“I guess we’ll just have to be mature adults about our relationship. And anyway, working for Grant Gallagher isn’t the be-all-end-all of my career, you guys. I have golden references from the university and partial credit for Sweetclover, thanks to you, Kay.”
“Maybe,” she conceded doubtfully, “but accolades fade fast, and you know it. Another six months from now, and Sweetclover is old hat. Someone will have taken the premise, expounded on it, and created the next hot-shot spa or club.”
Seraphina wanted to get angry. If her life were a movie playing out on the Hallmark channel, she’d blow up and accuse her friends of trying to sabotage her new relationship, or cite jealousy, or even tell herself they lacked faith in her. But the truth was much less dramatic and slightly more depressing; they were worried for her and they were right to be. If it were Kay playing with fire by sleeping with someone as influential and well-known as Grant Gallagher, Seraphina would repeat all the same warnings and advice ad nauseum.
Subdued, Seraphina dropped her chin into her hand. “Can’t I just bask in this good thing while it lasts? I believe Grant is a man of his word. And if he were to drop me because of a personal matter, well, he’d be less than a gentleman. I could hurt his reputation just as easily. Whatever happens, I’m the right person for that position, and he knows it, or he wouldn’t have made the offer.” She sighed. “And really, I need this. An apprenticeship with Grant Gallagher would make up for so much lost time.”
Kay patted her knee with a crooked smile. “Maybe this is selfish of me, but I can’t think of your efforts as a teaching assistant as time wasted. I needed you, Sera. You made a difference to me. I understand you feel you’re out of the gate past the whistle, but I can’t feel anything but utterly grateful you were around for me. You, my dear Seraphina, are one of the pillars of my excellence.” She ended her spiel with a batting of her lashes, and a quick, fierce hug for Seraphina.
Kay and Neve didn’t stick around much longer, sensing Seraphina’s melancholy mood.
She spent the rest of the night and most of Saturday morning wondering why the one time in her life she’d find it entirely too easy to let go of her innate desire to control everything was also the one time losing control could be potentially disastrous to her career.
By Saturday afternoon, she was pacing her small apartment, finally moving past feeling sorry for herself. She was agitated and annoyed. She’d been fiercely independent her entire life. The only things she’d ever allowed to hold her back were her own self-doubts. She was, above all else, a calculated risk taker.
And Grant Gallagher was a huge risk. The possibility for ruin loomed, but so did other potential outcomes. Blurry, ill-defined outcomes. She didn’t expect to fall in love or anything like that. But maybe they’d come to know a different kind of closeness.
Seraphina unearthed her cell phone from the pile of blankets on her bed. She tossed it from one hand to the other, mirroring her juggling thoughts. Okay, so they had some chemistry. At least, they had some hey-you-clean-up-real-good chemistry. But attraction could be a fickle thing. Grant had seen her razor-sharp at work and dressed to slay at dinner. The only real test left was the obvious; the unshaved legs, messy bun, morning breath, holey pajamas test. If they still had some zing between them on a lazy Sunday morning, when Seraphina considered herself at her most vulnerable, then this thing—whatever the hell it was—with Grant was worth what risk it carried. And if not, well, at least they’d fizzle out before things got too serious.
With steel resolve in her bones, she dialed Grant’s number. “Hi,” she said, when he answered. She heard the smile in his greeting, and her nerves kicked into a higher gear. She really didn’t want to show Grant the most unattractive side of herself. But this was the only way. “I reconsidered your offer, and decided to counter with one of my own. We’ve seen what happens on a night out. But what about a morning in?”
* * * *
Grant hung up. He’d been asked out by women before. These were progressive times, and there wasn’t anything strange about Seraphina calling and offering a date idea of her own. What had him scratching his head was the Go Nowhere policy. Seraphina didn’t know it, but that kind of thing was straight up his alley.
By the time she showed up, he had cinnamon buns in the oven and fresh orange juice pressed for the next morning. As per the rules, he had on an old pair of blue plaid pants and was barefoot. He frowned and looked her up and down. “Jeans aren’t fair game,” he reminded her.
She ignored him, sniffing the air. “What is that? I feel like I just stepped into the spice aisle at the grocery store.”
“You’ll find out tomorrow morning. Tonight, it’s take-out or delivery. Your pick.”
She smiled tentatively, reached into a large canvas tote slung over her shoulder, and pulled out a handful of fabric. Pink plaid. “Delivery.”
He guided her toward the guest bathroom to change, and took her bag into the bedroom and left it on his bed. He returned to find her in the hallway. The pink plaid turned out to be a pair of baggy shorts. She had swapped out the knit scoop-neck blouse for a light pink tank-top, sans bra. He swallowed. The top was so thin and old, he easily made out the outline of her nipples and the hard peaks. She had small, perky breasts, and the loose fabric draped over them enticingly.
There was something charged in the atmosphere, almost like they were playing a game they shouldn’t be playing. And perhaps they were. A slow-building pressure, both similar and completely different from what had buzzed between them the other night, filled the room.
Grant excused himself to rescue the cinnamon buns. The trick was to pull them from the oven while just a hair underdone. The residual heat finished them off, and they cooled to airy perfection. He glanced over his shoulder. Seraphina had followed him and stopped just shy from entering the kitchen. She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “Do I not strike you as a baking man?”
“I was just considering taking notes. I burned cheese toast yesterday.” She eyed the bowls in the sink. “You made them yourself?”
“Yeah.” With a metal spatula, he carefully transferred the warm buns to a cooling rack and set the empty sheet pan aside. He’d rather have a pile of dirty dishes to wrangle Sunday evening than waste the time he had with Seraphina. A man had to have priorities, after all. “Kathleen, my, uh, mom, I mentioned her, right? She’s disabled. Uses a walker. It was hard for her to get around, so she ended up with a lot of homemaking hobbies. Crafts, baking, that kind of thing. I liked to help.”
“Oh.” Seraphina paused and nibbled her lip. She came a few steps nearer, eyeballing the cinnamon buns while he drizzled pre-prepared cream cheese icing over the tops with a spoon. “It was just me and Dad when I was a kid, and he wasn’t much of a cook. I grew up in the theater scene, eating a lot of whatever we could get our hands on.”
“Here?” Little Rock was progressing culturally all the time, but twenty-five years ago, he couldn’t imagine the theater scene was exactly swinging.
“Yep.” Then Seraphina sprung. She snatched a cinnamon roll and backpedaled away. She squealed as he reached out and caught her by the waist.
Once he had her, his mind went blank. He simply stood there, her skin warming his hands through her thin clothes. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”
She smiled wide and took a huge bite out of the roll.
He narrowed his eyes. Then he swiped it from her unsuspecting hand and shoved the rest into his mouth.
They stared at each other challengingly, mouths stuffed, then fell into fits of laughter. The first to recover, Grant shuffled to the fridge and pulled out the milk. He poured them each a tall glass and handed one to Seraphina. “I offer this to you freely,” he said solemnly. “But leave my cinnamon rolls alone. Or we’ll wake up tomorrow and starve.”
She gulped milk and sighed, a smile still lingering on her lips. It lit up her entire face.
Grant would’ve sworn in that single span of a few seconds, he’d never seen a more gorgeous woman. “Or we could order pizza to eat in the morning and have the cinnamon rolls now.”
Her wide smile was luminescent, and Grant found himself grinning idiotically back at her. “Hm. They are best fresh,” he conceded.
She grew suddenly serious. “And pizza is best cold.”
He stroked his chin thoughtfully, but it was mostly an excuse to study her. Smiley and pajama-clad, she had an unidentifiable allure even the sexy, lacey red dress couldn’t match. “You’ve been here all of twenty minutes, and we’re already descending into anarchy.”
She snorted, somehow a cute and dignified sound. “That’s me. Harbinger of chaos and ruin.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. A joke for her was a poignant point of fact for him. Maybe not ruin, but she was definitely introducing an element of chaos into a very controlled environment. Likewise, he realized he was doing something similar to her life. “A little, yeah. But I’m not complaining. Not even a little.”
She watched him keenly, as if searching for something behind his words. “Neither am I.”
Well, if that was the score, Grant was in trouble. His grin persisted, despite the small stone of doubt that dropped in the center of his chest. He’d counted on Seraphina being the coolheaded one; the one to back out of this little arrangement before it got too serious, because he was hell and gone from being able to see their relationship with a rational mind. If they both dove in blindly, no one was going to save them. The aftermath would be what it was.
He lifted another cinnamon roll from the cooling tray. Warm to the touch, icing rolled lazily down the sides and over his fingers. He tore away a piece and held it out to Seraphina like an offering to seal the deal. “Anarchy it is. May we survive the night.”
“Cheers to that.” She took the bite of gooey bun straight from his fingers with her teeth. She laughed softly at his expression, her mouth full.
He stood there, staring dumbly, his hand still aloft, trying hard not to embarrass himself. The loose pajama pants wouldn’t hide a thing.
An amused daredevil regarded him from behind Seraphina’s piercing blue eyes. She held eye contact for a beat, then in exquisite slow motion licked the frosting from his finger, which was still suspended in the air between them, because she had turned his brain to mush.
Grant had a sudden vision of lifting her onto the counter, then realized there was no reason he couldn’t make it a reality. Their gazes locked, he put the same finger in his mouth, sucking off the last of the sticky icing. He didn’t waste another second, but wrapped his arms around her waist, got a hold of her ass, and lifted her to him. She squealed and flung her arms around his neck. In two strides, he had her on the counter.
Well, he’d known there’d be no hiding in these pants. He kept his hands wrapped tight around her waist and felt her back arch slightly as she drew in a breath. Her teasing expression became more solemn and her gaze watchful. Grant was the playmaker now.
Or so he believed. Every time he thought he had Seraphina figured, she proved him wrong. She reached down and ran her finger along the inside of the elastic band at his waist. His breath quickened when her light touch caressed his erection. She paused, grinned, then grabbed hold on either side of his pants and yanked. As the very thing he’d hoped to remain in some control over sprang free, completely of its own mind, Seraphina leaned back, slid her hips forward, and took possession of Grant’s hand. She guided him up the wide-open leg of her tiny shorts. He was instantly rock hard when he realized what she was showing him. She had nothing on beneath the flimsy shorts. His curious fingers met soft, damp skin, and she made a small noise in her throat. At that point, the games were over. He grasped her hips and pulled her toward him as a hot, desperate desire ran like fire through his veins.
Seraphina wrapped her arms around his neck. She bit his ear, just hard enough to get his attention and draw a low growl from deep in his throat. “Anarchy is fun.” She laughed softly, and Grant fell into oblivion.
Chapter 8
Grant woke up naked in his king-sized bed. That wasn’t abnormal, but finding a soft, warm, and equally naked female next to him was definitely a delightful departure from his usual Sunday morning routine. He caught himself smiling at the red hair fanned out across the creamy white pillow at his side. Seraphina’s face was buried in knots of sheets and blankets. Her bare leg draped across his, inducing vivid reminders of last night.
As much as he wanted coffee, he couldn’t bring himself to extricate himself. Pinned down by her long, pale leg, he grinned and enjoyed the sensation until she began to murmur and stretch.
With care, Grant untangled himself from the bedding and padded into the kitchen, naked. He allowed himself a self-satisfied grin upon finding his plaid bottoms in a puddle on the kitchen floor where they’d been removed and forgotten. He slid them on. Coffee beans rattled pleasantly as he poured them into the grinder. He hoped the noise didn’t wake Seraphina. He wanted to be the big hero who delivered coffee in bed.
Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. The percolator had just begun steaming and hissing when Seraphina cautiously tip-toed around the corner. She might’ve made some effort to smooth down her hair, but there were a few tangles. Her bangs were skewed to one side. To Grant’s pleasant surprise, she hadn’t bothered with the modesty of wrapping a sheet around herself. She was gloriously nude, although made slight effort into covering herself with her arms. Even so, he could see the top of the triangle of thick strawberry blond curls where her thighs came together, and the swell of her breasts beneath her arms. His body responded immediately.
Meanwhile, Seraphina peered lazily around. “Have you seen my shorts and top?”
He laughed lightly. “Not since you removed them.”
She looked at him then. “You mean since you removed them.”
He shrugged one shoulder and took down two coffee mugs. “You asked so nicely. I couldn’t say no.”
He heard her little snort of laughter as she walked away toward the living room. Sated as he was, Grant still couldn’t resist craning his neck as she walked past. Her hips had a leisurely swing to them, and the way her body moved brought back warm, fond memories of last night.
They’d been all over; the kitchen counter, the sofa, the rug in front of the large window, and the bedroom. Her clothes could be anywhere. He wasn’t even sure in what order they’d been removed. They’d been there when he had her on the counter. Eventually, he’d flipped her over and pulled her shorts down. But, hard as they tried to get the angle just right, the counter was too tall. Then he recalled she’d been wearing them when he’d carried her to the sofa. Her top was long gone by then, but he’d pulled the shorts down with his teeth and proceeded to do other things with his mouth once they were out of his way.
“Look under the couch,” he called.
“Found them!” Seraphina’s triumphant cry came at the same time.
Grant poured their coffees. He picked up his phone from its charging cradle on the counter and dialed the closest pizza delivery place. After their rampant sexual activity—some fast and furious, some tortuously slow and tense—they’d returned to the kitchen in the small hours of the night and devoured every last cinnamon bun and the rest of the milk. Pizza ordered and coffee mugs in hand, Grant met Seraphina in the living room.
She was curled into the corner of the sofa, resting against an arm. She looked warm and relaxed, and Grant had a sudden desire to wrap himself around her and never leave his apartment again. Then he noticed the tablet in her lap. He sat and handed her a coffee. “Have you got your files there?”
She sat up straighter, her hands wrapping around the thick mug. “Thank you.” She smiled demurely, almost shyly, as if last night hadn’t happened at all. “Yes, I do have them, actually. I know you’ve gone over them, but I’ve tweaked a few things since.”
; “Let me see.” He waited for her to pass over the tablet, which she did with mild reluctance. He set his mug on the end table and relaxed into the sofa.
He balanced the small device on his thigh, used his left hand to navigate, which freed his right hand to grasp and hold one of hers. From his peripheral, he noticed her look up sharply at him. He held still, wondering what she’d do. The thought of her pulling away made him unduly disappointed. He felt suddenly vulnerable and wished he hadn’t initiated the small intimacy. But then Seraphina relaxed, and even readjusted so she could grip his hand back.
He fought off a stupid grin and made himself focus on Seraphina’s plans. They were lightyears ahead of Roper’s proposed blueprints.
The fireplace in the main parlor had been boarded up long ago, then reopened in the late seventies. Seraphina wanted to do more than clean up the structure. She wanted to enlarge the edifice and make it the focal point of the main reception area. Her plans called for a massive chimney, overlaid with a myriad of eggshell and ecru colored brickwork in the classic pattern to stretch from floor to ceiling. Side notations listed potential resources for the material, from other out-of-use sites, as well as local vendors. Apparently, there was a company in Jonesboro that collected and repurposed materials from historic buildings when they were dismantled or torn down. They’d likely have the bricks, which could be painted.
Grant nibbled his lip and squeezed Seraphina’s hand. “Why aren’t you bigger news? Look here.” He tapped the screen where she’d marked for the re-installment of an old telephone booth. The original owners of this place were farmers, but the family had grown wealthy in later decades, and for a short run, the home had been used to house offices. She’d scanned a cropped photograph from the original building, circa 1940, when the phone booth had been installed, and another bullet list of notes were logged underneath. “That’s genius. What’s more, you want to make it operational. The Historical Society is going to love you. Do you really think you’ve got a bead on where the original booth ended up?”
From the Top Page 9