One More Night

by Jennifer Mckenzie

  He sat down, landing on the bed when she nudged. She fell with him. Owen groaned when he felt her lush body mashed up against him. He ran his fingers through her hair, tugging it out of its tight twist, feeling the strands slip and slide across his hands. He felt her smile. “See? Uptight hair.”

  “I wasn’t wearing it up.” She spread his jacket open, running her hands over his shirtfront. “I put it up so you could take it down.”

  Owen stopped, caught her face in his hands and looked at her. “Really?” There was something that struck him right in the chest. His pulse hammered. “And the white underwear?”

  She nodded slowly, her blond hair gleaming. “But I was already wearing those.”

  He practically tore her pale pink dress, formfitting with a tight skirt that came to her knees, in his rush to get it off her body and show the promised underwear in full.

  Grace laughed and pushed herself off him. Owen sat up, reaching for her. He didn’t want to watch—he wanted to touch and taste. Or he did until she reached her arms over her head in a long stretch that outlined every curve of her body and reached back to pull down the zipper. She shrugged one shoulder free of the short sleeve. And then Owen thought his eyes might cross from want. The flash of the lacy white strap taunted him.

  And then she was before him in her full pseudo-virginal glory and Owen wasn’t thinking of anything.

  * * *

  HE WOKE UP the next morning feeling sated and satisfied and more than a little smug. Grace slept beside him, her butt snuggled into his groin, her body warm, her hand holding his arm tight around her waist. As if he was going anywhere.

  He kissed the back of her neck, inhaling her. Summery, citrus and mint. He breathed in again. He loved the way she smelled. Or maybe he just loved being here, bundled up in her bed, being held close. What wasn’t to love?

  He tugged, pulling her more firmly against him. She stirred and let out the sweetest little moan. He loved that moan, too. He set to making her moan again, nuzzling her neck and sliding his hand up to cup her breast. Her nipple rose to attention. Eventually, Grace did, as well.

  And after he’d thoroughly pleasured her with his hands and mouth, he said, “Good morning.”

  “Very good.” She stretched, rubbing against him. So soft and so sweet. He couldn’t resist indulging in a taste of those pretty red lips. And another. And another. Really, he could spend the rest of the day just exploring her mouth.

  But Grace put a hand on his chest when he bent to kiss her again. “Owen.” She cleared her throat and dropped her gaze. “Last night was...” She trailed off.

  “Magical? Amazing? Best you’ve ever had? I know. It was for me, too.”

  She laughed, the light sound filling him with contentment. “I can see your confidence is holding up nicely.” Her hand slipped around his side, drawing circles on his shoulder. “But, Owen, this can’t go on.”

  Different morning, same story. “Oh?” Different tactical approach this time, too. “Don’t think you can handle me? It’s true, I am a whole lot of man.” She laughed again and allowed him to gather her close. Her fingers kept tracing those soft circles. He liked it. He liked it a lot.

  “You’re still a client.”

  “I’m not.” He pulled back just enough that he could see her face and catch her gaze. Her blue eyes were serious. He imagined his brown ones were, also. “I know you keep saying that, but I am not your client, Grace.”

  “I’m planning a wedding for your brother. You’re the best man.” She ducked her head and her hand stopped moving across his shoulder. “I don’t do this kind of thing.”

  “Hey.” He lifted her chin with a gentle hand. “I’m glad you did this kind of thing with me.” And only with him. “Tell me what the issue is.” When she shot him a doubtful look, he pushed a little harder. “If you won’t talk about it, we can’t solve it.”

  “But there’s nothing to solve.” Her fingers started tracing again. “I already know what I have to do.” She exhaled heavily, and he liked to think sadly, because she didn’t want to stop seeing him.

  “I’m not a client. I have no say in the wedding even if I wanted one. I just do what I’m told. So really, there’s no conflict.” If she was concerned that she’d be fired if he asked, well, she didn’t know Donovan very well. Or Julia.

  “It’s not professional.”

  “Grace.” He lifted her chin, which had fallen again. “Who says?”

  She blinked and seemed to think about it. He could see the thoughts spinning in her bright eyes. “Me, I guess.”

  Owen shrugged a shoulder. “Then change what you say.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  It could be. “I want to be clear about my feelings here. I like you. I want to keep seeing you. But you’re the one who invited me to go with you to your parents’ farm.”

  “You invited yourself.”

  “I think that’s up for debate. At any rate, you seemed happy enough to have me there.” Plenty happy on Sunday morning when she woke up with him planted between her thighs. “You let your family think we were a couple.”

  Grace tried to look away again.

  Owen shifted so he was back in her eye line. “And you called me last night. You asked me to come over.” He felt the need to point out that this wasn’t as one-sided as she occasionally tried to pretend. He sensed they were at a tipping point, a moment when things would fall one way or the other, and he wasn’t going to just let it happen. That was the old Owen, blowing whichever way the wind went, happy to simply go with the flow and find happiness in whatever he was doing.

  He still had that same joy for life, but he wanted to be the one captaining his boat. Maybe it wouldn’t always work out, but when it did, there was a sense of satisfaction that he’d never experienced before with the way he used to live.

  So he pushed. “Tell me, is this really for just one night or are you going to call me back a week from now, and then we’ll go through this all over again?”

  Grace closed her eyes and chewed on her bottom lip. “When you say it like that, it sounds bad, like I can’t make up my mind or I’m playing with you.”

  “You tell me.”

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. He saw the swirl of confusion and fear and a shimmer of hope. His heart thumped. “I’m working for your family.”

  He thought it was a step up that she’d moved on from the claim that he was a client. “Julia used to work for the family. It didn’t stop her.”

  She turned her head to look at him. “I’m not Julia.” No, because Julia had never made his head spin, made his body ache for more even when he’d just had her, made him think about things past this week, this month, this year. “I have a reputation. A reputation I need to keep to be successful in my field. What kind of bride would want to hire a wedding planner who sleeps with the best man?”

  “One who’s glad she isn’t sleeping with the groom?”

  Grace didn’t smile. “This is serious, Owen.”

  He took the smackdown. He deserved it. “You’re right. I didn’t mean to make light of it.” He ran a hand up and down her arm. “But I want to keep seeing you, Grace, and I think you want to keep seeing me, too.”

  “We don’t want the same things, Owen.”

  He blinked. “I’m not sure how you can say that when we’ve never talked about it.”

  Grace looked at him, her gaze thoughtful, her lips pursed in a pout that made him think of kissing. When she spoke, her words came slowly, as though she was still thinking them through. “You’re right. We haven’t.”

  Owen ached to reach for her then, to wrap her in his arms while he tasted that pretty pout, but he stayed where he was. “So let’s talk.” And then they could get to the kissing.

  “Where do you see yourself next year?”

 
Not quite the question he’d been expecting and he stuttered, but only a little. “I hope I’m managing all of the family bars.” Hoped that he’d be entrusted with the responsibility. “I hope we’d be dating publicly.” He saw her shuddery intake of breath. “Where do you see yourself?”

  She exhaled and seemed to gather herself. “My company will be successful enough that I’ll have hired another person, which will allow me to spend less time at the office.”

  “I like the sound of that.” Owen did reach for her now. “I hope you’ll plan to spend some of that time with me.”

  But rather than lean into his arms as he’d expected or lift her chin for a kiss, Grace shifted backward and her eyes were full of uncertainty instead of pleasure. “I’m not looking for casual, Owen.”

  He let his arms drop to his sides. “Is that what you think this is?”

  She nibbled on her lower lip. “I want to know what you think. Where you see things going.”

  He blinked. He hadn’t thought much past tomorrow, getting Grace to admit she was attracted to him. But now? He thought about it. “I’m not looking for a one-night stand.” He knew one-night stands and, while he’d appreciated the lack of commitment in the past, they felt empty now.

  “But?” Grace nudged him.

  Owen didn’t say anything, his mind whirring. A one-night stand no longer held the same appeal, but that didn’t mean he was ready to jump into forever, either. He looked at Grace. Was she? “I’d like to see where things go. With us.”

  Her eyes dropped. So did the corners of her mouth. It made his belly twist uncomfortably.

  “Grace.” But he wasn’t sure what to say to make that sad tilt lift. He reached for her then, pulled her to his chest. Everything felt better when he was touching her. “I don’t see the need to rush things. Let’s just see where they go.”

  He felt her swallow, her entire body shifting with the movement. “I want to say no.” Her words came out as a whisper.

  Hope lifted Owen’s heart. “But you won’t.” He whispered, too.

  She pulled her head back to look at him. There was confusion and worry in her blue eyes. “Should I?”

  Should she? Owen didn’t want to think about that, so he shook his head, choosing the easy answer, the one that would allow them to continue. “No. I think we have something good. So let’s go with it.”

  It was something the old Owen would have said. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, especially when Grace blinked again and a small line appeared between her brows. Owen’s heart thumped again, but this time it wasn’t based in hope or anticipation. It was panic that she was going to tell him that she could walk away, that this had been nice but he was right, that they couldn’t go on the way they had been, which meant they needed to stop seeing each other.

  But he didn’t pull the words back, didn’t lighten the moment with a joke or turn it into a teasing game, one where they could both pretend that the words they’d said hadn’t meant anything and could be forgotten as though they’d never been said at all.

  “What about your family?”

  Owen felt a tingle of optimism. At least she wasn’t turning him down cold. “What about them?”

  “I don’t want them to know.” The line of her mouth was firm.

  “Fine.” Owen didn’t love the idea of keeping this a secret, but if it was the difference between being together and not, fine. “Hide me away like an illicit lover. I can handle it.”

  The edges of her mouth flickered. “I’m serious, Owen.”

  “So am I. Does this mean we’re playing master and servant? Do I have to wear chains? Or an apron with nothing underneath, mistress?”

  “I don’t think we need to go that far, though the apron idea intrigues me.” This time her smile broke through. Owen felt as if he’d just been doused in sunlight.

  He pulled her into his arms and rolled so he was on his back with her straddling him. Her hair tickled his face when he whispered, “As you wish, mistress.”

  Grace sat back, which might normally have felt like pulling back, but since her legs were spread across his lap, had the effect of opening her up. Owen slid his hand over her hip, causing her to rock gently. His body sprang to life. “I have one rule,” she said. Her eyes darted down to look at his hardening length.

  When she didn’t finish her thought, Owen moved one hand to stroke himself. “Like what you see?”

  Grace shook her head, then nodded. “Yes, but that’s not what I’m referring to.” Still, her eyes darkened when he stroked again and her lips formed a delicious little pout. He wanted to feel her mouth on him, around him.

  “Mistress?” he prompted when she still didn’t finish her thought. She looked back up, heat and hunger in her eyes. “Your rule,” he said.

  “Right.” She reached down and moved his hand, replaced it with her own. “Don’t call me ‘mistress.’”

  The deep ache of pleasure rolled through him as she began sliding her hand up and down, slowly, completely, his body thickening under her touch. “Then what should I call you?”

  He’d planned to rattle off a list of names, funny and light, the way they were with each other, but his brain synapses misfired when she tightened her hand, bringing him a greater satisfaction. And then stopped firing completely when she shimmied down his body, plumping her breasts around him for a few strokes before swirling her tongue around his tip.

  Her breath blew across his already aching body, making him twitch in the desire to finish. To bury himself deep inside her and hold on tight.

  “Done,” he rasped and was rewarded with her mouth enveloping him entirely, the wet heat so intense and mind-blowing that he almost came right there. More important, it shoved the niggling concerns out of his head. There would be plenty of time to figure out things later. For now, he had Grace. And that was enough.

  * * *

  GRACE STEPPED OUT of the shower, a little disappointed that Owen hadn’t joined her. He’d certainly commented on the glory of her bathroom and size of her shower, noting that it was plenty big for two.

  She shook off the regret and the lingering worry that while this might not be a one-night stand, it might not be more than a one-month stand, either. The thought chilled her and she patted herself dry more vigorously. Her mother often claimed that there was little point in worrying about things out of her control or regretting decisions made. There was as much to be gained from a poor choice as a good one if a person was only willing to change their viewpoint.

  While Grace often disagreed with her mother’s nontraditional approach to life, she had to concede there was merit in this philosophy. Of course, there was also merit in looking at all the factors in a given situation and then determining both the most likely outcome and the outcome she wanted. If the two weren’t the same, she could change the factors to lead to her desired result.

  But only if she knew what her desired result was.

  Grace finished drying off, leaving one towel wrapped around her head while she put on a pair of simple blue undergarments and a blue sundress. She waited the prescribed fifteen minutes recommended by her hairdresser before blowing her hair dry, careful to treat each strand from root to tip on a low setting kept at least eight inches from her head. Once done, she blasted her hair with a cool stream of air. According to her hairdresser, the careful steps improved smoothness and elasticity. It certainly made her hair shiny and bouncy.

  Satisfied, she set about applying a careful layer of makeup. Just enough to cover the circles under her eyes caused by lack of sleep and even out her skin tone followed by a swipe of the basics: mascara, blush and lip gloss. So very different from her mother, who never used beauty products, claiming they were the constructs of a patriarchal society that taught women they were only valued for their looks.

  Grace didn’t disagree, but the fact was their s
ociety valued everyone for their looks, regardless of gender. And she wasn’t covering up her natural appearance—she was simply making the most of it. No different from a man giving himself a proper shave and putting gel in his hair. Of course, when she’d tried to tell her mother that—at the tender age of sixteen—her mother had promptly decided that Grace was no longer allowed to wear makeup.

  A rule she’d abided by only at home, keeping her makeup in her locker and getting to school early so she could apply it in the bathroom before everyone else arrived. But since Grace was used to hiding her “bourgeois” tendencies from her mother, it wasn’t a big deal. She already had a Walkman and the accompanying cassettes that she kept hidden in her bedroom, since she knew her mother would never find them. Sparrow had many beliefs that she espoused to whomever was in her vicinity, but one of them was the right to personal privacy and she adamantly believed that everyone needed their own “sacred space,” which for Grace was her bedroom.

  So Grace had gotten really good at putting on makeup quickly and competently under the most hideous of light fixtures and listening to music quietly.

  She gave her nose one final powder and then placed everything back in its assigned spot in the drawer before heading out to the main part of the apartment. She knew Owen was still here because she could hear music and him singing along, only slightly off-key. She grinned as she followed the sounds to the kitchen and then stopped short at the sight before her.

  Owen in an apron and nothing else, stirring something on the stove and occasionally sipping from the coffee cup on the counter beside him. She cleared her throat; he turned with a smile.

  “Coffee?”

  “You’re wearing my apron. Naked.”

  “I am.” He turned his back to her as he pulled down a coffee mug and filled it.

  Grace’s eyes were glued to the wriggle of his butt, which she was pretty sure he was doing on purpose, since he lifted a brow at her gaze being directed down low when he turned back to hand her the coffee. She really shouldn’t enjoy this. It was silly and a little juvenile and...funny.