Healed by You

by Christy Pastore

  The fat ass comment stopped bothering me long ago. I wasn’t fat. Worthless, now that was another story. It was hard to feel self-worth when the man who was supposed to be your father didn’t even care about you as a human being. I had the desire to scream and shout that he was wrong. That there was a man interested in me and he was standing across the field, but I suppressed my urge. The man didn’t earn any right to the details about my life. He lost that a long time ago.

  He strode off laughing and that’s when I caught a glimpse of his latest gold digger. I watched as the two of them rubbed elbows and sipped champagne with some of the most elite members of the polo society, a mass of power players—politicians, entrepreneurs, and celebrities. Couldn’t these affluent people see what a terrible person Montgomery Sinclair was? I wondered if they would care about the fact that he’d disowned his children. All the money in the world and my father was the least classy person that I knew.

  Seething with aggravation, I downed my drink and then motioned for another. Perhaps my mother had it right when she started drinking before noon. Staying aloof was probably the only way she could tolerate my father when they were married.

  Forget the drink. I needed to get out of here. Pushing to my feet, I grabbed my purse and walked briskly to the main tent. The people all blurred together and my mind wandered to Grady. How would I even begin to explain my father to him?

  I hated telling Harry about my father and what he’d done to me. The thought of telling someone else I was estranged from my father, and the fact that he disowned us, was an awful feeling. Sickness swirled in the pit of my stomach. Tears welled in my eyes, as much as I tried to push them down.

  “Harlow, hey,” Grady called out to me.

  I stopped near the bar of the main tent, and held the tears at bay. Turning around I plastered a smile onto my face. “Hi, nice match. Congratulations on the win.”

  “Thanks, are you leaving?” His brow furrowed. “You should stick around for the trophy ceremony.” He hooked his thumb back towards the field.

  “Um,” I paused, feeling blush spread across my neck. “I would but I’m not feeling all that well. I think I’ll just go back to the house.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. In that case, let me grab my gear and I’ll go with you.”

  God, why are you so damn sweet.

  “No, you stay. You played well, you deserve to celebrate,” I replied. “Thanks again for inviting me, Grady, and congratulations.”

  I slipped through the crowd, and made my way towards the valet to call for our driver. It was better this way. I’d spare him the agony of my sour mood that would lead to a conversation wherein I spent all evening complaining about my father and revealing dirty family secrets.

  It’s better this way.

  IT WAS EIGHT O’CLOCK and Harlow was nowhere to be found. The good news was that Vernon said that she had returned and changed clothes after the match. I guess she wanted to go for a walk.

  So here I sat on the couch, catching up on the day’s baseball games. Sports Center and a cold beer, this was not at all how I pictured this day ending. I wanted it to end with Harlow. If I was being totally honest, I wanted my day to begin with her as well. Perhaps I was turning into the lonely divorcé after all this time. My bed had seen better days. It had been a long time since I’d woken up next to woman.

  Blowing out a harsh breath, I walked to the kitchen to discard my empty beer bottle. Reaching into the fridge, I grabbed another beer and then plodded back to the couch.

  I thought Harlow wasn’t feeling well earlier, but now thinking back the expression on her face and the way her hands gripped her purse told me that she was upset. It was as if she couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

  Lightning lit up the muggy sky, thunder shaking the house. I popped off the top of my beer when my phone chimed, probably a severe weather alert.

  Where are you, Harlow?

  Instead, of the weather it was a message from one of my longtime polo friends, Ridge Stephens.

  Ridge: Hanging out at The Inn. Wet t-shirt contest happening thanks to the rain. You in?

  My thumb hovered over the screen as I formulated my response. I just wasn’t up for it, plus I wanted to be here in case Harlow returned. Thunder roared out unleashing buckets of rain.

  Grady: Sorry, buddy, thanks for the offer. I’m exhausted from the match. Raincheck?

  A sharp knock at the front door, and I glanced to my phone. Fuck, Ridge was impatient. I pulled the handle to find Harlow standing on the porch. Her clothes soaked from the rain, and her auburn hair perfectly slicked back as if she’d styled it that way on purpose.

  “Harlow . . .”

  “I’m sorry about running off earlier. Today has been a really shitty day.” Blowing out a deep breath, she ran her palms over her wet hair. “This morning I broke the heel off my favorite pair of Jimmy Choo’s. I managed to dump coffee down the side of my car, and I caused an avalanche of citrus fruits at the market that almost took out four people.”

  “And now you’re here—with me.”

  She crossed the threshold, and her hands framed my face. “You have a crazy ex-wife and I have Daddy issues. I’m thinking that we can fuck ourselves into some pretty amazing orgasms.”

  My brows lifted. “Daddy issues, huh?” I asked, as my hands landed on her waist.

  Her teeth grazed over her bottom lip as she nodded.

  I kicked the door closed. “I can work with that.” I hoisted her up and she roped her arms and legs around me. I slammed her back against the wooden door, and crushed my lips to hers. She moaned, as I grazed my tongue against hers.

  She pulled back breathless, her palms smoothing over my shoulders. “By the way, I’m sorry I said your ex-wife was crazy. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive.”

  I kissed down her throat and across her collarbone. “Well, she is, so . . .”

  My eyes met hers. Harlow’s mouth pulled into a tiny smile, and her hands wrapped around the nape of my neck drawing me to her lips once more. “I’m sorry sometimes I forget not everyone on Earth is a sensitive pussy who needs a trigger warning.” The words came out a little broken, as her teeth chattered.

  “You’re freezing. Let’s get you out of those wet clothes and into a hot bath.”

  “You know,” she said, her body shaking as I set her feet to the ground. “There are other ways to warm me up.”

  “You’ve got a dirty mind, and I like what you’re suggesting, but we’ll get to that.” I grasped her hand, leading her through the living room and up the stairs to the master bath. As she stripped out of her clothes, I turned on the shower.

  “I thought you wanted me to take a hot bath?

  “I want to warm you up slowly. First, you rinse off in the shower. I’m going to draw a bath, light some candles and pour the wine.”

  “Grady James, you really know how to treat a girl on a first date.”

  “Fourth.”

  “What?”

  “This is our fourth date technically,” I pointed out. “We shared drinks and conversation at Pour Fest. Then we ate dinner at the Cuban restaurant. I’m totally counting the pint we shared at Rum Bar as a date. And you’ve come here on this little trip with me—that’s four. I’m thinking about including the polo match as a date as well. A date within the date.”

  She raised a brow, seeming unconvinced. I’m sweetening the argument.

  “I think you could use a nice meal and a bottle of wine.” I slid my fingers under the straps of her pink lace bra, needing to touch her skin.

  “I’ll accept the Cuban Restaurant as a date, because you paid, and I’m willing to accept Pour Fest even though you didn’t ask me out,” she said, her hands grasping at the hem of my shirt. “Rum Bar is a stretch, but this weekend totally counts.”

  This girl. We were going to see each other naked and she wanted to debate specifics on the number of dates we’ve had.

  “Good, I’m glad that we agree.” My knuckles grazed down her arms
. “We should discuss my earlier proposal. I think we can give them something to talk about.”

  She tilted her head, staring up at me with those gorgeous eyes. “Possibly, but what if I told you that I was just in it for the sex?”

  It took everything inside me not to haul her up on my shoulder and carry her caveman style into my bedroom, but this needed to be on her terms. I wouldn’t push.

  “You strip, and get into that shower.” My fingers tugged under her chin.

  Stepping away, I opened the door to the linen closet. She stood gazing at me, as I hung a towel on the hook outside the shower for her. I turned on the bath, and then added in foaming lavender bath salts.

  “Do you take baths frequently?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows. “You seem like an expert.”

  “Hardly, but I’ve read somewhere that women love taking them. I’ll come back shortly, once you’re in the shower.” As much as I didn’t want to, I left her alone in the bathroom.

  I raced downstairs. I wondered about her earlier comment regarding “Daddy issues.” Was it something she wanted to talk about?

  The wine selection was incredible, and I hadn’t even visited the wine cellar in the house. Ultimately, I selected a bottle of Sancerre from the wine fridge, and then a glass from the cabinet. There was a freshly prepared margherita pizza in the fridge or Vernon said we could order anything from the Inn’s kitchen. Fuck the food, for now.

  My attention slipped back to Harlow, who was in my bathroom and very naked right now. As I walked down the hallway I heard her voice. She went back and forth between humming and singing. Leaning against the wall, I listened as she whipped through the chorus of “Needed Me” by Rihanna.

  “Are you just going to stand outside the door all night or come inside?”

  Her voice was low and husky—relaxed. I gripped the handle and slowly pushed the door open. As I stepped farther into the space, I saw that she was in the bath, with her eyes closed and her arms resting on the sides. The water hit just above the rise of her breasts.

  God, I wanted her.

  “Wine?” I asked, splashing liquid into the glass.

  “Yes, please.”

  I handed her the glass, and she smiled. “Did you plan on joining me?”

  “I could, if that is what you’d like?”

  She sipped the wine. “I don’t plan on being in here that much longer.”

  I cocked a brow. “Oh no?”

  She passed me the glass and then I took a long drink, finishing the contents. I poured another glass as I pondered over ten possible scenarios. Incredible restraint on my part, it took all I had not to jump into the tub with all my clothes on. Instead, I pulled the wooden stool up beside the tub, and sat facing her. Handing her the glass, I stared into her eyes.

  “No,” she shook her head, and sipped from the glass. “I plan to be in your bed, writhing beneath you while you give me the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”

  I smirked. “Such a dirty girl, I could have sworn that you were an angel.”

  She winked, and handed the wine back to me. “Guess you were wrong.”

  For once, I was so very glad to be wrong. I set the wine glass aside, and then dipped my hands into the water. Harlow’s tongued darted over her bottom lip, and she glanced up at me through her dark lashes. My fingers trailed up the inside of her thigh, her breath hitched at the caress of my hand sliding higher. She held my gaze, her hazel eyes brimming with lust.

  Harlow was gorgeous. She was raw and open to me—absolutely stunning. My fingers stroked higher, and she parted her legs. She wanted this, she wanted me.

  The foam from the bath salts dissipated revealing her breasts. Teasing her, I glided my fingertips along her ribcage up to the underside of her breast and I couldn’t resist cupping the soft flesh in my hand. Harlow arched into my touch, as the scent of lavender permeated my senses. A soft moan was my reward when my fingers carefully rolled her nipple.

  That sound, it was beautiful, and I wanted to hear it again. Her hands gripped the sides of the tub, as my fingers skated down her stomach. Another wave of lavender washed over me, as her legs stirred beneath the water.

  I was inches away from thrusting inside her and finger fucking her into the first of many orgasms I intended to give her. Weeks of fantasizing about Harlow did nothing to prepare me for this moment of having my hands all over her naked body.

  “Grady,” she moaned.

  “Yes.”

  “You should kiss me now, or I’m going lose my damn mind.”

  “Dirty and demanding, what a treat for me.”

  Harlow shifted, dragging her wet hands through my hair pulling me closer. Water splashed everywhere, but I didn’t care. She crushed her lips to mine, for a hurried and impatient kiss. I drove my tongue against hers with the same hungry need.

  Before I knew it, I had hauled Harlow out of the tub dragging her body against mine. Her hands grasped the hem of my t-shirt pulling it up as far she could and then I took over the task. Her hands went to my shorts, pushing them along with my boxers to the floor. After getting a good look at my cock, she looked up at me, those beautiful eyes wide gazing into mine.

  “Grady,” she whispered. “I need you to take me to bed, now.”

  The heat in her eyes brightened, and I wasted no time carrying her off to my bed where I couldn’t wait to see how many times I could make her call out my name.

  GRADY’S HANDS DUG INTO my ass, alternating between kneading and caressing my bare flesh. I was in his bedroom, naked and kissing him. This was way better than my paradise sex fantasy.

  Naked and kissing him. Yes, it was worth repeating.

  He kissed me hard, slipping his tongue deep inside my mouth. My fingers brushed down his chest and over his abs. The scent of clean soap mixed with an incredible spice tantalized my senses. I was mindless. Lust swamped my veins, frying any rational thought my brain was processing.

  His hands tangled in my hair, and his erection pushed into my stomach. “Just the one orgasm, then?”

  “Two, three,” I moaned, while his lips trailed up my neck, nipping at the skin beneath my earlobe.

  “Multiples, those are my specialty,” he murmured, lifting me up and then dragging me to the middle of the bed.

  I was certain that everything was this man’s specialty. For the love of God, he was one of the sexiest men on the planet. Not that looks were an automatic guarantee for being a sensational kisser, a phenomenal lover or even a gifted—what was I saying? Grady’s lips swept across my collarbone as his fingers drifted to my breast. My entire body felt jellied and all we’d done was kiss.

  “What happened earlier today?”

  The question, it was too heavy, and answers even heavier. I couldn’t talk about my bastard of a father, especially not while I was in bed with Grady. These aren’t the sort of pillow talk moments you want on the . . . fourth . . . third . . . date.

  Redirection needed now.

  “Why did you ask me on this trip?”

  He kissed down my throat and across my chest, licking the valley between my breasts.

  His eyes met mine, as his fingers danced just above my center. I rubbed against him, silently begging for the friction I so badly wanted. “I wanted to spend time with you,” he murmured, dropping his lips to my breast sucking my nipple into his mouth. “I’d be lying if I said, I haven’t thought about you once or twice in the last few weeks—usually it involves you being naked.”

  My hands tugged in this hair. “Oh, Grady, fuck.”

  “You are so beautiful.”

  He eased a finger inside me and I heard myself moan. My hips came up off the bed, when he added a second finger sending bursts of electricity to every cell in my body. He crushed his lips to mine, his fingers working a delicious friction.

  “Grady, please, more.”

  “I want to hear that sound,” he growled against my breast. “You breathless and calling my name, begging me to fuck you.”

  Oh God, yes. Grady James was a di
rty talker. The scruff on his sharp jawline, every scratch sent my blood rushing through my veins. A shiver vibrated through me, and I couldn’t stop my orgasm sending me soaring over the edge at warp speed.

  “That’s one,” he whispered in my ear.

  His fingers continued massaging me, stoking the fire that burned deep inside. It was too much. Too intense.

  “Grady, you gotta give me a minute.”

  He twisted his wrist and gently slowed his rhythm. “Anything you want, sweetheart,” he rasped.

  His fingers left my body, and I groaned at the loss. “I’ll be right back.” He pressed a kiss to my lips and then jumped out of bed. I felt a wide lazy grin tug at the corners of my mouth. I rolled up and then slipped between the soft fabric of his sheets.

  That just happened. Grady James had given me a wonderfully mind-blowing orgasm, and that was with just his fingers. Holy shit. The sex would have to be incredible.

  The last few weeks had been stressful, but right now I was anything but stressed. All the tension and worry liquefied and drained out of my body.

  For the first time in weeks I finally had a full night’s sleep. It was the first time I didn’t wake up every hour on the hour. Or even at my usual five a.m.—waking up at that ungodly hour had been my ritual since my days at NYU. The wonderful thing about rising before the break of dawn in Manhattan was that you could hear yourself think—actually think.

  The reasons for not hitting the snooze button were simple, the hours between four and seven a.m. were the city’s most poetic hours. On any given day, it was a roulette wheel of chance from spotting naked taxi-cab hailers, to a possible Cardinal Dolan sighting and according to an ex hookup of mine, it was the perfect time to get a haircut.

  On this morning, the smell of fresh coffee beckoned me from dreamland. When I peeled my eyes open, the realization that I was in Grady’s bed hit me like a tidal wave. I thought it had all been a dream. If this was a dream, don’t bother waking me up because I wanted to see how it would end.