by Kira Blakely
“That’s not true,” I tell her. “If you had wanted me to stay with you, I would have. But you didn’t want that, did you? You don’t want me, do you?”
For a moment, she doesn’t answer, just looks into my eyes as she continues to grip the front of my shirt, her own black eyes teary.
Then she says the words I’ve been dying to hear all evening. “Kiss me, Grant.”
I hesitate, only because she’s drunk, and she might not remember any of this tomorrow.
“Kiss me,” she repeats louder, gripping my shirt more firmly.
Oh, to hell with it. If she can still remember what happened earlier and boss me around, she can’t be that drunk. And there’s no way I can refuse her when she’s looking at me like that, when she’s offering herself to me so willingly.
I’m just a man and right now, I’m a man who’s harder than he’s ever been.
Grasping her chin, I kiss her, my other hand pulling her closer to me so that she can feel my erection. She moans, and I slip my tongue between her lips, tasting the sweet berries from her lipstick and the bitter acidity of the champagne. The combination is exquisite.
My hand moves to Abby’s hair, my fingers becoming entangled with the ebony tendrils as I kiss her harder, my tongue going wild as it explores the uncharted softness of her mouth. In between her gasps for breath, she kisses me back with wild abandon even as she grinds her hips against mine, her passion making mine burn stronger.
Fuck.
There’s no turning back now.
Scooping Abby in my arms, I carry her to the nearest bedroom, throwing her on top of the large bed before turning on the lamp. As I remove my shoes and shrug off my jacket, she laughs, stretching her arms out to me as she kicks her sandals off.
“Grant.”
The sound of my name on her lips is like a drug, making me lose my mind even as I try to regain control of my body.
I toss my jacket on a chair. “Fuck, Abby. You’re going to drive me insane.”
She just gives another laugh, which I silence halfway through with another passionate kiss as I climb on top of her. I cup her breast, my thumb finding her nipple through the lace and pressing against it. She trembles, one hand trapping my shoulder in an almost bruising grip.
Still kissing her, I reach for the hooks behind her neck then peel her bodice down. I tear my lips away from hers, pulling back so I can enjoy the view of her breasts. They’re even more beautiful than I imagined, perfectly round and a lovely shade of pink in the center.
“Fuck, Abby. You’re beautiful.” My words come out hoarsely as I press a reverent kiss to the tender valley between those mounds of flesh.
She lets out another soft laugh. “If you’re going to start every sentence with ‘fuck,’ you might as well do it.”
“Oh, is that a challenge?” I lift my head to gaze into her eyes as I cover both her breasts with my palms.
Abby draws in a deep breath, but the look in her eyes tells me she’s not backing down. “What if it is?”
I grin as my thumbs rub against her pert nipples. “You know what? I like this feisty Abby.”
If this is how she gets when she’s drunk, I don’t mind it at all.
She gasps. “And I like this crazy Grant.”
And whose fault is that? I wonder. Indeed, I feel like a lunatic, maddened by desire, like a beast driven by hunger.
And it’s all because of this woman.
I kiss her again, addicted to the feel of her lips, intoxicated by the taste of her mouth. I’m not the one who’s drunk but I feel like I am. Abby is the most potent drink I have ever come across.
I lift her skirt, my fingers brushing over her knees and against one quivering thigh. She shudders even more. With need or with excitement? I don’t know. I only know that every shiver that goes through her goes through me, my hard cock throbbing as it strains against the fabric of its confines.
When my fingers reach the top of her thighs to touch the part of her hidden in between them, she moans, her hips rising from the bed. I feel the dampness of the cotton against my fingertips, and I feel myself leaking, my own boxers getting stained.
Fuck.
My mouth moves to her neck then to her breasts as I slip my hand beneath the damp cotton, rubbing the soft nub hidden among her curls before moving lower to slide a finger inside her. It goes in without resistance, the tight softness around my finger making me almost come then and there, so much so that I have to let go of the breast that I’m sucking and bury my head against her shoulder, drawing in a deep, ragged breath.
Why? I’ve been with many women before but none of them have ever made me feel like this.
And to think that Abby isn’t even doing anything.
Suddenly, she does something, stroking my nape with one hand and pressing her lips against my ear, her hot breath tickling the sensitive skin before the tip of her tongue darts out to trace it, sending shivers up my spine.
“Fuck!”
“Fuck me,” she whispers before playfully nipping the lobe she’s laid claim to.
I don’t need to be told a second time. God knows I can’t hold back any longer. Pulling her skirt up, I spread her legs and settle between them, fumbling with my belt and then taking my cock out of my boxers in record time.
Finally, it’s out of its cotton cage. But it’s not out that it wants. It’s in.
I want to be inside her.
With one thrust, I turn that desire into reality, gripping her thighs and grunting at how soft and tight she is, her velvety warmth clinging to my aching skin.
There’s no way I’m going to last long.
I start moving, pounding into her. Abby squeezes her eyes shut, her mouth open to let out moans and gasps as she throws her head back, her hands grabbing the sheets.
I’m close. So close.
Abby cries out, her back arching off the bed and her nails digging into my back as her body quakes beneath mine.
“Fuck!” I shout as I follow her over the edge, my own body quivering as my pace becomes erratic. I shudder to a stop as I come inside her, the force of it so intense that it leaves me completely out of breath.
Spent, I pull out and lie down beside her, staring blankly at the ceiling as I wait for the drumming in my chest to fade. When it does, I look at Abby and realize that she has fallen asleep, her head turned to one side with some strands of hair stuck to her cheeks.
Sleeping soundly, she looks so different from the fiery seductress she was earlier. She looks so innocent now.
And yet equally fascinating.
I brush the strands of hair away, stroking her still-warm cheek. As I do, I feel an unexpected burst of warmth in my chest, my heart skipping a beat.
What is this sensation?
I don’t know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Now, the most crucial part of my plan is complete. Abby belongs to me, and soon, success will be, too.
Everything is going according to plan.
Chapter 5
Abby
Everything is a disaster. I glumly pace the garden with my arms crossed over my chest. My hair, which is still wet from my bath, is occasionally swept by the early morning breeze.
Less than an hour ago, I woke up in a dark room with my stomach churning and a splitting headache. I dashed to the bathroom to throw up and wash my face only to find that I was still wearing the coral gown I wore last night – well, sort of. It was still hanging around my waist though the bodice had come undone. As I put it back on in front of the mirror, my memories returned and I gripped the sink, gasping as I realized what I had done.
I slept with Grant.
I had sex with my boss.
The stickiness on my thighs and the sight of him still sleeping soundly on the bed I just got out of confirmed it.
Cursing silently, I ran back to my room to take a long shower. That helped relieve my headache and the sticky feeling. My thoughts remained muddled, though, and so here I am, hoping some fresh air and early sunlight will clear my mind.<
br />
All right. So I know what happened. The question is… how did it happen? How could I have allowed it to happen?
Fine. It’s because I drank too much last night. But I wouldn’t have done so if Grant hadn’t left me to be with another woman.
But he asked you if it was all right with you, didn’t he? And you said yes.
That’s because I didn’t want to sound selfish and needy. After that kiss, I was confused, especially when Grant acted like it was nothing. When he invited me to the party and told me to get all dolled up, I decided to take it as an opportunity to find out whether he was really interested in me. That’s why I took all the extra effort to look beautiful and why I managed to act confident. If I had asked Grant to stay with me, all that act would have been a waste.
Indeed, I wanted to find out how he felt, not tell him how to feel. And I did. At first, I thought he was interested in me. But I was wrong.
But he slept with you.
Because I asked him to. I don’t really remember what I said but I’m pretty sure I made the first move, the thought of which is enough to make me blush.
“Shit.”
“Let me guess,” a voice interrupts my thoughts. “You slept with Mr. Herbert.”
I turn my head, recognizing the guard. What did Grant say his name was again? Roger? I’ve been seeing him around but I haven’t really had the chance to talk to him again, not since that day I arrived.
“You should have kept that gate closed,” I tell him.
“He was that bad, huh?”
“No. It’s not that. He was…” I stop, letting my hands fall to my lap as Roger chuckles.
“I’m kidding,” he says. “I don’t really want to know the details.” He touches his dimpled chin. “I must say, though, you’re the first woman I’ve ever seen who looks miserable after sleeping with Grant.”
I sigh. “That’s because I shouldn’t have slept with him.”
“Why not?”
I slump on the bench, my hands rolling to my sides as I throw my head back and stare at the branches of the tree above me.
“Because I was drunk.”
“Not enough,” Roger says. “If you were that drunk, you wouldn’t have been able to sleep with him.”
Roger has a point.
“Because Grant doesn’t like me.”
Roger chuckles. “Believe me, Grant would never sleep with a woman he doesn’t like.”
I look at Roger with creased eyebrows. “You seem to know Grant well, don’t you?”
“Well, I’ve known him since he was in his youth,” he admits.
Really? Then he must have a good idea how Grant thinks and feels.
Wait. So, Grant likes me?
It doesn’t matter. I still shouldn’t have slept with him.
“He’s my boss.”
“Ah, that he is.”
“I’m not supposed to sleep with my boss.”
“Why not?” Roger sits on the other side of the bench.
I straighten up. “Well, because he’s my boss.”
“So? Bosses are men, too… and, more often than not, lonely men.”
“Fine.” I slap my hands on my lap. “Let’s just say I shouldn’t have slept with a man I barely knew. Or let’s say I shouldn’t have slept with a man. End of story.”
“You don’t like sleeping with men?” Roger gives me a weird look.
“Not that I swing the other way,” I clarify. “All I’m saying is that men are troublesome. I don’t need them in my life.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” I nod, sitting back.
“Fine. Let’s go with that. It’s done, though, so what are you going to do about it?”
I shrug. “Any suggestions?”
Roger shakes his head. “Don’t ask me. I’ve never slept with a man.”
I chuckle then sit up, stretching my arms upward. “Well, I guess there’s only one thing I can do.”
“Don’t tell me you’re leaving.”
There’s a suggestion – I could resign and go back to working for Mr. Landers. But, no. That seems too drastic. Besides, I kind of like my new job.
“I’m not leaving,” I tell Roger as I stand up, stretching my arms to the sides. “I guess I’ll just have to talk to Grant, tell him I’m sorry for how I behaved last night, and that it’s all a big mistake that won’t happen again. And that we should keep things professional between us from now on. Strictly business, you know. No more of the personal stuff.”
Right. That’s all I have to do and that’s exactly what I plan on doing as soon as Grant wakes up. It’s a simple solution to a simple problem, so simple I feel like a fool for not knowing it right away and for worrying about it too much.
I clasp my hands in front of me and take a deep breath, suddenly feeling much better.
I’m sure Grant will understand.
***
“I don’t understand,” Grant says as he sits on the edge of his bed, his blue robe wrapped around him and his damp towel resting on his shoulders. “You were the one who wanted me to—”
“I know,” I cut him off, not wanting to relive the embarrassing details of last night. “That’s why I’m apologizing.”
“So, you’re sorry you asked me to fuck you?”
“I know I behaved terribly, and I’m not making any excuses,” I tell him, looking at my hands. “I just hope you’ll forgive me and forget about everything.”
Grant stands up and comes closer, his hand stretching out toward my cheek. I step back, moving out of his reach.
“And I would like it very much if we kept things strictly professional from now on,” I tell him, squaring my shoulders. “The way it should have always been, the way it was with Mr. Landers.”
“Well, I’m not Mr. Landers, am I?” he snaps, his eyes narrowing.
Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, especially after the way he acted around Mr. Landers last night.
“I think it’s for the best,” I add quickly.
He frowns. “So, now that you’ve had me, you no longer want me?”
“That’s not what I—”
“Tell me, Abby,” Grant cuts me off as he grasps my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Do you really no longer want me?”
I pause, the intensity of his gaze and the proximity of his body to mine robbing me of breath. It’s almost as if the lust in those blue eyes is spilling out, washing over me while his fingertips, his slightest touch, sends waves of heat throughout my body, which remembers his all too easily, my palms, breasts, and sex tingling.
Shit.
My body still wants him, now more than ever. I still want him.
But I’m not going to give in to my desire any longer. I am all too aware of how desire can turn into need like it did last night, and I’m not going to let that happen again.
“Yes,” I lie, grabbing his hand and pushing it away. “I no longer want you.”
For a moment, Grant just stands there as if he hasn’t heard me. Then he walks to the window, laughing.
He’s laughing? Has he lost his mind?
“I’m sorry,” I say. “But I don’t see what’s funny.”
“Me,” he answers, clasping his hands behind him as he looks out the window. “Who would have thought that a man like me who’s tossed women aside all his life would ever know what it feels like to be the on the other side of the spectrum?”
The words make my gut coil with guilt. How can he find this funny?
“It’s karma, I guess,” he adds. “Serves me right.”
“So, you’re not mad?” I ask hopefully, eyebrows raised and head slightly crooked to one side.
Grant turns to me with a grin. “Why would I be mad?”
***
“He is mad,” I tell Marjorie as I sit on a stool in the kitchen, resting my cheek against the cool marble counter. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone on that business trip without telling me.”
Indeed, I woke up to find that Grant h
ad left the mansion. It was only when I got a message on my phone hours later that I learned he had gone on a “sudden and urgent business trip.”
It’s not unusual, I know. Even Mr. Landers went on a lot of unplanned business trips, and he didn’t always bring me. He always told me beforehand, though, either personally or over the phone. In fact, I almost always arranged those business trips for him.
Well, I’m not Mr. Landers, am I? Grant’s words come back to haunt me.
Right. I should stop comparing them. Grant has his own way of dealing with things. Still, I can’t help but feel that Grant left me behind on purpose.
“Maybe he wanted to take care of it himself,” Marjorie says, her back turned to me as she works the knife and chopping board on another counter.
“I’m a personal assistant,” I remind her. “I’m supposed to assist. It’s the most important part of my job.”
“Aren’t you busy enough?”
“No.” I lift my head, putting one arm up on the counter and leaning on it.
Actually, lately, all I’ve been doing is managing emails, making phone calls, and filing documents. It’s less than what I used to do for Mr. Landers.
I frown. Again, with the comparison. Will I ever be able to stop?
“Well, maybe it’s too sudden,” Marjorie suggests.
“All the more reason for him to have asked for my help,” I say. “And if you’re saying he had to hop on a plane at once, then he should have brought me with him so I could have made arrangements along the way. Or he could have called me after he got on a plane. I could have still made arrangements over the phone.”
Marjorie stops chopping. “So, he left you out completely, huh?”
“Completely,” I agree, sighing. “He didn’t even tell me where he was going or how long he’s going to be there.”
“And you didn’t ask?”
I put my other arm up on the table, my face resting on both my palms. “Like I said, he’s mad at me.”
Marjorie wipes her hands on her apron as she turns to me. “If you ask me, it sounds like he’s more hurt than mad.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Hurt?”
“You practically crushed him, didn’t you?” she reminds me. “I mean, you told him you didn’t want to sleep with him anymore. Not just that. You told him to forget you ever slept with him. It’s like breaking up with someone and telling that person you don’t want anything to do with him.”