All I Want is You_A Second Chance Romance

by Carter Blake

  All pales in comparison, however, to what I notice next, hanging proudly from the walls.

  Gleaming at me from several points across the room, are weapons.

  Knives, swords—

  Fencing foils.

  My heart beats harder at the sight of those.

  Like every good blue blood, I’ve spent years training in the art of fencing. I’ve acquired quite a knack for it.

  I walk quickly over to the nearest one, pulling it reverently from its display hook.

  Here, at least, is something that Griffin and I have in common.

  The foil sparkles in the fluorescent lighting, glinting brightly at me as I turn it in my hand.

  I stare at it, entranced as an idea begins to form in my mind.

  Grinning widely, I leave the room, foil still clutched in one hand.

  Now I just to find a good place to hide. When Griffin gets back, he’s in for one hell of a surprise.

  Griffin

  It’s late. So late that it’s early.

  You wouldn’t know that given how lively the city is. As I step out of the cab, my eyes instinctively look up to the windows of my flat. The lights are on, which likely means that my gorgeous companion is still awake.

  A smile creeps at my lips.

  You’re a bad, bad man Griffin Abernathy.

  I slip into the shadows of the alley besides the building. There are no lights here to illuminate my presence. Here, the darkness embraces me like a lover.

  I begin my ascent of the side of the wall. It’s hardly the most difficult climb I’ve ever done, but I’m admittedly being more careful with this climb than I need to be.

  I don’t want to risk alerting my prey on my approach.

  My feet find ground on the ledge, beside the window to my kitchen.

  Cautiously, I peek around the edge for any sight of Kalista.

  With no view of her, I slowly open the window and slip inside.

  I make sure to close the window behind me—to prevent any arousal of suspicion, in case she walks by—and take shelter behind the large island in the middle of the room.

  I close my eyes and focus on listening to footfalls against the hardwood floor.

  Her soft steps as she moves across the floor reach my ears. From my current position, I can tell that she is in the sitting room.

  Silently as the Grim Reaper himself, I move through my home.

  I know this place, as intimately as I can know a lover. I know just where to step, and how to avoid detection. Kalista has absolutely no chance in knowing that I’m coming for her.

  It’s unfair—and almost cruel—at how handicapped she is. It almost takes the fun out of it.

  Almost.

  I take position behind her, hidden by the wall of the hallway, and peer at her from around the side.

  The beautiful heiress is dressed in a baby blue nightgown of silk that hugs her every curve. My eyes linger at how the fabric clings to her round arse.

  Thoughts of sliding the fabric up her bare skin, and bending her over a chair fill my mind. Thoughts of my hands holding her in place, as my tongue licked and sucked at her clit from behind. Thoughts of feeling her tremble at my touch and caress.

  It’s not the first time I’ve had such thoughts about her.

  On more than one occasion, I’ve fantasized about taking her to bed and stealing climax after climax from her. I’ve caught the way she looks at me when she thinks I don’t notice. I know she’s had the same delicious thoughts I’ve had.

  Slowly, I step out from behind the wall and move toward her.

  I reach out for her once I’m within arm’s reach. My hand just barely grazes over her bare shoulder, when she yells with fright.

  My smile threatens to engulf my face until she turns around, and swings at me with one of my foils. The sharp blade slices through the fabric of my shirt rather easily. Her force behind the swing is most impressive. Luckily for me, I was able to put enough distance between us so that the weapon didn’t pierce my flesh.

  Not that she needs to know that.

  My hand clutches as my stomach. My face turns to a wince of pain, as a low groan slips from my lips.

  Kalista drops the foil to the floor.

  Her hands cover her face. Her striking blue eyes widen out of fear and concern.

  “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” she exclaims in a panic.

  I really should’ve been an actor. Perhaps, I missed my true calling.

  “Tis but a scratch, really,” I say through the fake pain that I’m in.

  “Here, let’s get this off so we can get this looked at.”

  Together, we raise my shirt over my head.

  Her hands fall to my hard stomach as she searches for a wound.

  It takes Kalista all of two seconds to realize I’m unharmed, but her hands linger against my body.

  I can see the same look in her eyes that was no doubt in mine only moments before.

  She bites down on her bottom lip and looks up into my eyes.

  There’s something in her look that makes every muscle in my chest and torso clench with anticipation. I have met many beautiful women in my adventures, but none have ever gotten this kind of response out of me.

  The raven-haired beauty slides her hands along the groove of my abs for another couple of seconds before she realizes what she’s doing.

  Then her brow furrows, and she smacks me several times in the chest and arm.

  “You asshole! I thought I had actually fucking cut you,” she yells.

  I’d defend myself, but I’m too busy laughing at her reaction.

  “So does this mean you care?” I tease.

  “Care? About you? Fuck, no. Only reason I don’t pick up that foil and skewer you is because I don’t want to go to prison.”

  She hits me one last time—likely for good measure—and retrieves the fallen foil from the floor.

  “You know, those things are sharp. You shouldn’t be playing with them,” I jokingly chide.

  “I’m more than capable of using this,” she counters with an unimpressed gaze.

  “Uh huh, I’m sure. Maybe tomorrow I’ll give you some proper instruction.”

  I lean down to grab my shirt, and she jabs the blade through the fabric and pins it to the floor. My eyes look up at her, and immediately, I notice her stance. It’s proper and downright flawless.

  “I’ve had the proper instruction since I was seven,” she informs me confidently.

  I believe her, and I can’t help but wonder just what other surprises she’s hiding up her sleeve.

  “Now, what makes you think I was talking about fencing?”

  The left side of my lips curl upward into a grin, and my gaze journeys the length of her legs.

  I catch the soft flush of her cheeks, and she takes a step back.

  “Yeah, well, keep dreaming there, Posh Spice.”

  “Posh Spice, hmm? I can get behind that. The woman is a national treasure after all.”

  Her eyes narrow at me once more. I can’t tell if she wants to stab me or kiss me. And at this point, I’ve certainly earned both.

  I hold out my hand for the foil. It’s best I take it before she actually does decide to skewer me like a sexy kebab.

  She hands it over.

  “What are you doing up, anyway?”

  “I couldn’t sleep. And I was worried.”

  “About me?” I ask sarcastically.

  “You wish,” she tells me with a smirk.

  “Well, you should go get some more rest. You’re going to need it for the days to come.”

  There’s a glimmer of playfulness and curiosity in her eyes at my words.

  “What? Why?”

  “Oh, you’ll see. But for now, you should get your sleep.”

  She pouts and folds her arms over her chest.

  Playing with Kalista is more fun than I thought it was going to be. But that’s because she can keep up and give as good as she gets.

  “Fine, but tomorrow I want d
etails,” she says with demanding tone.

  “We’ll see. Did you want me to come tuck you in?”

  “Not in this lifetime,” she counters.

  My gaze lingers on how the silk fabric sways over her skin as she walks away. It’s as if the nightgown has a mind of its own that enjoys teasing me—and my cock.

  “And stop gawking at my ass,” she says with a stifled laugh.

  I lick my lips as they twist into a smirk.

  “I don’t ‘gawk.’ I appreciate.”

  “Uh huh. Good night, Posh Spice.”

  “Again, not an insult.”

  “Don’t care.”

  I hear the closing of the guest room’s door.

  As I’m left standing in the room—shirtless with a sword in hand—I can’t help but think Kalista just might be the death of me.

  Kalista

  Who would have thought that running from kidnappers with a mysterious thief—who has a code name—would be so boring?

  The last two days I’ve done nothing but lounge around watching Netflix, pestering Griff for more details about why we’re in Barcelona, taking advantage of the impressive workout room, and pestering Griff some more.

  Griff, on the other hand, has been busy.

  Just yesterday, he left the apartment on five separate occasions.

  And he’s been almost constantly on his phone texting or talking. One conversation he’s speaking Spanish and talking about someone named “The Jackal,” and the next, I think he’s talking in Arabic.

  When I pester him, he just smirks at me and tells me to “be patient” or to “stop eavesdropping.” I wouldn’t eavesdrop if he just told me what the fuck was going on. But as it is now, I can’t just sit around doing nothing.

  It’s maddening.

  I think that’s why he actually does it. He gets a laugh out of my frustration.

  Maybe next time I’ll stab him. Nowhere life threatening—maybe just in his ass.

  Then maybe he’ll get the fucking hint.

  A heavy sigh that carries my boredom and frustration fills my current accommodations.

  The movie in front of me isn’t really holding my attention.

  Fuck—the only reason I’m watching it is because Henry Cavill has a couple of shirtless scenes. I turn off the television and stroll out into the sitting room.

  Griffin is sitting in front of his laptop with his phone in hand. His sapphire-like eyes dart back and forth between his phone’s screen and laptop’s screen.

  I lean against the wall and fold my arms over my chest as I glare at him.

  He hates it when I do this.

  It takes all of three minutes for him to look up at me.

  “Yes, love? Something I can do for you? Or are you just enjoying the view?”

  He flashes that deceptively charming grin of his. At first I hated it, but I’ve come to enjoy the sight.

  Not that I’d tell him. His ego is big enough as it is.

  “If I wanted a view to enjoy, I’d go watch the pigeons shit all over the street,” I coo.

  “Oh my. Such rapier-like wit.”

  “Well, your wardrobe would know just how good I am with a rapier.”

  “Touché,” he says with a wink. “So, what is it that I can do for you?”

  “I want you to teach me how to be a thief. Like you.”

  Griff’s eyes fill with surprise—and a hint of doubt—at my request.

  “Surely, you can’t be serious.”

  “And why not? Because I’m some spoiled heiress? Or a woman can’t do the job?”

  I stand up straight from the wall and look him dead in the eye, defying him to turn me down.

  “All right, fair enough love.”

  Griff closes his laptop and sets his phone on top of it. I’m actually a bit surprised that he agreed to do this without argument. And I’m wondering if perhaps he has an ulterior motive.

  He strolls over into the middle of the room and motions for me to stand before him with a finger.

  “So, the first thing I’m going to teach you is pickpocketing. It’s the absolute, single most important skill you can have in my line of work.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because it’s all about control,” he says as he starts to walk around me in a circle. “Being a thief—an exceptional thief—is about control. And being a pickpocket exemplifies that control.”

  He stops behind me. I can feel his body so close to mine that it tickles my spine like a feather.

  From the corner of my eye, I see his hands move to my arms. I can feel the presence of his hands against me, but he doesn’t actually touch me.

  I turn and look down, and his hands glide along the length of my arms. His palms are so close to my flesh that I can almost feel him touching me, but I can see that he isn’t.

  Griff’s hands are incredibly steady as he runs them over my body. Even as he starts to walk around me his hands never waiver from their close proximity. There’s a stillness to them that’s almost poetic.

  As he moves around me, I swear that I can feel his hands caressing me. They aren’t, but part of me actually wishes they were. There’s something exceptionally erotic about how he’s able to touch all of me without laying a finger on me.

  It’s enough that it makes my pussy wet.

  “Now, it’s not just about physical control. It’s mental control as well. You can’t just go jump the gun, when you see an easy mark. You have to control that excitement and anticipation just as much as you have to control your body.”

  He stops in front of me, and I look up to meet his eyes.

  I swallow hard when I see everything but control in his gaze.

  The want that I have to feel his hands all over me is definitely not one sided. I knew that from the first moment we laid eyes on each other. But to see such raging desire dance about in those blue eyes of his is something I was just not prepared for.

  I’ve been looked at by a lot of different men in a lot of different ways. Some of it wanted, but most of it not. And none of them have ever looked at me the way Griffin does.

  I search my brain for a word—any word—to accurately describe this indescribable feeling, but I come up blank. Perhaps the word hasn’t been invented yet. Or maybe it’s something more than a word can describe.

  “So what you’re saying is that as the best thief in the world, you’re a master of control?” I ask in a husky whisper.

  Griff inches closer to me. So close that our bodies are nearly pressing together like they were in that alleyway days ago when he kissed me. The warmth I feel radiating from his body washes over me like blanket fresh from the dryer.

  And yet our bodies still don’t touch.

  It’s so provoking and vexatious.

  The tiny gap between us may as well be as huge as the Grand Canyon.

  Then I’m hit with this sense of sudden freedom—in a manner of speaking.

  My eyes blink rapidly through the surprise I’m feeling, and my hands move to back and chest.

  My bra has come undone. Not on its own mind you, but from Griff.

  I had been so distracted that I didn’t even feel his hands slip the hooks on my bra.

  “What? How?”

  Slowly, his lips turn upward into a small smile.

  “I told you, love. It’s all about control.”

  On one hand, I’m annoyed with myself for falling for his trick and not noticing what he was doing. On the other hand, I’m also incredibly impressed that he was able to do it so smoothly.

  But they do say that turnaround is fair play.

  My gaze falls back to his smile. I linger on his lips for a moment before looking back up into his eyes.

  I bite down on my lower lip and stand up on the tips of my toes.

  I lean forward enough so that he can feel the warmth of my breath against his lips.

  That want and desire that dances in his eyes only grows more wild and untamed.

  He’s caught—hook, line, and sinker.
<
br />   My fingers slowly move to the clasp of his belt. Inch by inch, I start to slide it from around his waist. The closer it gets to coming off, the closer our lips move to one another.

  And just when I think I have him, his hands grab my wrists.

  I jump in surprise.

  Griff just softly laughs at me.

  “Don’t think you can teach the teacher on day one,” he says teasingly.

  “What makes you think I just didn’t want to take your pants off?” I counter with a suggestive tone.

  This time he swallows hard and looks at me confused and with pique curiosity.

  “Are you playing me right now?”

  I can feel the smirk spread upon my lips as I lean in to his ear.

  “You’ll never know.”

  I give him a wink of my own and start toward the hallway. I slip off my bra as I leave him and toss it over my shoulder in his direction.

  He may have won the battle, but I won the war.

  At least, that’s what I’ll tell myself while I take my cold shower.

  Griffin

  Kalista goes off to take a shower.

  I go to the kitchen and grab a bottle of Scotch. I don’t bother with a glass. My body is wound like a fucking top right now, and I need more than a glass can hold.

  The feel of the cool bottle in my fingers does little to calm the heat coming off my body.

  Normally, there’s a sense of satisfaction when I crack open a fresh bottle of Scotch. But not this time.

  It’s incredibly ungentlemanly to drink Scotch like this, especially when it’s Macallan 1946 single malt. And while I pride myself on being a proper English gentleman, I need to drown this raging fire of lust billowing inside me.

  There is one glaring hole in my plan, however.

  Because alcohol—as anyone with a fifth grade education will tell you—only makes a fire burn stronger.

  A heavy sigh destroys the silence in the air as I look down at the bottle gripped in my hand.

  That’s a damn good Scotch, at least.

  I set the bottle down on the counter and fold my arms over my chest. I can feel my heart racing like a Bugatti Veyron on the Autobahn.

  “Come on, Griffin. Stop acting like a bloody tit for crying out loud. You’re acting like you’ve never been around a beautiful woman before.”