Wishing For You (Never Too Late Book 2)

by Mayra Statham

  “Seriously though, as sweet a gesture as it is, you have to work at openings.”

  “I do. But before we get to the opening, we would have spent the entire day together.” She looked at him.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, why not? We can go to the spa together and get pampered.” Her eyes widened with humor at the idea of sitting beside him getting manicures.

  “But you are usually at the gallery to set up and help …”

  “That’s only with you, honey. I’ve only ever done that for you.” She was blown away at his admission. “Rhett said you and I were only a matter of time. That he was surprised we hadn’t happened before this. How I didn’t see it or let myself see you under this new light, I have no idea. But I do now. I won’t lose you.”

  “Then stop making dates with other women,” she sassed, and he shook his head.

  “That was before us, and I had completely forgotten about it. I love you. I want you. Only you.” With each word, he kissed her, and she believed him.

  “Good. Because I only want you too,” she whispered against his lips, feeling slightly exposed yet safe in his arms. “Let’s go home so you can make me dinner,” she ordered, and he smiled at her. They stood, patting the sand off of them, and she watched him slip a seashell into his pocket before grabbing her hand. Then they walked barefoot, side by side.

  ***

  She watched him with avid attention as he worked the room, smiling and talking to everyone as if they’d been friends for a lifetime. Her cheeks warmed.

  That was her boyfriend.

  The media had taken immediate notice, especially when he’d pulled her to him and someone from the LA Times had called her his girlfriend.

  She looked away from him and brought her attention to Liz Stone’s work on the walls. They were beautiful pieces that made her smile and feel hopeful. A big hand moved her hair away from her back and over her shoulder. The scruff on his jaw that he’d grown out tickled her skin.

  “It’s a good piece.”

  “Very good,” she whispered.

  “I love your lips in that color.”

  “You’ve mentioned.” She smirked, looking over her shoulder.

  “Every time I saw it on you this past year, I wondered what it would be like to be marked with that color,” he roughly whispered into her ear. Her toes curled inside of her heels. She turned to look at him, and he was definitely serious.

  “What?” she asked stupidly, probably because she just wanted to hear him say it again.

  “Meet me in my office in ten,” he ordered, making her shiver. Leaning in, he kissed her roughly and walked away as if he hadn’t just rocked her world.

  Ten minutes later, she had re-touched her lipstick in the ladies’ room before stepping into his darkened office, wondering what the hell he had up his sleeve.

  “Grant?” she whispered into the unlit room.

  “Lock the door.” His voice came from his desk. The click of the lock seemed to almost echo into the office. “Take off your dress,” he ordered before turning from his office chair. He looked at her after he turned on a very dimly-lit lamp. In the semi-darkness, she could see he’d already unbuttoned his dress shirt, his tie strewn on the desk. Her heart beat furiously, but there was something sinfully delicious about the tone in his voice and directions. She couldn’t help but do what he said. Slowly, she undid the side zipper of her dress and let it fall onto the floor.

  “Come over here.” His deep voice was tight. She walked over to him in nothing but her strapless bra, black G-string, and high heels. “Kneel,” his gruff voice commanded, and she did as she was told, kneeling on his suit jacket he’d folded for her. She bit away a smile that threatened to come over her lips. He’d been thinking about this… a lot. She looked down. His hard length was out of his unzipped pants, hard and ready for her, and she shivered.

  She licked and kissed his chest and moved slowly down to his hard cock. Then she took his mushroom tip into her mouth, enjoying the look of the faint red traces her lipstick left behind.

  “Fuck!” he growled into the darkness, the tone of his voice making her skin tingle with warmth. “Love that mouth.” She kept sucking and licking. Enjoying every single sound he made. Every grunt and moan made her warmer and wetter. She was completely enjoying the pleasure she was giving him until he pulled her up and on his lap.

  “Ride me.” He lifted her up. She straddled him and was so wet he slipped in easily, stretching her deliciously.

  “Oh my God,” she breathlessly whispered.

  “Ride me,” he murmured into her neck. “Ride me hard.” And she did. Rolling her hips, then bucking up and down his steely shaft as she gripped the bare skin at his shoulders, she tried to be silent, but it was futile. He felt too good. They were too good together. Everything in her body tightened, she was so damn close, on edge.

  “Find it,” he ordered, and like magic, she did. An orgasm hit her, hard and fast. Everything felt as if pure pleasure rushed down to her toes and back up; lights broke out behind her closed eyelids.

  Her mind heavy and buzzing, she moaned into his neck. Her mouth on his skin, she breathed heavily, still in ecstasy as he pumped into her and growled into her skin the moment he came. She felt his powerful body relax below her as he filled her and tucked her body into his.

  “Fuck…” he breathed into the darkness. His office smelled of sex and her perfume. “You have no idea how hot that was.” She giggled at his remark, kissing his chest, still resting her head on him.

  “Mmm…”

  “You were so damn wet when you climbed up on me,” he whispered into her hair, and she smiled. “You liked marking me?”

  “Yeah,” she admitted and heard his chuckle.

  “Good, I like wearing your marks. Let me clean you up and help you get dressed,” he said, and she breathed in deeply before standing up. Her legs were still slightly weak, but she felt re-energized. He did that to her. Being with him made her feel alive, and new, and hopeful.

  Stepping out, her hand in his, neither one of them noticed he’d walked out without his tie and the top two buttons of his dress shirt undone. He stood with her until his assistant pulled him away. She stood in front of a beautiful piece.

  As a rule, she didn’t hang her own paintings in her home. The one she was looking at was breathtaking. A steel grey lock hidden in the depths of the ocean, a key floating away onto the shore.

  “Miss Santiago,” a deep voice rumbled by her ear, making her jump and take a step back. Strong hands on her hips steadied her.

  “Remy. Shit, you scared me,” she told him, and he chuckled. Remington Drake was handsome in a classic way. Tall with a lean body and full head of blond hair that was now almost all white. He was a silver fox. A slick silver fox. One she’d never liked.

  “I’m sorry,” he remarked, looking at her. She knew deep in her bones he wasn’t sorry in the least.

  “How are you?” she asked, her smile tight, wishing she could get away. Remy was persistent about having him host an opening for her at his flagship gallery in Paris.

  “I have been looking for you, actually.” He tilted his head, and she felt slightly dirty at the way he was looking at her.

  “For what?”

  “To continue our talk about you coming to Paris. That night at the Beverly Hills Hotel, I was pretty sure you were at least thinking about it.” he brought up, but she shook her head.

  “Remy...”

  “Not unless it’s on vacation with me.” She felt Grant’s hand on her hip, his large body behind her, and she tensed. She loved Grant’s touch, but she was definitely not used to all these public displays of affection. His free hand moved her hair off her shoulder, and she felt his warm, wet mouth at her neck. “Sorry about having to leave you. Liz is almost all sold out,” he told her, but her body was still tense while he made a performance of them being together, something she didn’t like. She almost wanted to laugh at her prudish behavior. Her. Who would have thought?r />
  “Drake, surprised to see you here,” Grant spoke, still holding on to her like he owned her. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. “Especially when you weren’t on the guest list.”

  “Alexander.” Remy nodded his head. “Man, you look old. Stress isn’t good for men your age,” he chuckled to himself and made a show of looking at the surrounding walls. “It is nice to see the new artists you have brought in here. Especially when I’m working on getting Shelly here to come for a prolonged visit.”

  “I don’t think so,” Grant growled. Shelly stiffened further. He had no right making decisions for her, even if it was the same one she would have made.

  “I think that decision is hers to make.” Remy smirked, and his eyes met hers. “Like I was saying, gorgeous, I think we could make beautiful things happen if we worked together. Like I told you that night, it would be …”

  “Get the fuck out of here, Drake,” Grant growled as he pushed her behind him. She placed a hand on Grant’s back.

  “Grant…” she started to say, but Remy egged him on.

  “Or what?” Remy asked, raising his arms. Grant stepped forward, and her heart filled with dread. He did not need negative press.

  “Grant. Come on, let’s go. Grant!” she hissed, not letting herself look at everyone probably staring at them. His eyes met hers. “Let’s go home,” she pleaded with him and saw the battle in his eyes. She rolled hers. “You know what? I’ll be waiting in the car.” Without looking at anyone, she walked out to the parking lot.

  Thankfully, he had given her his keys when they had arrived together. She sat in his car and brought out her phone, wanting so bad to call Jess and tell her what was going on. She needed someone to talk to, but she felt guilty for not telling her best friend about Grant yet.

  Even knowing Jess would understand, she didn’t. She might not have had a relationship in the past, but she had been around people who had been. You didn’t go and talked to someone over every little fight. Especially when things were new. Instead, she emailed Grant’s assistant, asking her if the lock in the ocean piece hadn’t sold yet. She wanted to purchase it.

  She was staring out into the darkened parking lot when she heard a soft knock on the driver’s door. She looked at him. His strong body was covered in a tailor-made suit that fit him like a dream, the buttons of his shirt still undone. She unlocked the car and looked away.

  He slipped into the driver’s seat gracefully and sat in silence for a moment before driving them back home.

  She stole a glance at him. His strong jaw was clenched. He was pissed. Well, that was too bad, since she was pretty upset herself. He parked, and she stepped out and started walking toward her house.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home,” she said over her shoulder as she dug for her keys in her purse. What made him think he could make decisions for her? Create embarrassing scenes in a place where they both worked?

  “Shell… “

  “Don’t. I need space.”

  “The hell you do,” he scoffed, and she turned to look at him. She could see a trace of her lipstick at the side of his neck before she moved her eyes to his.

  “Why did you do that?” she asked him.

  “Do what?” he asked, almost sounding surprised at her question.

  “Answer for me like I don’t have a mind of my own!”

  “Do you want to go to Paris?”

  “That’s not the point!” She was frustrated and a little hurt. It was unsettling.

  “It is. Do you want to go?”

  “If I did, it would be my decision to make. Not yours.”

  “We’re together, Shell, we make decisions together,” he stated. She closed her eyes.

  “This was our first date.”

  “It doesn’t make what we have any less.” He was right, but she felt too exposed and frustrated. She didn’t know how to do this relationship stuff. God, was she hopeless? Was she wasting their time and ruining their friendship at the same time?

  “I know.”

  “Then?”

  “I… I just need space,” she told him and saw his eyes flare up.

  “Fine.” He turned and left. She felt instant panic. Stepping into her place, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it.

  How could she be her age, know that this wasn’t the way to handle things, but still act like a twenty-something-year-old? Shaking her head, she kicked off her shoes and headed to bed, hoping that she hadn’t just somehow ended things after only one official first date.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Two Days Later

  Grant

  Frowning as he put the visitor sticker over his very expensive suit jacket, he fought the need to roll his eyes. Only for Shell would he do this.

  It had been an awkward two days since their first date, and he was starting to get worried. He had seen her the day before for a quick lunch, where neither of them mentioned their fight. When he’d brought up having dinner, she’d informed him she was going over to her friend Jess’ place.

  Walking into the cafeteria, he stood in the corner and watched her. His lips threatened to burst into a smile as he took her in.

  Not that she would notice him. She was being highly entertained by a couple of brunettes and blondes, and from what he could see, a redhead or two.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he took in the sight of her working with middle schoolers. They were surrounding her, each one with an easel, a canvas sitting on it while she talked. Animated and enthusiastic about the subject matter in the center of the circle like only she could be.

  A bowl of fruit.

  Shaking his head, he kept watching her, taking in everything she was. The way her face lit up as she went around to look at each individual student’s canvas, making each one feel as if they mattered, because to her they did. Probably more than they would ever even realize.

  At the administration office, he’d been surprised to hear that she had been coming to this school, hosting this particular program, for the past fifteen years. Shelly had told them he was going to be stopping by, and from the sound of it, the administration saw her as one of their own. The school secretary even told him that for the last five years, Shelly had been funding the program entirely out of her own pocket.

  She caught sight of him and gave him a slight nod and shy smile as she kept working with the kids. Sitting down, he gave her space. He enjoyed watching her in a new light. Sure, he’d seen glimpses of this side of her with her nieces or with her best friend’s kids over the years, or even with his own son. But he’d never seen her as maternal. Here and now, knowing that she’d been doing this once, sometimes twice a week for the last fifteen years, he could see her like that, and he wondered why she never had kids of her own.

  Forty minutes later, she was getting hugs from each kid, who he noticed she knew by name. Each kid waited their turn to say goodbye, giving her a hug, sharing a smile. Middle schoolers. How the hell she did that was beyond him.

  He silently helped her clean up. After so many years of being around her, watching her clean brushes and put shit away, he realized that he’d always paid attention to her. When the last kid left, she came up to him and wrapped her front to his back as he held brushes in his hands. He felt her mouth at his back even through his jacket and dress shirt. Fuck, he liked that.

  “Thank you,” she whispered before letting him go and walking to the canvases, leaning them against a wall as she folded down the easels with grace. She’d probably done that small thing a million times, yet at that moment, he saw how graceful she was. He liked how the old and new blended into his memories of her and what was to come.

  “For what?” he asked as he placed the brushes down in the jar with water.

  “For being here,” she replied, and his eyes met hers. There was something there, a fire burning bright, but he couldn’t get a read on it. She broke their eye contact and kept moving around, putting stuff away, folding down easels, right and left, a
s a silence filled their space.

  “You’re good with them,” he commented as he glanced over to her. She had a small smile on her lips.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m serious. I remember Rhett and his friends at that age. No way in hell could you get them to sit and paint, much less listen to anyone over the age of thirty.” Her soft giggle filled the room, and she shook her head.

  “He wasn’t that bad. I had him paint for me a couple of times.”

  “You did?” he asked in surprise.

  “Yeah. Olivia and you had to go to Europe during finals. I think he was in seventh, maybe eighth grade. Anyhow, he stayed with me for a couple of days,” she shared, and he remembered.

  “Huh.”

  “Anyhow, these kids are easy,” she shared, her back to him.

  “The secretary in the office told me these kids have behavior issues.”

  “They just need a little attention.” She shook her head. “Usually, after eight weeks in the after school art program, we see a difference. They just need to focus their energy into something.”

  “Art?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Why not?” She smiled with a shrug. Silence fell over them again. He knew he had to talk to her.

  “Shell, I’m sorry.” The way she was looking at him, he knew she understood what he was apologizing for.

  “Don’t be.” She turned, brushes in hand, her whiskey eyes on his. “I’m not very good at this stuff.”

  “What stuff?” He walked to her until he stood in front of her, his hand on her soft face.

  “The boy girl stuff…” Her voice was soft and weary, and he leaned in and kissed her lightly.

  “I think you’re pretty good at it.”

  “Yeah?” She looked into his eyes with hope in her voice. He nodded.

  “I’m sorry I was being a caveman. Remy automatically pisses me off, and him talking about taking you away…”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You say that now, but you never know. Life happens and…” He knew better than anyone, and the thought of Shelly one day just not being there made a knot form in his throat.

  “I get it.”