by Kira Blakely
“Your grandparents helped raise you, didn’t they?”
He nods. “What about you? Your mother was a single mom, too, right?”
“My relatives in the Philippines helped,” I tell him. “They didn’t do it out of the goodness of their hearts, though.”
Grant gives me a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”
“If they did, they wouldn’t have badgered my mother to send them money once she was already here in the US. She did at first but then she stopped, and they started fighting over the phone. Then the phone calls stopped altogether. When my mother…” I swallow. “…died, none of them came to her funeral.”
Grant frowns.
Oh, shit. Did I just tell Grant all that? I never meant to give him a sob story, especially not one that I haven’t told a lot of people, including Mr. Landers. Is there something in this risotto or is it the wine? Or maybe it’s still the Broadway effect?
“Sorry,” I tell him. “I guess now, you think my life is good enough to be a show on Broadway.”
Grant still says nothing.
Okay.
“Anyway, I think Marjorie will make a great personal chef,” I say, steering the conversation back to its original course. “Though, of course, you have the final say. You’re the boss, after all.”
“If you think she’ll be great, then I trust your judgment,” Grant finally says.
“All right.”
***
The rest of the evening goes smoothly. Thankfully, I manage to stop bringing up any more tragic experiences, but I think the damage has been done. Grant is more reserved.
I wonder what he’s thinking. Does he feel sorry for me, maybe? The last thing I want from him is pity.
Even the ride home is fairly silent. Then again, we’re both tired. Plus, the alcohol is starting to get to me. I know it’s only two glasses of wine, but I’ve never been good with alcohol. I can barely keep my eyes open as it is.
I manage to stay awake until we get to the mansion, though, and as much as I want to hurry to my room and bury myself under the covers, I stop at the top of the stairs, turning to Grant.
“Thank you,” I tell him. “It’s been an amazing evening.”
Grant smiles. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
I take a deep breath. “And I’m sorry I said too much. Please forget about—”
“You don’t have to apologize, Abby.” Grant takes my hand, surprising me.
My words turn into a lump in my throat. My heart skips a beat then begins to pound wildly as he places his other hand on my cheek tenderly.
What’s going on?
“I’m not going to let anyone else hurt you,” he says, his blue eyes gazing into mine.
For a moment, he just holds my gaze, those midnight blue orbs that are currently glistening with warmth drawing me in, drowning me even before his words sink in. As they disappear between closed eyelids, his lips descend on mine.
My heart stops, my body frozen in place. I’m not the least bit cold, though. The heat from his lips flows throughout my body, swirling in my breasts and between my legs.
Shit. He’s only kissing me. He’s not even using his tongue. And yet, he might as well be touching me, licking me all over. The waves of desire washing over me from his body are so strong that I have no choice but to respond and surrender.
Just when I’m about to kiss him back, though, Grant pulls away.
“Good night,” he whispers in my ear then turns on his heel.
As he walks away, I grab the edge of the nearest desk, trying to keep myself from falling as I wait for my knees to stop shaking. At the same time, I place my hand over my chest, waiting for my heart to slow down as I force air back into my lungs.
When I can finally walk and breathe, I move slowly toward my room. My mind is still in a whirl, though, as my hand moves up to my lips.
My boss just kissed me?
Chapter 4
Grant
I shouldn’t have kissed Abby, I scold myself as I step into the shower, closing my eyes as the cool water trickles down my skin.
I couldn’t help it. Tonight, I got to see different sides of her. As I sat beside her in the theater, I watched in silence and fascination as her expression changed from the excitement of a child to the awe of a star-struck fan to the crippling fear of someone who had seen the show too many times and dreaded its ending each time. Finally, to the grief of a woman who still believed in love and happy endings. It was a treat, even more so than the show. It’s a miracle I didn’t kiss her then and there.
Then during dinner, I got a glimpse of who she was and of all the pain she had been through, all the pain she’s still carrying with her, hidden beneath that tough exterior. It awoke the knight in shining armor in me.
I’m not going to let anyone else hurt you.
What’s up with that line? Well, at least, I said ‘anyone else’ because I can’t guarantee I won’t end up hurting her. In fact, I’m pretty sure I will.
All the more reason for me not to have kissed her.
That’s what half my brain is saying. The other half is saying I should have done more, that I should have taken her to my room and had sex with her. If I had, I wouldn’t be having this cold shower right now to get rid of my erection. And I know she wouldn’t have protested. Heck, she was wet and willing.
But Abby isn’t ready. She might be willing but she doesn’t want me.
And I need her to want me.
I take a deep breath. Patience.
I might have slipped but no more. I’ll pretend the kiss never happened. I’ll step back. This way, Abby will have to take the first step if she wants me.
When she wants me.
If her response to my kiss tonight is any indication, it’s only a matter of time before she’s shuddering beneath me. The mere image makes me hard again.
I frown.
Fine. Maybe I’ll give her just a little push in the right direction.
***
“I’d like you to come with me to the party this evening,” I tell Abby a few days later over the breakfast of asparagus and bacon quiche that Marjorie has prepared. “It’s a fundraiser and a lot of rich people are going to be there. I want to introduce myself to them, and hopefully they’ll remember me when my company goes public.”
“Sure.” She meets my gaze just for a second from across the long table before putting the spoon in her mouth.
Ever since that kiss, Abby has been keeping her distance. She tries to stay away from me as much as possible and whenever we’re in the same room, she barely makes eye contact, and she speaks only when spoken to, always in a professional manner.
She’s uncomfortable. Of course she is. No doubt that kiss rattled her, and since I didn’t say anything about it, she’s confused and probably debating whether it meant something.
Good. That’s exactly how I want her to feel.
“So, you don’t mind coming?” I ask, taking a sip from my glass of juice.
She shakes her head. “I’ve accompanied Mr. Landers on several occasions. I can point out some of the people you’ll want to talk to.”
Mr. Landers again. Nathan is a good friend of mine but I have to admit I’m getting a little annoyed by how frequently his name comes up in conversations. I suppose it can’t be helped since he was Abby’s former employer, but each time she mentions him I get the feeling that she’s comparing us. Not just as bosses, but as men. And I’m falling short.
“That would be helpful,” I say, setting down my glass but keeping my hand wrapped around it. “However, I’m not asking you to come as my personal assistant.”
Her eyebrows furrow. “I don’t understand.”
“At the party, you’ll stand beside me, not behind me,” I explain. “You’ll be my date.”
“Your date?” Her jaw drops.
“For the evening. I think I’ll blend in better if I have a date.”
“I understand. But surely there are other women you could ask.” She looks
down at her plate, slicing the quiche. “What about that… that woman you were with when I—”
“Abby,” I interrupt. “I’m asking you. Actually, no, I’m telling you. With you by my side, I’m sure I can accomplish a great deal more.”
“Then I guess I have no choice but to accept.”
I frown. I would have liked it better if she agreed because she wants to, not because I’m her boss, but I’m hoping that will be resolved later.
One step at a time.
“Good.” I wipe my mouth as I get out of my chair. “I’ll have the gown delivered to your room as soon as it arrives.”
Again, her eyes grow wide. “Delivered?”
I toss the napkin on the table. “I took the liberty of ordering one for you since you mentioned that you don’t have an evening gown. If you pass by my office later, I’ll give you money so you can buy shoes this afternoon and also, so you can go to a salon. I’d like you to look your best tonight.”
I leave her still dumbfounded, grinning.
I can’t wait to see how she’ll look tonight.
***
Holy shit.
The silent curse leaves me as I watch Abby come down the stairs, breathtaking in the coral gown I’ve picked for her. I knew it would look good on her and the catalog said it would suit her complexion and her figure perfectly. But this?
It’s beyond my wildest imagination.
The gown hangs from around her neck, her slender shoulders bare. The lace bodice hugs her firm breasts, showing them off for once while a slit in the middle provides a peek of cleavage. The layers of skirt flow from the empire waist to her ankles, moving gracefully with her, giving just an occasional peek of her white sandals and pedicured toenails.
And it’s not just the gown that’s perfect. Only a quarter of her hair, now shimmering black and wavy, is swept back, the rest cascading down the sides of her face. She’s wearing more makeup than usual but it’s not too heavy, her lips glossy and a delicious shade of pink, making me want to kiss them.
What the fuck have I done?
“Well?” Abby asks as she stops at the bottom of the stairs. “Do you think I look good enough?”
Good enough? All the men at the party will probably be staring at her. As for me, I want to do more than stare. I want to tear that gown off her and fuck her right here on the stairs. I know I can’t, though, at least not now, and so I do my best to restrain myself, thinking of random funny things to keep myself from getting hard even as I reach for her hand, planting a kiss on it.
“Gorgeous,” I compliment her, looking into her eyes. “The black hair suits you.”
Abby shrugs. “It’s my natural hair color, after all.”
Is that why she seems to have a newfound confidence? Indeed, I seem to be looking at a new Abby – more feminine, more sure of herself.
More exciting.
“I’m glad.” I offer her my arm and she takes it, smiling.
Something tells me she’s going to enjoy the evening more than I will.
***
I’m right.
Abby seems right at home in the grand hotel ballroom, swimming effortlessly among the sea of women in glamorous gowns and the men in tuxedos, graciously smiling at each of them. Every now and then, she stops, subtly pointing someone out or whispering some tidbit of information in my ear while I do my best to pay attention and keep my gaze from wandering to the curve of her breasts even as they press against my arm.
“The man with the gold-rimmed glasses is Edward Tucker,” she informs me. “Most of his investments are in shipping and manufacturing. Still, he seems to like gambling so maybe you can convince him to take a chance on you.”
I nod. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And the man he’s talking to is Phil Goldman. No need to waste time trying to impress him. If his wife – that woman in the red gown – tells him to invest in something, he’ll do it.” She lowers her voice a tad more. “I hear that’s the price he has to pay for cheating on her.”
“I see.” I bring my glass of champagne to my lips.
“And that…”
Suddenly, she stops and the next thing I know, she’s running off toward a woman in a blue gown.
“Sam!” Abby places her arms around the other woman.
“Abby?” Sam looks at her in disbelief. “I hardly recognized you.”
If Sam is here, that means…
“Well, well, well, Grant.” Nathan places a hand on my shoulder. “I have to say I like what you’ve done with her.”
“I haven’t done anything,” I tell him crossly, taking another sip of champagne.
“Really?” Nathan raises his eyebrows. “I would have thought you’d have done a lot by now, especially since you practically asked for her.”
I look at Abby, who is still busy talking to her friend, Sam. Good. She didn’t hear what Nathan just said.
“I’m well aware of what you think of me. But what can I say? Abby is a real lady so I have to act like the half-baked English gentleman I am.”
Nathan chuckles. “So, you’ve finally met your match, have you?” He squeezes my shoulder. “Well, good luck.”
I frown. What on Earth does he mean?
“I’m not the same as you, Nathan. I…”
I stop talking as Abby approaches, smiling at Nathan.
“Mr. Landers,” she greets him. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Please. You no longer work for me so call me Nathan.” He takes her hand and kisses it. “And I must say you look stunning tonight. I almost regret letting you go.”
Asshole.
“Oh, stop it.” Abby blushes, making me feel even more annoyed. “Sam will get mad.”
“No, she won’t. I’m only telling the truth, after all.” He holds on to her hand. “It seems working for Grant has been good for you, but if he ever gives you a hard time, you know you can still come to me, right? After all, in all those years that you’ve worked for me, I’ve grown to think of you as—”
“I think that’s enough,” I cut him off, unable to contain myself any longer.
I grab Abby’s arm. “Shall we dance?”
“Okay.”
I whisk her away to the middle of the ballroom, ignoring Nathan’s smug grin. That bastard. He was flirting with Abby on purpose just to provoke me into a fit of jealousy, and now that he has succeeded, he’s looking awfully proud of himself.
“Is something wrong?” Abby asks, a look of concern on her face.
“Nothing,” I tell her.
To hell with Nathan and his games. I have my own.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” I add.
“Surprisingly, I am,” she confesses. “How about you?”
“It’s not too bad, especially since I have you by my side.”
She falls silent, looking away as another blush coats her cheeks. At the same time, a lump forms in my throat, another threatening to form elsewhere.
Fuck. Maybe dancing with her isn’t such a good idea, after all.
All evening, Abby has been beside me. But now, she’s closer to me than ever. Her body is practically pressed against mine. I can feel her breasts brushing against my chest, and each time, my breath catches and a heat surges beneath my skin.
I want her. I want to kiss her right now, to take her home and be entangled with her under the sheets until morning.
So, you’ve finally met your match, have you?
No. I have to stay calm, stay in control. I have to wait for her to want me.
I have to make her want me.
Just then, my gaze crosses with that of a redhead in a purple gown. She smiles at me, and I smile back.
“Do you know her?” Abby asks.
“No,” I answer. “But I think I will. If it’s all right with you, that is. Is it?”
She pauses.
Come on, Abby. Say no and I’ll stay with you. Just say the word.
“Of course.” She lets me go with a forced smile. “You’
re free to do whatever you want.”
I suppress a frown. She obviously wants me to stay, and yet she’s letting me go? She’s been confident all evening. Why be shy now?
“Are you sure?” I ask her.
She hesitates for just a second. “Yes.”
Your loss.
“All right, then. I’ll see you in a bit.” I go over to the woman who’s waiting for me.
Nothing makes you want something more than seeing someone else have it.
Now what will you do, Abby?
***
“I never thought you’d get yourself drunk,” I tell Abby as I help her up the stairs of the mansion, my arm around her waist.
Yet, that is what she is, her cheeks redder than ever and her eyes barely open, her knees like jelly. She had already fallen asleep on a couch in the lobby, in fact, which was where Sam found her and why she decided to get me.
“Seriously.” I lift her up another step. “How many more glasses of champagne did you have?”
“Too many,” she answers, her voice slurred.
“Damn right,” I tell her, letting out a deep breath as we reach the top of the stairs. “You shouldn’t drink more than you can handle, you know.”
She pushes me away, leaning on the balustrade to keep her balance. “You have no right to tell me what I can and can’t do. I let you do what you want so you should let me do what I want.”
“And is this really what you want, hmm? To ruin the evening and look like a fool?”
“You’re the one who did that.” She points an unsteady finger at me. “You’re the one who ruined my evening and made me look like a fool.”
“Really?” I place my hands in my pockets. “How?”
She laughs.
“How?”
“You… went with that woman. You left me.”
So, she drowned her jealousy in champagne.
“If you didn’t want me to leave, you should have—”
“You left me!” She pushes me and then grips the front of my shirt. “You told me I looked gorgeous. You said I looked good enough. But I’m still not good enough for you, am I?”