He smiled. “Interesting analysis, but you’d be wrong, although now that I think about it, I should check out some of Idris’ tunes.”
Suppressing the urge to ask him about the blonde he’d been talking to earlier, I settled on a different question. “Did you come here by yourself?”
He shook his head. “I met up with friends, but they had to leave. What about you?”
I hooked my thumb over my shoulder. “Afton, she loves these events. This really isn’t my scene, good people watching though and the churro bar was a nice touch.”
“Fried food is always a good idea. I haven’t indulged in a while, at least not since I was scolded by a certain lingerie model.”
I smiled over the rim of my cup.
“Although if people watching and all things fried is your thing, the Clam Bar is a must.”
“Oh, now that’s a blast from the past. I haven’t been there in years.”
“You don’t say. First Nancy’s now you say you haven’t been to the Clam Bar,” he said shaking his head. “Put those places on your good eats list.”
Before I even realized it, Grady and I were walking around sampling craft cocktails and talking about our favorite Hamptons’ hangouts. I’d spent plenty of time here in college, being Afton’s roommate and friend had its advantages. My first encounter with The Harbour was her parent’s annual Labor Day weekend party. When the two of us were bored with Manhattan life, we’d drive or fly out here just to escape. I’d fallen in love with everything about The Harbour—the people, the charming shops, and the posh restaurants.
“Drink this, do it right now.” Grady handed me a beverage—a cloudy peach concoction with a rosemary sprig as garnish.
“What is this?” I asked, using my long hair as a shield to subtly sniff the drink.
“A Dalmatian, made with gin, grapefruit juice and black pepper syrup.”
I took a sip, the bite of grapefruit and pepper making their presence known in the back of my cheeks. “Ooohhh, that’s a spicy meatball,” I choked out.
“Are you okay?” he asked, handing me a cocktail napkin.
I nodded, and took another sip feeling the effects of the booze swirling in my system.
Grady laughed. “Yeah, that black pepper and gin will do that to you.”
His deep voice wound its way through my body, reminding me that Grady was a very sexy man. I ordered a Paloma, but still hung onto the drink Grady bought for me. Darting in and out of the crowd, he managed to find a table for two and motioned for me to take a seat.
Try as I might, my eyes refused to avert from his gaze. He leaned closer, so close and smelling perfectly divine. I inhaled deeply getting my fill of his clean soap and water scent. It was like he was everywhere. No one else existed in this space but the two of us.
“Would you like to grab dinner?”
“Tonight?”
He gave me a warm smile. “If you’re free—yeah.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to, but we . . .”
“Don’t say no, just say yes.”
I could say yes. I wanted to say yes. It felt wrong to have these scandalous thoughts—wasn’t I supposed to be on step three of the break-up phase? Bargaining? Instead I was sliding into frat boy therapy: The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.
Very bad decisions were creeping into my head and most of those involved me and Grady naked.
AT PRESENT, I WAS teetering on the precipice of insanity. To say that Harlow Trembley had been on my mind was an understatement. When she wasn’t consuming my thoughts during the day, she was creeping into my dreams. Waking up every morning with a massive hard-on and using my hand for relief as I pictured Harlow on her knees in front of me taking my cock deep into her mouth.
I was consumed with thoughts of the woman—a beautiful woman who was a friend of my ex-wife’s. But, how close were they? All I recalled were casual dinners and the two of them hanging out during after parties. Perhaps they were friendly acquaintances.
What would be the harm in having a few drinks and dinner? I wasn’t an animal, I could control my urges.
Cheers erupted outside the tent when the last band of the evening took the stage. Harlow swayed her hips to the beat of the music and I wondered what it would be like to have her wrapped around my body. Her hands digging into my shoulders as I fucked her into my mattress.
“Hey, Harlow!” Afton waved as she strode up to our table. “Can I borrow her for a minute, Grady?”
“She’s all yours.”
Earlier, I’d stood across the tent, admiring Harlow from a safe distance. She’d been sitting at a table with a guy that I’d originally thought could be a date, but then he took off with a red head laying my curiosity to rest. I watched as she plucked off tiny pieces of her churro, dipping them into honey and chocolate and then licking her fingers. I was entranced, and that led me to compile a list in my head of sauces I’d want to taste on her skin.
Scrubbing my hand over my jaw, I had to figure out a way to not think about fucking her in every position imaginable. Making it through this event without laying hands on her was going to be a greater accomplishment than becoming a ten-goaler in polo rankings.
I stood catching a glimpse of Harlow as she walked towards the bar.
She is gorgeous.
Her head was tilted to one side, those loose waves of auburn sliding over her shoulders. For a moment, I wondered what it would be like to wake up to all that hair wild and unruly in my bed. Then my thoughts shifted to wrapping her hair around my fist as I fucked her from behind.
I’m acting like a savage animal.
Why couldn’t I think of normal shit like having a nice evening with Harlow? We’d had an awesome afternoon together. She was easy to talk to and incredibly funny.
“Excuse me, Grady?” I heard a feminine voice say from behind me. “Will you take a photo with us?”
“Sure thing,” I replied, smiling at the young woman and her friend. After posing for a dozen photos, my eyes drifted back to Harlow who was engaged in a deep conversation with Afton.
I turned my attention away from her and back to the band. They started playing a song that reminded me of Heather. She would play the hell out of “Closer” by the Chainsmokers.
Fuck. Was this a sign that I shouldn’t have asked Harlow to dinner? Fuck that—Heather is the past.
A young woman with blonde hair streaked with blue tips bounced towards where I was standing. “Hi, you’re Grady James, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
She asked for a photo and then handed me her phone. Outstretching my arms, I leaned into her and snapped the pic. The young woman introduced herself to me and talked for a minute about how all her friends would be jealous. Her fingers flew over her phone, as she mumbled something about uploading to Instagram.
My gaze swept back to Harlow, her sweater had fallen off her left shoulder exposing her skin. A black bra strap revealed itself under the grey tank top she was wearing beneath the sweater. This led me back to picturing her hair draped across my pillows and her naked skin on my sheets, which further led me to wonder if her panties were black.
Harlow caught my stare and arched an eyebrow. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she lifted her sweater back up over her shoulder.
I needed to stop thinking about Harlow. More importantly, I needed to stop thinking about her naked.
“So, if . . . when I get the campaign with Buchanan, I’m finally going to buy a sailboat.”
“Buying a sailboat is on my bucket list or maybe it’s more of a wish list.”
My brows rose. “Is that so?” I asked, scooping more of the rice and chicken onto my fork. Harlow was working on her second pork taco topped with fried plantains. This was very dangerous territory, sharing a meal with Harlow only drew my attention to her lips. Her sexy pink lips that I pictured wrapped around my dick instead of that taco. I’m blaming my perverted thoughts on the heat. Yeah, that’s it, the summer heat.
>
“Hmm, yep.” She nodded, bringing her napkin to her mouth. “Side note, this food is delicious. You weren’t kidding about this place.”
“What else is on this bucket slash wish list of yours?” My eyes fell to the necklaces draped around her neck. One of the chains had a pineapple charm.
“Finding somewhere to live is my top priority. I also need to find a decent coffee shop.”
I laughed. “Will you be buying a place here? And, how have you not found a decent cup of coffee yet?”
“I could always move back to my mom’s place in Manhattan, but I kind of like the idea of having a home here, I fell in love with The Harbour years ago. True fact, Starbucks over roasts their beans,” she said, pointing her finger at me. “I’m working my way through a few around town.”
“The coffee shop on Harbour Drive is excellent, great coffee and pastries. You should try Nancy’s too.”
“What’s the housewife in yoga pants scene like?”
I shrugged. “Never noticed before.”
Harlow leaned in closer, her hazel eyes twinkling. “Grady James, notorious playboy and charming flirt, somehow I don’t believe you.”
There were an infinite number of ways to decipher her comment, but there was only one fact that remained just below the surface—my former reputation for being a player. Not even a marriage could erase all the years I spent with my name attached to an endless list of models and actresses.
Or perhaps I was transparent and Harlow could see right through me, knowing that I have spent half of this dinner picturing her naked. How could I tell her I’ve been cured of my player ways when I’d spent a considerable amount of time conjuring up various fantasies all starring her? Would she believe me or would she think it was some line I tell every other woman I wanted to sleep with?
“Would you believe me if I told you that I never lie?”
Leaning forward she tilted her head, and her dark hair spilled over her shoulder. “I think I could.”
“In that case,” I whispered, leaning in closer. “You should know that you are the most beautiful woman in this room tonight.”
Her eyes met mine, and her lips parted slightly. “Is that so?”
I nodded. “It is. And you’re going to believe me. Case in point, I told you this was the best place in The Harbour for Cuban food and you agreed.”
She lifted a brow, rubbing her necklace between her thumb and forefinger. “You’re pretty smooth, Grady James.”
“That’s just it I’m not trying to be smooth. I mean I am, but I thought . . . I just wanted to give you a compliment.”
Smiling she stared at me for a moment. I felt the tip of her sandal sweep across my leg.
“Sorry,” she said, shifting in her chair. “I didn’t mean to kick you.”
She didn’t completely hate the compliment. If she had she would have laughed or rolled her eyes, instead she took the compliment. However, I chickened out on taking it any further. The signs, I thought they’d been there and I was wrong. I saw the ways her eyes lit up at the mention of having dinner together. That was all this had been, it was just dinner and nothing more.
“Did you want dessert?”
“No, I can’t even finish this last taco. I am stuffed. Another thing on my list, finding a place that serves New York cheesecake.”
“Noted,” I said, before downing the remains of my water. “Shall we leave?”
She nodded, and wiped her mouth. I signaled for the bill. On the upside, I liked hanging out with Harlow—a lot actually. It was clear that she was very busy, and I needed to respect that fact.
We both reached for the check, and my fingers grazed the back of her hand. I held her gaze, taking note of the faint smile tugging the corners of her mouth. Her beautiful, kissable mouth. Why did Harlow have to feel so good against me? Home would consist of a cold shower for one and slipping into my bed alone.
“This one is on me,” I said, placing my card inside the cover.
“Okay,” she murmured. “But, I owe you a meal now.”
“I’ll be looking forward to the next time.”
MORNING CAME WAY TOO early, I slipped out of bed to find the light from Afton’s kitchen cascading waves of bright light across the pool. Restless was the way I’d slept last night with Grady James on my mind. I stared at the ceiling for hours, replaying our dinner conversation over and over in my head.
I reached for my cellphone and checked my text messages. Nicholas had made it back to his hotel suite around two in the morning. I shot him a quick message and then sent one to Afton.
Harlow: Can’t sleep either?
Afton: No, I’m making coffee. You need?
I needed a lot of things. Then there was my list of wants. Surprisingly, at the top of that list was Grady James. In the span of a few short days he’d managed to push to the top, ousting the cheesecake, coffee shop and sailboat. He’d become the leading man in my dirty fantasies. The shower head and my vibrator were the understudies. Last night’s conversation over Cuban food and mojitos, I realized I wanted him more than I previously anticipated.
Harlow: Yes, please. Be right over.
But first, coffee.
“Are you going to tell me about your dinner with Grady or are you going to make me beg for the details?” Afton asked as she poured me another cup of coffee.
“It was uneventful, really.” I ran my finger along the tabletop. “But, I did learn what Grady plans to do when he lands the fragrance campaign.”
She arched a brow. “Tell me more.”
“He’s going to buy a sailboat. I guess it’s a dream of his.”
“So, he’s sharing his hopes and dreams with you already, huh?”
I sucked down a swig of my coffee. “Hardly, it was just a conversation. We talked about a variety of topics.”
“I saw the way he was looking at you last night, and he is smitten with you, kitten.” Her phone buzzed against the top of the counter, she glanced at it and then swiped the screen.
“No, I think he was just being nice, he said he wanted to thank me for helping him out at the shoot.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh please, that man wanted an opening to take you out. Did he talk about Heather and her grotesque accusations?”
I shook my head. “No, neither one of us mentioned our exes.”
“Good,” Afton said as she rinsed her mug out into the sink. “Forget Harry. And I can tell you that I’m probably going to hire Grady for the campaign.”
“Really? I thought you were all worried about his negative press.”
“No, I’m interested in so much more.” Afton held up her phone and my eyes popped wide at the leading story on Tinsel and Hollywood dot com.
Grady James Spotted with Mystery Woman at Harbour Pour Fest.
My hair had hidden my face, but it wouldn’t be long before the rest of world figured out that I was the woman in the photo.
MY USUAL SUNDAY ROUTINE consisted of a five mile run on the beach or a long swim followed by brunch with friends, but this morning I found myself sitting aboard a private yacht. Instead of my circle of friends, my agent, Jennifer March, and Haven were my brunch companions.
“Whose brilliant idea was it to have a brunch meeting after a night of heavy drinking and at sea no less?” Haven asked, sliding her sunglasses up the slim slope of her nose.
“That would be yours,” I reminded her.
Jennifer popped two pills into her mouth washing them down with sparkling water. “This wasn’t our best idea,” she agreed. “This might be the mother of all hangovers.”
“A swim will cure your hangover faster than anything,” I advised. “Jump into the water.”
“Maybe later I’ll have a swim at the club, but with these little beauties,” Haven replied, shaking the bottle. “I’ll be feeling better in no time.”
“Look alive, sweeties, hair of the dog,” Jennifer said, as the server delivered our drinks to the table.
“Isn’t that Ella Connolly standing ov
er there?” Haven asked, pointing towards the docks.
“This town is all a buzz with their upcoming wedding,” Jennifer said. “Ella is incredibly sweet, and I love everything La Vienne Rose. It’s a good day when I go in there and spend less than seven-hundred dollars.”
“Same here,” Haven chimed in, raising her champagne glass. “Grady, are you going to their wedding?”
“You know that I am, but I’m not giving either of you any details because I signed an NDA.” I flipped over the menu card, debating between Nutella stuffed pancakes and the Eggs Benedict.
“It could be Ella, the guy standing at her right resembles her fiancé, Alex,” Jennifer replied, refilling her glass. “All of Hollywood is curious about Ronan Connolly’s little sister’s upcoming nuptials.”
“Well, the world is interested in Ronan Connolly’s wedding.” Haven leaned across the table, eying me suspiciously. “Rumor has it that he and Holliday Prescott are also tying the knot this summer.”
I scrubbed my hands down my face. “Can we get to the point of this impromptu meeting?”
“Yes,” Haven replied, folding her hands in her lap. “You are making headlines and not in a negative way.”
Haven slid her iPad in front of me. I read post after post. They all said the same thing; it was about me and a mystery woman. I knew with one glance who the woman was in photos—Harlow.
“And this is the reason that you both flew in from Manhattan?” I asked, eyeing them both. “We could have discussed this over the phone.”
“Who is she? Are you in a new relationship?” Jennifer asked, before taking a drink of her martini.
“She’s a friend, and I am not disclosing any information to the two of you.”
I chuckled to myself that Haven didn’t recognize her own client. In all fairness, the pictures were blurry and Harlow’s auburn hair covered her face.
Jennifer leaned forward. “If you tell us, we can kill the story or drive the narrative.”
“It’s up to you, Grady,” Haven added.
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