at least. As she stood only a little over five feet, though, that wasn’t hard. But… Lord, had he grown up nicely.

  A strand of his blond hair fell loose from the band at his nape and fell over his face. She itched to push it away, watching him with fascination. She shouldn’t fancy him; he was the same age as her baby brother, but her body wasn’t listening. Instead, everything female in her reacted as he turned and caught her looking at him.

  A slow smile spread his lips as he angled his chair, moving closer to her. “So, do you come here often?”

  The chuckle escaped before she could stop it and the people on the tables around them looked over in disapproval. She clapped her hand over her mouth, cheeks burning as the speaker at the front of the hall stopped talking for a moment to look her way in irritation.

  “Does that line work often for you?”

  She kept her voice low, to avoid causing a disturbance as the charity auction started. She hadn’t bothered to do more than cast an eye over the lots. With the number of celebrities and sports personalities in the room, any bidding would be way too rich for her blood.

  “Oh, of course. I’m a right Romeo…not.” His lips quirked, the self-deprecating smile one she was familiar with, and she caught a glimpse of the shy, awkward boy she remembered in the hot as hell man sitting next to her.

  “Oh, I don’t know. The angel line was a good one,” she commented, taking a sip from her glass only to realize it was empty again. Wrinkling her nose, she set it down. The food had been nice, if a little fancy for her tastes, and the wine excellent.

  “What makes you think it was a line?”

  As he leaned forward, his shirt strained over the impressive muscles of his shoulders and arms, distracting her as he lifted a bottle to refill her glass. Again. She tried to cover her glass, but he pushed her hand away and refilled it regardless. She shook her head at the charming little grin he shot her, the amusement in his eyes totally unrepentant.

  If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was flirting with her. He couldn’t be, though. She was at least eight years older than he was, and she had no chance of competing with all the other players’ dates around the table. Not one of them was above midtwenties. They were all buffed and polished to a sheen, and to a woman they sported long hair extensions and perfectly applied makeup, their tall, willowy figures probably a size subzero or something ridiculous. Even Sophie, who she adored, was built like a supermodel, leaving Frankie feeling like a dowdy, plump old woman.

  Which meant he couldn’t be flirting with her. Not seriously. When he could pull something like that, why bother with someone like her?

  The bidding had started now, the noise level in the room increasing so much that she had to lean in so he could hear her. Mistake. As soon as she did, the scent of his aftershave, warmed by his skin, wrapped around her. Subtle scents of spices and woods assaulted her senses, shot through with a spine-tingling base note that was pure Gray. She fought not to shiver, knowing he would see it. “Anyone would think you’re trying to get me drunk.”

  He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arm out behind her. The fine fabric of his shirt brushed against her skin, bared by the halter-neck design of her dress, and the shiver broke free, twice as bad because of the attempt to deny it.

  His smile was purely masculine, triumph and interest flaring in his eyes as he looked at her. She had to give him credit; he looked right into her eyes, his gaze not straying to the ample cleavage revealed by the low neckline of her gown. Not as much as some of the other ladies in the room but enough to make her a little uncomfortable. She’d put on a few pounds since she’d bought the dress, and it showed. The bloody thing looked sprayed on, a fact she hadn’t realized until it was too late.

  “Maybe I am. Would that be a bad thing?”

  The snort escaped before she could stop it. To cover, she grabbed her glass and buried her nose in it. Tried to regain her composure. Only to have it instantly shattered again as he stroked a lazy thumb over the back of her neck. Shit. He was flirting with her.

  “Well, it would depend on why you’re trying to get me drunk,” she said lightly.

  When it was just words, comments bantered back and forth, it was easy to convince herself that he wasn’t serious. That he’d been conned into taking her out this evening by Damon, and that he was just whiling away the time until he could offload her at her apartment and go his merry way. She’d warned herself not to fall for the pretty words or read
too much into it. Perhaps the touch was accidental. Perhaps he hadn’t meant it and if she did, she’d just make a fool of herself.

  Holding her breath, she waited for his answer. It came as he stroked across her shoulders again, his big hand settling around the back of her neck possessively as he leaned in.

  “Why do you think I’m trying to get you drunk?”

  Her ability to talk died in her throat as his warm breath washed over her neck, stirring the strands of hair she’d teased from the elegant updo to frame her face. Awareness hit her, finding a home low down in her belly and radiating outward warmly. Liquid heat slipped from her, her panties instantly damp at the promise in his deep, rough voice.

  Turning, she met his gaze, the room around them falling away until it was just the two of them. He looked back levelly, not avoiding her eyes, interest and desire plain to see in his. Her lips quirked, her natural twisted sense of humor coming to the fore as she pretended to misunderstand him.

  “Well, if you’re looking for someone to get giggly and huggy, then fall asleep and drool all over your shoulder, then I’m your girl!”

  His lips split in a smile again, but instead of reassurance, it kicked the heat running through her up a notch. “Believe me, if you go to sleep, I’m doing something wrong.”

  * * *

  The evening was going well. Better than well; it was going fucking fantastically from Gray’s point of view. Frankie was his idea of a perfect woman. From the moment he’d turned around and seen her in Damon’s living room, right through to making sure she had enough to drink to loosen her up and get her talking, everything was going to plan.