by Anna Blakely
Sighing loudly, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Brynnon let out a tiny squeal as their bodies nearly became flush with one another’s.
Without a word, Grant reached over with his left hand and lifted hers, resting it just below his right shoulder. Conflict mixed with determination in his eyes, making her wonder if maybe this was about something more than simply jealousy.
A thought hit, making her feel like an ungrateful bitch.
The orchestra began playing the song’s intro, those first few notes creating a sudden sense of urgency. Brynnon shook her head as she started to ramble.
“If you’re doing this because my partner backed out at the last minute and you feel sorry for me, don’t. Seriously, Grant. It’s a sweet thought and a kind gesture, but I don’t want you to—”
“What?” He raised a brow. “Embarrass myself?”
She winced. “I-I didn’t mean it like that. I promise, I didn’t. It’s just that, this is supposed to be a waltz, and when we talked before about dancing, you—”
“Brynnon!” he spoke her name sternly, cutting her off.
She blinked and stared back up at him.
“Do you want to dance?” Grant emphasized each word as he spoke.
After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded. “Y-yes”
His metallic eyes bore deep into her own. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” Her whispered answer was immediate. It was also the truth. “I do.”
One corner of his desirable mouth curled slowly. With his right hand already on her back, Grant clasped their free hands together. He raised them high, creating the perfect waltz position.
Leaning closer, he turned his voice low and sultry before ordering, “Then stop talking and follow my lead.”
A second later, with a spine-tingling wink, Grant Hill began to dance.
His feet glided seamlessly over the dance floor, matching the rhythmic beat of the music.
One, two, three...one, two, three...one, two three.
His callused palm pressed gently against the bare skin of her back, a stimulating jolt of electricity running straight to her core. Inner muscles clenched on reflex. Her body responding to his touch as though it was a lifeline she desperately needed.
A warm, tingling sensation began to spread in her lower belly as Brynnon fell in line and followed his lead. She and Grant swayed elegantly, keeping in time to the soft, wistful music.
Spellbound, she moved as he slid them side-to-side. Forward and back. Together, they whirled amongst the other dancers. Not as a couple, but as one.
Holy hell. The man couldn’t just dance. He was really good at it.
Brynnon was still trying to wrap her mind around that fact when she felt their bodies start to turn. Pulling her in even closer, the surprisingly gentle man held on a little tighter as he led them into their first spin.
Not missing a beat, Grant’s feet moved expertly as they traveled across the hardwood floor, the bottom of her full dress swishing around their legs as they twirled. Before long, the spin was over, and in another surprise move, the former SEAL leaned in toward her.
With Grant’s protective arm wrapped securely around her waist, Brynnon arched her back with the movement. The two worked together to lower into a slight dip before returning to an upright position.
The pattern continued on...Dance. Twirl. Dip. At some point—she wasn’t sure exactly when—they’d both subconsciously moved their hands from the classic waltz position to a more intimate yet acceptable variation.
With their bodies even closer now, his rugged jaw brushed against her temple. Brynnon could feel his hot breath on her shoulder. The way it moved in and out with as much speed and force as her own was a telling sign.
He feels it, too.
Grant’s fingertips dug into her back and hip as the song reached its intense crescendo. Losing herself in the impassioned embrace, Brynnon closed her eyes, welcoming the power and strength the man exuded.
The former SEAL often came off brusque and unemotional. But in that moment, the fierce warrior danced with the grace and ease rivaling the great Fred Astaire.
When the music softened and the song’s ending drew near, Grant leaned forward moving them into their final dip. Trusting the arms wrapped snuggly around her, Brynnon slowly let her head tip backward, arching even farther than before.
Without question, she knew this man would always keep her from falling.
Feeling a sudden need to see his handsome face, Brynnon lifted her lids. The raw hunger staring back at her seized the breath inside her frozen lungs.
An intense wave of arousal washed over her with such force, it most assuredly would’ve brought Brynnon to her knees had Grant not been holding on so tightly.
Consumed by their desire for one another, it took several seconds for either of them to realize the music had stopped, and the crowd had broken into a loud applause.
Clearing his throat, Grant glanced away as he pulled Brynnon back to her feet, breaking the almost staggering connection they’d just shared.
Remembering where they were, and who was watching, Brynnon put on a smile and turned to face those cheering, realizing they were the only couple left on the dance floor.
“Well,” a woman’s voice boomed over the sound system.
Brynnon looked to the stage, immediately recognizing Leslie, the woman in charge of the charity.
With a toothy grin, she said, “I think we all know who the winning couple is this year. Let’s hear it for our very own Brynnon Cantrell and her date”—Leslie double-checked the list of names— “Grant.”
One of their regular volunteers walked over and handed Brynnon the small trophy. The crowd erupted in cheers, Angie’s voice ringing out above them all.
Brynnon’s cheeks became heated as Coop put his thumb and middle finger between his lips and let out a high-pitched whistle. The knowing look he was giving Grant made her wonder exactly what kind of show they’d had just given.
Clearing his throat again, Grant whispered in her ear, “Time to go, Princess.”
Smiling up at him, Brynnon refused to let her disappointment show when she realized his usual mask of indifference was back in place. “Okay.”
“Holy Dancing With the Stars!” Angie ran over and gave her a hug. “That was amazing!”
“Thanks, Ang,” Brynnon hugged her friend back.
“Seriously.” Angie released her. “You two are incredible together. Everyone was saying so.”
Grinning, Brynnon asked, “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“She’s right,” Coop came up behind Angie. “The whole crowd was rooting for you two.”
“Well, maybe not the whole crowd,” Mac pointed out as she approached them. “Campbell didn’t seem too happy you stole Brynnon away from him.”
“Lucas?” Brynnon asked, surprised by the statement. “He only asked to be polite.”
“I don’t know,” Angie chimed in. “He did look pretty upset when you two started dancing.”
Coop gave the two women a look. “Just say it, ladies. The guy was pissed.”
Angie chuckled. “Okay, fine. He was pissed.”
“So much so, the guy skirted out of here mid-dance,” Mac gave her a look.
“That makes no sense,” Brynnon shook her head. “We haven’t seen each other in years. I’m sure there’s another reason he left that had absolutely nothing to do with me.”
Angie grinned. “I think he was just butt hurt because Grant ruined his chances at a reconciliation. That’s why he left” To Grant, she mouthed a silent, “Thank you.”
After, she turned and gave Mac a high five.
Realizing he’d been set up, Grant ignored the two women’s smug expressions and asked Coop, “Can you go get the car? I want to get out of here before traffic gets bad.”
“Sure,” Coop nodded. With a smirk, he told Grant, “But don’t think you’re getting off that easily.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning”—Coop motioned toward the dance floor— “you’ve got some ‘splaining to do, brother.”
With that, Grant’s teammate bid Mac and Angie farewell and went to get the car.
“That’s my cue, too.” Mac gave Grant a serious look. “Be careful. You two need anything, just call.”
“Appreciate it,” Grant offered the other woman.
“Thanks, Mac. It was really nice meeting you.”
“You, too. And, uh...don’t let this guy boss you around too much.” With a wink, the other woman left.
After giving Brynnon another hug and a whispered order to share any interesting details that may arise later, Angie left Grant and Brynnon alone on the dance floor. They both spoke at the same time.
“We should—”
“You ready?”
Brynnon laughed nervously. “You first.”
Grant’s mouth twitched. “I was just going to say, we should get our coats.”
“Right.” She smirked. “Don’t want Coop to start honking his horn again.”
One corner of Grant’s mouth rose slightly, and man, Brynnon wished she could see him smile like he had the night before.
With his hand resting against her lower back—God, she loved it when he did that—they made their way to the coat check. While she waited for Grant to get their coats, Brynnon caught sight of her brother and another man through the glass doors.
They were across the street, standing on the sidewalk, and from what she could see, it appeared as though they were arguing. She tried to see who he was talking to, but the other man wore a dark coat and hat, and was facing away from her.
Old fears for her brother threatened to ruin her good mood. She thought about going out there to make sure he was okay, but Grant’s deep voice rang through her ears.
“Everything okay?” He held her coat open for her.
Refusing to let her brother’s never-ending drama ruin her night, she put her arms through the sleeves and gave Grant a smile. “Yeah. Thank you.”
Peering down at her, a sliver of hunger returned as he slipped on his own coat. “You ready?”
For more than you know.
Praying he could see the real meaning behind her answer, she whispered back, “Yes.”
Grant held the door open and stood close to her while they waited. A minute later, Coop turned the corner and pulled up next to the curb.
The handsome operative got out and made his way around the front of the car. He spoke to Grant as he opened the back door.
“My traffic app just sent a notification. There’s a bad wreck on Seventy-Five. The entire northbound lane is shut down. I’m going to have to head down to Thirty and loop around to Thirty-Five East, so the ride home is going to take longer than usual.”
Brynnon frowned as she climbed in. “That’s awful. I hope everyone’s okay.”
“Yeah. Awful.”
Coop give Grant a funny look before whispering something in his ear. Grant blew off whatever his teammate said and walked around the back of the car to his side.
As he opened the door and slid in next to her, Coop leaned down through her still-open door and smiled.
“I’ll leave the partition up for the duration of the ride. You know, so you two can talk in private.” With an ornery smirk, the other man closed the door and made his way back behind the wheel.
“Well, that wasn’t obvious,” Brynnon joked sarcastically.
A low grunt resounded from Grant’s chest, but he didn’t say anything. For the next few minutes, the small, dark space became saturated with an awkward silence as neither one spoke.
Fidgeting nervously with the trophy, Brynnon decided to tackle the one question that had been burning through her mind since the moment the music started.
Biting her bottom lip, she glanced over at him and asked, “Why did you lie?”
Deep lines appeared on his forehead, confusion filling in his deep voice. “When did I lie?”
“The other day.” Shifting in her seat, Brynnon faced him more directly. “I was talking about the ball, and you told me you couldn’t dance.”
The deep lines became smooth and his tempting mouth quirked. “Wrong. I told you I don’t dance. Never said I couldn’t.”
She had a feeling there was a story there, one she intended to discover. Letting it go, for now, Brynnon allowed her lips to curl into a slow smile. “My mistake.”
They held the shared look a little longer before she glanced back down at the trophy. Then in a somewhat bold move, she slid across the black leather seat and pressed her lips against his coarse cheek.
“Thank you,” she whispered, moving back just enough to look him in the eye.
Grant turned his head toward her, their noses nearly touching as his heated gaze beheld hers. Deep seas of gray darkened in a way that made her heart race.
“It was my pleasure,” he breathed softly.
The tantalizing sound stirred something inside her, heightening the aching need she felt for this man. Fixated on his tempting lips, Brynnon subconsciously licked hers. God, she wanted to taste him again.
“Brynnon.”
Perceiving her whispered name as a warning, she broke eye contact. After offering a quick apology, she began to slide back to her own seat when Grant’s hand snaked out and covered hers.
“Don’t be sorry.”
The surprising words left her puzzled, but hope bloomed when she saw his gaze sweeping slowly across her mouth before landing on the low dip of her exposed cleavage. Brynnon’s heart pounded inside her chest, the sound of its forceful rhythm filling her ears.
A slight pull on her hand brought her back to his side. The soft swooshing of her dress as it brushed across the leather seat was the only sound in the electrified space. With a creased forehead, Grant worked his jaw, but the tormented expression crossing his face vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
On a slow exhale, he brought his eyes back up to hers. The pain and indecision she’d just seen had been replaced with a primal need matching her own. Brynnon had heard him say the words before, but now she could actually feel it.
He wants me. The realization of what she hoped was about to happen was intoxicating. Still, she had to know...
“What about all those lines of yours?”
Reaching up with his free hand, Grant cupped the back of her head and asked, “What lines?” Then he slammed his mouth against hers.
****
Chapter 15
She tasted of strawberries and champagne, and Grant couldn’t get enough. No longer caring about possible regrets or professional reprimand, he closed his eyes and gave in to his unprecedented desire.
He’d come damn close to kissing her earlier, in front of God and everyone. The way she’d moved, her body perfectly in sync with his, he’d nearly forgotten all about where they were and the other people around them.
At first, Grant had been worried he’d fuck something up. It had been a long ass time since he’d waltzed. But it was like his mom had once told him...Dancing is like riding a bike, son. Once you have it down, the muscles will remember. Even if the mind doesn’t.
As always, she’d been right. Of course, it didn’t hurt to have such a willing partner.
Once she finally got over the shock that he actually knew what the hell he was doing, the entrancing woman had handed him the reigns. After that, dancing with Brynnon had become effortless.
It was almost as if she’d finally given herself to him, and he to her. Though he’d slept with his fair share of women throughout the years, he’d never had a more intimate connection than in those few, stolen moments with her.
It was all he could do not to throw her over his shoulder and haul her off to the nearest, private room where he could finally do the things that, up until this moment, he’d only dreamed of. Grant had spent the entire dance with his dick hard and throbbing ready to burst through his rented suit at any second.
It hadn’t cared that he’d already gotten hims
elf off that morning or that they were in the middle of a fucking crowd. The greedy thing only wanted one thing: to find the pleasure it knew this woman would give.
You’re alone, now.
His cock twitched. Though Grant was dying for release, he’d be damned if their first time would be in the back seat of a limo with Coop on the other side of that thin, glass divider. He could, however, give her a little preview.
Before getting into the car, Coop had assured him the ride to Brynnon’s condo would take at least forty-five minutes, thanks to their forced detour. They’d only been on the road for five.
Plenty of time to give her the first of many orgasms.
With his tongue still dominating hers, Grant released her hand to cup one of her satin-covered breasts. He swallowed Brynnon’s throaty moan, the erotic sound provoking.
Sliding the same hand to the back of her neck, he tugged on the bow. A dull thud reached his ears as the slick material loosened with ease, and he knew she’d just dropped the forgotten trophy onto the carpeted floor.
Grant continued to feast on the sweetness of her mouth, nibbling her bottom lip while he pulled the top of her dress down, exposing her bare breasts. The need to finally see them tore him away, his eyes lowering to take in the glorious sight.
Allowing him to take his fill, Brynnon sat still. A guy on his SEAL team had a saying...“Tits are tits, doesn’t matter who they belong to.” Looking at the perfection before him, Grant knew the jackass had never been more wrong.
“Beautiful,” he whispered more to himself than her.
They were the perfect size, just big enough to fill his large hands, and the dusty rose nipples were exactly how he’d imagined. Standing at attention, the erect nubs told Grant she was every bit as aroused as he was.
The continued rise and fall of her chest was too great a temptation, so he bent down and took one of her hard-as-fuck nipples between his lips. Brynnon moaned again, her back instinctively arching as she searched for more. Something he was more than happy to give.