“Why is that cute?”
“It’s cute, the way you asked me to be your girlfriend, just now.”
I leaned into her, kissing her effectively sealing the deal. “Well, I’m glad we had this talk.”
“TELL ME SOMETHING ODD, really out there.”
Grady stretched his long legs, and I snuggled into his side. His hand massaged slow circles into my hip. “How out there are we talking?”
“Nothing is off limits.”
“Is it an off-limits topic or just sharing a strange fact?” he asked, kissing the soft spot between my neck and shoulder.
“Is there a difference?”
“Well, let’s see how out there we can get—my ex-wife has never been to this house.”
I stared up at him. “Oh my God, I might need a drink if you’re going to bring up your ex-wife in bed.”
“I’ll get you anything you want, sweetheart.” Grady untangled our limbs, and slipped out of bed hobbling as he made his way out of the room. My guess was that his body was still a little jellied from the morning sex which led to shower sex. After all that we found ourselves starved and making peanut butter pancakes—a secret family recipe, he told me. We did unspeakable, filthy things to one another with the maple syrup and that landed us right back in the shower and then here to his bed. We haven’t made it to the outdoor shower, yet.
Sundays were fast becoming my favorite day with Grady. The two of us would lie in bed—I’d check my website stats, read “Sex Diaries” from The Cut, and then channel surf for a guilty pleasure movie. Lifetime and Hallmark served up some fabulous favorites starring Tori Spelling, Kellie Martin, and Candace Cameron. Those movies led to discussions of ridiculous plotlines and lessons learned.
He’d read The New York Times and the Hollywood Reporter. We’d discuss my love for old Hollywood glamour and his passion projects. He’d tell me about his desire to save the oceans and his charity work. Then we’d make our way downstairs and prepare a fabulous feast, everything was fresh from our Saturday trips to the farmers’ market. After breakfast, depending on our mood, we’d lounge by the pool or take his boat out.
Today was a rarity, the rain kept us inside, but that didn’t matter because we were together. Much like the weather outside, there was a storm brewing between Grady and me. It was powerful, it was magnetic, and it was like catching lightning in a bottle. I wanted to show the whole world that we were together—plot twist! The fact remained that we were together—a legit couple, not something staged for Hollywood or good press.
“Okay, I’ve got wine for you and beer for me. And the snack menu consists of pretzels, mixed nuts, Vermont cheddar slices and an apple,” Grady announced, carrying an ice bucket and a serving tray. “I re-stocked the upstairs bar, so this should keep us well fed and satisfied for at least two hours.” He tossed me a knowing glance over his shoulder. I pressed my fist to my mouth, hiding a grin. Grady set the tray and ice bucket on his dresser and then poured two glasses.
“Your rosé, my dear,” Grady said, handing me a glass.
“How is it that your ex-wife had never been to your Hamptons hideaway?”
Grady slipped back in between the covers. “She never wanted to come to the Hamptons. Heather didn’t like the scene. She said it was too quiet. When we were looking to buy a house together, I asked her to tell me about her ideal place, she told me it would have to be somewhere with a lot of noise. It made sense, our house in LA was always filled with people—she needed the noise. I suspected that when it was quiet, she wound up in her dark places.”
It was mind-boggling. Even if Heather hated the Hamptons, shouldn’t she have given it some effort to spend time with Grady in a place that meant so much to him? On the other hand, at least this place isn’t laced with memories of her or the two of them here.
“Okay, now you tell me something,” he requested, as his fingers traced the back of my knee.
“I saw my father in Palmetto Bluff.” I swallowed a gulp of wine. “He was at the polo match with his latest trophy—expensive extensions and pumped full of fillers.”
“Lips and tits?”
“Lips and ass, the tits were real as far as I could tell.”
“Did you speak to him?”
My head bowed, as I started at the pink liquid in my glass. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Grady tipped my chin forcing me to look at him. “Is he the reason that you left the polo match?”
Nodding, I placed my wine glass on the nightstand. “Seeing him in the flesh, it tore at my old wounds, cutting the stitches that I’d used to close up those feelings. It’s embarrassing. I’m still his verbal punching bag—fat ass, stupid, worthless, whore. Those were a few of the endearing names he likes using to torture me emotionally.”
Grady wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer. “I suppose that I don’t have to tell you that you are none of those things.” He dropped a kiss to my shoulder.
“I appreciate that,” I said, grasping his hand in mine. “My mom used to tell me stories about my father’s glory days playing golf. He was an average player—never accomplished anything of significance like winning a major tournament. My brother, Nicholas, he excelled at everything, sports and academics. I had my share of accomplishments with academics and choir competitions. My athletic skills were limited to running and swimming purely for survival and beach volleyball when the mood struck. Nicholas has a theory that dear old Dad has some kind of jealousy towards us, which is why he cut ties with us. Some studies have shown that one reason a parent might hate their child is because they’re the embodiment of everything the parent is unhappy about with their own life.”
Grady stroked his knuckles up and down my arm. He didn’t offer any apologies or advice he just listened and that was how I knew that he understood. Most people listen to reply, they don’t hear the other person because they’re constantly thinking of things to say. I didn’t need advice for the sake of making me feel better.
“Your brother, are the two of you close?”
“Yeah, he’s one of the best people I know. Nicholas is amazing. When we were in high school we used to cook together. At that point, our mom had days where she would spend days in bed. She drank a lot once she found out our dad was cheating on her. So, we had to take care of ourselves. We were pretty much on our own for dinner. He’d make these amazing grilled cheese sandwiches, sometimes adding a slice of tomato.”
“Grilled cheese is the staple of any diet rich in comfort foods.”
“Totally, and then we figured out how to make grilled cheese with sharp cheddar, Granny Smith apples, and mustard. He perfected that recipe at our grandparent’s house.”
“The ones who live in Vermont,” Grady interjected.
“Yep.” That made me smile knowing he remembered little facts about the stories I shared. “Nicholas is finishing up his residency in emergency medicine in Chicago. We don’t get to see each other very often, but we schedule times for regular phone calls and video chats.”
“A doctor. That’s impressive.”
“Yeah, sometimes I can’t believe that he saves lives. Nicholas spent two weeks at our father’s financial firm the summer after his freshman year of college. He hated every minute of it. One morning before work, he was sitting at the coffee shop across the street and a guy, who he thought was intoxicated, sat down beside him. As it turned out, the guy, who was only twenty-two, was having a heart attack and Nicholas called 911. Luckily there was an EMT standing in line when Nicholas yelled for help. They were able to get the guy to the hospital and save his life. Nicholas walked into our father’s office that day and told him that he wanted to be a doctor. Changed his major and that was that.”
“Lucky guy.”
My fingers brushed against his forearm. “What about you? Are you and your sister close?”
“Definitely. Willow and I keep in contact fairly regularly. She’s pretty active on social media. My sister loves Instagram.” Rain tapped against the glass and Grady sl
id out of bed to close the window. “After Willow graduated from college, she opened a luxury bath shop in Fenwick. She’s always sending me pictures of fabrics and cool fixtures. That’s why all my bathrooms are ‘so tricked out’ as Willow likes to say—she designed all of them.” He crossed the room back to the bed, bringing along the bowl of pretzels.
“Your sister has an eye for design. Maybe I should consult her when I remodel my home.”
Grady shot me a pointed glance. “Did you buy a house while I was away?”
“Oh, did I not mention that?” I asked, popping a pretzel into my mouth.
“Did you really buy a house?”
I shook my head. “No, but I found this amazing home. It’s so dreamy and I am in love with the kitchen. The tile backsplash is teal.”
Grady took the bowl of pretzels from my hands and then placed it back onto the tray of snacks. “I’ve been thinking about incorporating some color into this house.” Shifting my knees, Grady settled between my legs. Even though I was starving for food, I was hungrier for his touch so I didn’t complain when he took away my snack.
“Don’t you dare change a thing in here, Grady. This place is perfect.”
“Speaking of perfect, that’s what you are, sweetheart.”
I was hardly without my own faults. Often, I’d forget friends’ birthdays. My only reminder was Facebook, which on some level seemed sad. I used to be very good at keeping a calendar of important dates—weddings, anniversaries or the occasional mitzvah. The last few years, I’d sent New Year’s cards to make up for missing important dates or perhaps it was a way of starting the year off on a good foot.
Presently, my own foot was firmly in Grady’s grasp as he kissed his way up my thigh. The swipe of his tongue sent me arching up and crying out. When he added a finger and sucked my clit into his mouth I was convinced I’d crack the headboard. Primed and ready, I wasn’t sure that I’d survive the exquisite torment from his perfect oral skills.
He knew that that smooth slide of his tongue against my folds and the gentle scrape of his teeth against my skin sent fine tremors of pleasure zapping through my body. Each stroke set my nerves on edge with anticipation. My moans bounced off the walls, and my hands gripped the sheets when his tongue wrapped around my clit.
He looked up at me, pleased with his efforts, the shiny evidence of my arousal on his lips and chin. He crawled up my body. With one hand buried in my hair, he angled my head to the side, his mouth trailing down my throat and his tongue sliding over my pulse.
I needed him.
His lips drifted across my chest, licking a line between my breasts. Tugging my nipple between his teeth, my back arched off the bed. His fingers curled inside me hitting all the right spots. On a thready cry, my first orgasm rolled through me.
“You look sensational when you come. Beautiful,” he rasped in my ear.
Goosebumps splashed across my skin, and my legs shook as Grady circled my clit with his thumb drawing out my orgasm. My eyes opened to see Grady smiling down at me, his cock sliding between us.
This man, this gorgeous, hot as sin man revved me up better than any porn or a smutty book could do. Lean muscles, strong brows and a set of lips I could kiss for days. On paper, Grady James fit every relationship qualification I envisioned. In and out of the bedroom, he filled every desire of mine. This was dragging me under. He was pulling me into something deeper than I ever imaged was possible between two people.
Shifting his body, Grady dragged his fingers through my hair and kissed me. My inner muscles tightened as he notched the head of his cock between my slick folds. With one thrust, he filled me burying himself to the hilt.
“Oh my holy . . . fuck.” The last word came out in a gasp.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, scraping his teeth over my earlobe.
My arms found their way over his shoulders. “Yeah, you’re just . . . so deep,” I whispered.
Grady’s laugh filled the space between us. “I’ll take that as a good sign. You feel so good.”
I hooked my legs around him, drawing him closer and his hips rolled against me. We rocked together, moans of pleasure and our hushed sighs wrestled with the crashing rain and thunder booming outside.
The heavy ache of my orgasm built with every pulse pounding thrust and my fingernails dug into the muscles of his shoulders and back.
“You are incredible, all I feel is your pussy squeezing me,” he gasped, stilling his hips and relishing the moment. “You’re perfect, this is perfect. Being here with you just like this.”
Grady pushed deeper. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my heels digging into his back. His lips found my neck, shoulders and lips and my orgasm slammed into me and then Grady came with a roar as he fucked into me harder. As if the moment wasn’t monumental enough, a thunderous boom dropped shaking the house.
Grady cocked a brow, a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. “You think that was applause from the man upstairs?”
I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in my throat. “It was something.”
“I’M NOT READY FOR summer to end,” Ronan muttered as we crossed the street to the Rum Bar.
“Summer is hardly over,” Alex argued.
The humidity was unusually high today, and it was hard to imagine that July was sliding into August. I was hit with a cool blast of air as I pulled the door to the restaurant open.
Ronan signaled to the bartender for three beers. “Maybe not, but where has the time gone? I feel like I haven’t had a moment of peace.”
I slapped his shoulder as we approached an open four top. “That’s because you’re getting married, renovating a house, flying back and forth from New York to Los Angeles and isn’t your youngest starting kindergarten?”
“Not to mention, his real estate hobby,” Alex added, sprinkling salt onto his napkin.
Ronan scowled. “Jesus, are two you stalking me?”
Alex chuckled, scanning the menu. “He’s not wrong, you just need to take a few days and relax. Pump the brakes and enjoy life.”
“For the record, I’m not stalking you. It’s called peopling and I am engaging and being social.”
Ronan’s hands rubbed at his forehead. “What the fuck is peopling?”
The bartender dropped off three cold beers and Alex ordered the appetizers. “Did you learn that term from your lady friend, James?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.”
Ronan turned to me. “When do we get to meet this fine woman?”
“Their pictures are all over the internet,” Alex informed, jutting his chin in my direction. “Or call your sister. She’ll fill you in on his love interest.”
I took a swig of my beer. “Our relationship is still new and I’d like to get to know her better before I let you hyenas near her.”
“What?” Alex lifted his hands in surrender. “We’re harmless. It’s our counterparts you might have to worry about.”
“Nonsense,” Ronan said, waving off Alex’s comment. “As long as you’re not back with Heather—Ella and Holliday will welcome anyone with open arms.”
The bar started to fill up with weekenders and a few locals. The helicopter fans started to inch closer to our table. Alex subtly waved anyone off who looked as if they were about to approach and ask either of us for a selfie.
“Mr. Robertsen, would you prefer a private table upstairs?” the manager asked.
He shook his head. “No, in about an hour, they’ll all forget that these two are even here.”
She huffed a laugh. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“How about you bring her out to our house for the end of summer party?” Alex suggested.
I held up my hands. “I’m not making any promises.
“So, this is it, my big send off into married life?” Ronan mused.
Our server dropped off the plates and silverware for our appetizers. “What would you prefer, Connolly? Strippers? Vegas?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh
hell no, I do not need that shit showing up on TMZ.”
“And that is no way to start off a marriage, Vegas is fucking overrated. Just ask James.” Alex smirked.
“I went to an audition the next week, and the director asked me if I had coke on my pants. Sure as fuck, I did. Apparently, wifely duties hadn’t kicked in yet for Heather.”
“Well played Vegas,” Alex said, before taking a sip of his beer. “Reason number forty-seven why Vegas is a bad idea.”
“When I confronted Heather about the cocaine, she had another form of blow in mind.”
“So not all bad then,” Alex asserted.
“Right and honestly, I was giving you guys shit, this is great.” Ronan glanced at his phone. “Shit, okay, Matt is coming in, he’s parking his car.”
“Maybe no one will recognize him.” Alex offered, signaling the bartender for another beer.
“Right,” Ronan scoffed. “Barber has the number one film in the world right now.”
“He’s more popular than voice enabled technology, Cuba, and gin and tonics.”
They looked at me as if I’d suggested we go out kicking puppies for fun. It was an article on Harlow’s website, the biggest trends of the year. She asked me to read it, so I did.
Matt walked in with his Chicago Cubs ball cap tugged low and his sunglasses shielding his eyes. Matthew Barber was one of Ronan’s oldest friends. As the story goes, they met at the VMA’s when they presented an award together. The prank wars between them are legendary. A few years back, Ronan set up a crowd of fans outside Matt’s hotel in Toronto, and had them chant “Ronan” all night long. For that stunt, Matt countered by telling various interviewers at the Venice Film Festival that Ronan was a very serious actor and when interviewing him, it’s best not to make eye contact or tell jokes, because he would become very upset.
“Hey, guys, sorry I’m late,” he said, slapping a hand to Ronan’s shoulder.
Our appetizers came out just as Matt situated himself on a barstool. Our server’s hands shook as she set the first two baskets onto the table.
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