Ten Thousand Hours

by Ren Benton

  “And the Mexican jail?”

  “Also not my fault. That donkey was in his hotel room, not mine. I didn’t smuggle it up two flights of stairs in my pocket.”

  “I have one question.”

  Griff had several of his own. Much of that night was an alcoholic blur. “I’ll do my best to answer it.”

  “Was the donkey harmed in the making of this escapade?”

  “It wasn’t that kind of escapade. According to witnesses, he was headed to slaughter because he had a limp. The heroic, if criminal, intervention — which I’m not saying I was involved in — stayed his execution. He lived out the rest of his days in a petting zoo in Arizona.” Arranged by Selena, of course, because her idiot brother and his idiot friend ran out of ideas shortly after let’s steal the donkey.

  “And they all lived happily ever after, including the donkey.” The lighting and the pillows added a dreamy quality to the softness that stirred his desire to hold her. “Tell me more tales of misadventure in which you were merely an innocent bystander.”

  Dan’s words came back to haunt him: Someday you’re going to find a decent woman, and she’s not going to think that shit’s cute. “To keep it fair, I’ll have to hear two of your misadventures first. The less innocent, the better.”

  Her eyes searched the upper corners of the room, as if she’d find misdeeds floating in the air to fill her empty inventory.

  Such a sweet, innocent angel. He didn’t buy it for a second. “Nobody is that well behaved.”

  She flushed as if ashamed to admit that she was, in fact, free of sin. Then her face relaxed, and she settled against her pillows, imitating his pose. “I once disguised myself as an accident victim and banged on hotel room doors until one was answered by a man I liked the look of.”

  Being featured in the only deviation from angelic behavior she could muster was as inflammatory for his ego as it was sad for her. He had sometimes gone too far in his pursuit of fun, but there were a lot of shades of naughty between saintly and criminal. She could have dabbled with half the palette without irreparably defacing her reputation, but to hear her tell it, her life had been white monochrome until she tumbled into his bed in a wash of red dye.

  How had she dodged bad influences until he came along? Her shiny halo should have been a beacon for devils eager to tarnish it. His eagerness to lead her astray was proof of that. The honor of being the first to corrupt her was physical in intensity, heavy and molten in his limbs. “What did you do to this unsuspecting man?”

  “I exploited his compassionate nature. I clung to him as if too weak to stand, and when he offered me his bed in which to recuperate, like a perfect gentleman—”

  He snorted. The instant it became clear she hadn’t been injured, his dick evicted every gentlemanly inclination from the suite so he could have his way with the woman who had dared to come to him. If she did any recuperating in his bed, it was going to be after exhausting sex.

  “A perfect gentleman,” she reiterated. “I pulled him down with me and wouldn’t let him go until he satisfied all my wicked appetites.”

  “All of them, huh?”

  She nodded. “At the time, anyway. They came back, stronger than ever, and they brought friends. Maybe if he’d had more practice, he could have vanquished those, too. At this point, they’d just eat him alive.”

  He’d gladly feed himself to that monster, particularly if it commandeered that soft, wet mouth of hers to devour him.

  He didn’t press her for another misdeed, partly because the waiter entered to regale them with the menu and partly because he didn’t want his ego to be crushed if the second excluded him. “Have you eaten Middle Eastern food before?”

  “Hummus and falafel from a cart.” She laughed at the rueful shake of his head and asked the waiter, “What do you recommend for a novice?”

  They went back and forth, bouncing her preferences off his expertise, and arrived at an order of dolmeh, shirazi, koubideh, and shirin polo.

  She slanted a glance toward Griff, brow furrowed. “That’s enough for a party of eight, isn’t it?”

  “We’ll pare it down for two,” the waiter assured her. “Is there anything you’d like to add, sir?”

  “Finish with the bastani.”

  The waiter nodded and left them.

  “What’s bastani?”

  “A surprise.”

  She stuck out her tongue, but that playful gesture didn’t offset the tension creeping back around her eyes.

  A mystery dessert was not the cause of that much stress. “Ivy.”

  She pinched her lower lip between her teeth, anxiety visibly increasing under his surveillance.

  Without a hint of the cause, he had no choice but to attack the fear he knew. “You’re not an embarrassment.”

  A tentative smile suggested he was on the right track.

  “I enjoy your enthusiasm. I enjoy you.”

  Her lips softened into a believable rendition of a smile. “You say the nicest things.”

  Oh, honey, the things I’m going to say to you. She’d been deprived of words — the one thing he could offer in abundance.

  Her mood might have loosened, but she still seemed physically uncomfortable. “Why don’t you take off that jacket?”

  Her tenuous ease evaporated along with her smile. “I’d rather not.”

  The food arrived, delaying examination of the bashfulness she couldn’t leave behind this time.

  Ivy sampled the cucumber salad, stuffed grape leaves, orange rice, and seasoned meat, expressing delight over each dish.

  None earned the kind of exclamation melted mozzarella on buttered toast did, however, validating Griff’s culinary genius.

  His mouth tightened as she reached for her glass and the jacket strained across her shoulders, shortening her reach. Her pretty white neck had turned splotchy with heat. Nothing she was trying to hide was worth the price of wearing the damn thing. “For god’s sake, Ivy, take it off. I’ve seen you naked.”

  “Not really.”

  “I’m not blind in half-light, you know.”

  “You were” — she waved her skewer of koubideh — “distracted.”

  A dark chuckle rolled from his throat. “You’ve got it all wrong. An erection needs about sixty seconds of undivided attention to accomplish its objective. You are the distraction that keeps it engaged more than momentarily. Every second of my endurance comes from tasting, touching, and looking at you.”

  Her cheeks adopted the same hot color as her throat. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh.”

  “Take it off. Please.”

  She bared one shoulder, then one arm, and repeated the process on the other side. Wary eyes never strayed from his as she waited for a reaction.

  Those bare, satiny shoulders meant only one thing to him. “Tell me you’re not wearing a bra again.”

  She rolled her eyes at his typical male thought process. “I’m not.”

  His mouth stretched in a typical male grin. “Are your nipples hard?”

  She blew out a breath. “Well, they are now.”

  She reclaimed her meat-on-a-stick and took a dainty bite that looked like a kiss.

  She had two modes of self-consciousness. One made her uptight and uncomfortable in her own skin; the other made her nipples hard and brought out her inner seductress.

  If he knew where the former sprang from, he’d seal its outlet. The latter emerged when she was most conscious of him.

  He would just have to do a better job of holding her attention.

  The belly dancer sent to distract diners from the delay between courses entered their room. Ivy applauded enthusiastically at the end of the performance.

  The dancer extended her hand to Ivy, who shocked Griff by clambering off the pillows to join her. He hadn’t expected either form of self-consciousness to endorse dancing.

  The dancer tied an orange scarf glittering with gold medallions around Ivy’s hips and coached her through a few steps. With a nod from Ivy
, they performed the routine together.

  The dancer’s costume showed more skin. Her ebony hair spiraled down her back to her waist. She was a professional entertainer, practiced and polished.

  But it was Ivy who commanded his attention. The dance was voluptuous, made for the soft, lush body of the woman he was supposed to be surprising. Graceful arms flowed around her body, exaggerating the sinuous motion of her spine. The sparkling, jingling scarf did the same for the tilt and roll of her pelvis.

  Without a word, she crafted another fantasy involving an alluring beauty being pulled into his lap and ravished at the table.

  The music ended with a quick flick of her hips that made his twitch in response, and it was his turn to applaud.

  The dancer glowered at Ivy with mock severity. “That wasn’t your first time.”

  Ivy gasped for air, and his fists clenched to prevent him from grabbing her and keeping her breathless. “I took a class, but you’re incredible.”

  “You’re too kind.” The dancer stopped Ivy from untying the scarf. “Keep it. You’ll find a use for it, I’m sure.” She drifted from the room with a wave.

  Unable to resist any longer, Griff hooked a finger in the scarf and tugged Ivy back to the table. “Look at that. Found a use for it already.”

  The tail of the scarf slithered through her fingers. “I was thinking it would make a good blindfold.”

  Yes. She could be unprepared for each new spot he touched with his tongue. He’d show her surprises could be good. “How many other hidden talents do you have?”

  “Maybe as many as two.”

  “I’ll have to take you dancing next time.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, I don’t dance.”

  He leaned to one side to look around her hip to the spot he could have sworn she’d been dancing moments earlier.

  She made a strangled sound. “At a rec center with a bunch of arthritic old ladies, nothing I want to do in public.”

  The uptight self-consciousness resurrected. It had been notably absent while dancing and enjoying the movement of her body — possibly even more than he’d enjoyed it. She had an acute appreciation of sensual pleasures. Food. Music. Touch.

  He used the scarf to urge her closer. “I’m honored to be in the company of arthritic old ladies who’ve seen you dance.”

  She tangled both hands in his hair. “Quite a collection of my dirty little secrets you’re building.”

  But her job remained off limits. How dirty must that secret be?

  She released him when the waiter returned with a distraction he couldn’t compete with. “Ooh, is that ice cream?”

  The waiter laid the dessert on the table with a flourish. “The Persian variety. Flavored with rose water, saffron, and pistachios.”

  She sank to the pillows without taking her eyes off the golden orb in her dish. “That sounds gorgeous.”

  It was, in a distinctly feminine way, more so while bearing witness to her distinctly feminine delight. Griff took as much pleasure from being the one to give her the experience as from watching her lick every trace off her spoon as if it were the last batch that would ever be made and deserved to be savored.

  He envied that spoon. “Your tongue must be cold.”

  The insecurities that made her hesitate at other times were nowhere to be found when she was immersed in decadence. She shifted to her knees and leaned across the table. Chilled lips pressed against his jaw, followed by her tongue, which melted on contact with his skin. She hummed a little. “Now I know where to put it to warm it up.”

  “Don’t feel you have to limit yourself to that spot.”

  She drew back to scout other locations, and her eyes widened. “You look like you’ve been attacked by a lamprey.”

  He held her hand at bay when she reached out to wipe the lipstick from his skin. “Do you care if anyone else knows you’ve had your mouth on me?”

  “I thought you might.”

  Because she was an embarrassment? A muscle in his jaw bunched. “I don’t. That doesn’t answer my question.”

  Straight arms held her over the table as she examined the mark. “I’d like it if someone thought we’d been in here mauling each other, too hot to have any concept of public decency.”

  They wouldn’t be far off. If their little room had the benefit of a locking door, he’d have divested her of more than her jacket. Her blouse bared her shoulders at the expense of hiding every hint of her breasts. He had a strong desire to reach behind her neck, unfasten the collar, and rid himself of the obstruction.

  Since public nudity was well out of her comfort zone, he’d have to satisfy his curiosity another way. “Are your nipples still hard?”

  She held her position. “I’m not sure. You’ll have to investigate.”

  He accepted the invitation and slid his hands under the sparkly fabric of her top. She pressed both soft mounds into the cups of his hands, aiding his evaluation. “Hmm. One is, but the other needs more attention.”

  Her eyes grew heavy lidded as he thumbed the tight little peaks to symmetry. Because she was wicked, she asked, “Are you hard?”

  Well, I am now.

  If he reciprocated the invitation to cop a feel, she’d get to experience the Griffin Dunleavy Jail Adventure firsthand. He didn’t kid himself Selena would cut him any slack for public fornication in her restaurant. “If you’re ready to leave, I’ll take you somewhere you can investigate.”

  Her eyebrows pinched together in accusation. “You said one stop.”

  “I meant it.” He reluctantly took his hands off of her so he could offer her one when he stood. “Your stories the other night piqued my curiosity about sex in restaurant bathrooms.”

  She put her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. “Not here, please. They have decent portions. I don’t want to be banned for life.”

  “I guess I’ll have to think of some other way to keep my word.” He guided her through the restaurant with a hand on her hip.

  She stopped in her tracks. “I forgot my jacket.”

  “I’ll get it.” He needed to settle up with Selena, anyway. “Wait for me at the elevator?”

  She crossed her arms over her middle and used her hands to cover whatever flaw she imagined in her upper arms. She apparently decided standing in the middle of the crowded restaurant exposed her more than making a hasty exit and nodded in agreement.

  He retrieved Ivy’s jacket and intercepted Selena on her rounds.

  She scowled at the lipstick on his face. “Were you making out in my restaurant?”

  “Yup.” He pressed a hundred dollars into her hand.

  She thrust it back at him. “Much as I hate to say this, I have my orders. Your money’s no good here.”

  “Tip our waiter and dancer.”

  She sighed. “You make it hard to hate you sometimes.”

  “You’ll persevere.” He pecked her on the cheek. “The place is great. Thanks for letting us in.”

  “Any time the owner insists. Now get out.”

  Ivy waited by the elevator, a glittering red beacon. An animated young woman was holding up her phone for inspection. Ivy smiled and nodded in response to whatever she saw there, earning her a quick hug before the other woman flitted away to disappear in the crowd.

  He reached her side. “Another satisfied mortuary customer?”

  “Mm-hm. She’ll be sending her sister to me soon.” She twirled an imaginary mustache.

  What a great idea. “Can you do anything with my brother?”

  “Sure, but if he’s as tall as you, there will be an extra charge for custom length fitting.”

  The automatic recitation had the ring of truth, though he knew they weren’t talking about casket sizes.

  It might be none of his business, but damn, he was curious.

  The elevator opened to discharge its lone occupant, an elderly gentleman in a rumpled suit. His hoary eyebrows lifted. “Griffin!”

  Before he took two steps out of the elevator, he
was surrounded by glad-handing members of the throng.

  Ivy whispered, “Is that Mitch Rafferty?”

  “Yup.”

  “You’re on a first-name basis with Mitch Rafferty?”

  Rafferty was on a first-name basis with him. The privilege didn’t extend both ways. “Potential business deal.”

  She lifted her hand to scrub the lipstick off his face before the old guy saw him from that angle.

  He scowled at her. “You’re going to put that back.”

  “Could you direct that single-mindedness toward the billionaire for just a minute?”

  He was off the clock, and his mind preferred the direction of the woman at his side.

  Rafferty broke free of his admirers and shook Griff’s hand. “I’m not one of those types who’s flattered by stalking, you know.”

  He would sound unbearably arrogant if not for the mob that had just been begging for his attention. “We were just leaving, actually. If you’d ignored me, I wouldn’t have interrupted your evening.”

  “Then I’m the one who interrupted. Color me sheepish.” Rafferty offered his hand to Ivy. “And you are, my dear?”

  “Ivy Miller. It’s an honor to be interrupted by you, Mr. Rafferty.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Apart from the usual reasons” — she inclined her head to indicate the swarm from which he had recently extricated himself — “I benefitted from one of your scholarships.”

  “Are you working for me?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Splendid. That’s why I have scholarships, so other companies can have the best-qualified employees.”

  She beamed at him. “Very generous of you. Don’t let us keep you from your meal.”

  “It’s just my granddaughter’s engagement dinner.”