She stared at him. Beads of perspiration rolled down his temples. His eyes no longer fixed on anything in particular. He gazed, but nothing registered in his mind save the feel of blood welling up inside him and his engorged arousal plunging in and out of her.
Finally, she saw him jerk as if someone had cracked a whip across his back. But instead of pain lancing his face, a look of utter gratification washed over him. He gripped her thighs and looked up to the ceiling, emptying himself as if each spurt of semen felt better than the last.
After a few more heaves, his sweat-laced body collapsed on top of hers. He was heavy and hot, like her very own electric blanket. Chloe held him tight, relishing the feel of her spent Adonis lying in her arms.
Chapter Three
Chloe’s internal alarm clock went off and she opened her eyes, the dim light of dawn just barely breaking through the third story window. Realizing it was unfamiliar—naked, compared to the thick, opaque Renaissance-style draperies shrouding hers—she glanced around the room in a panic.
No, Chloe…you weren’t dreaming. You did have sex—wild, passionate sex—with Mr. Gyration last night and it’s now the next morning.
She swallowed. Hard.
So, this was the awkward moment after a heated romp of foreplay and fornication. This was the time of day when the sun, with its tongue in cheek humor beaming on the discarded articles of clothing strewn around the room, was about to shed new light on the relationship, making both waking participants a little leery of each other, if not regretful of their own actions as they came to reminisce on the night before.
She glanced beside her, getting one last look at the man who bewitched her into his bed. The expression on his face was almost angelic in nature, but no less brazen as he slept. He lay flat on his stomach with his long, heavy arm draped across her waist. The dark complexion of his bare back and limbs was a striking contrast to the soft yellow Egyptian cotton sheets tangled around his lower half. And the sharpness of his chiseled face against the delicate contours of the pillow beneath his head were so distinct, she couldn’t help but think a genuine Hellenistic sculptor would have a field day recreating him.
Without her body beneath his arm, of course.
How could she wiggle out from underneath his cozy, yet possessive, clinch without waking him? She had no idea what kind of sleeper he was; whether he could snooze through a bomb detonation or if he’d awaken at the sound of a pin dropping.
Yeah, this was why she didn’t do casual sex.
These were the types of things a person should know about their consensual partner before jumping into bed. Call it an unwritten rule, but she always liked to at least know what a man’s favorite color was, or if he were a vegetarian, or the name of his best friend. With this guy, she knew nothing.
Hell, she didn’t even know his name.
She had overlooked both a simple customary greeting and her own unwritten rule as if they never existed, all because of one man’s intense look. One man’s talented hips and hands. One man’s ability to erase all normal thought, and charm himself into her pants.
She closed her eyes, fighting back the urge to cast this one-night-stand into the stash of terrible mistakes she’s made in her life. Not this one.
Sure, it was probably not the best decision she’d ever made, but she certainly didn’t want to regret it. He was too good to regret. Too memorable to shove into a stockpile of loser boyfriends. Quite frankly, he was too glorious not to brag about—even if she only boasted of him to herself.
He had chosen her out of all those available women and was now lying face down in his own exhaustion. Naked. With his arm around her—her!
That, alone, was brag worthy.
With a smile on her face, she refused to regret last night’s encounter, and decided to chalk it up as a night she’d never forget.
Think of things you do know about him, Chloe.
Those intimate things….
Unable to help herself, she gave into that devilish inner voice and thought of his lower abdominal muscles, how they formed an unmistakable “V” below his navel. She remembered how amazing his toned, muscled body felt beneath her touch, the velvety smoothness of his steel-hard erection buried deep inside her body. Of course, she brought to mind his beautiful face and the two prominent veins that popped out along his temples during the most private moment of his release.
Several times over the course of the night, she recollected.
But her other inner voice spoke out as well.
What are you doing? Quit wasting time. Get the hell out before he wakes and you feel obliged to explain your pitiful life story. He’s not going to care and you’ll only make things awkward. Get out now, while you still have these blissful memories to savor.
With a sigh, Chloe slowly turned her head and peered over the side of the bed, searching for her clothes she knew were haphazardly scattered. She saw only her heels, her light blue thong and matching bra lying arbitrarily on the shiny, hardwood floor, and, contrary to her guarded subconscious, recalled how they had ended up there.
A rush of warmth infused her cheeks as she thought about his hands, particularly adept in clothing removal, stripping her of even her modesty while his mouth worked on the rest. She couldn’t help it. Those were some of the best memories she’d ever remember and if she wanted to rehash them, then dammit she had every right. This was no Average Joe lying naked beside her. This was Adonis, reincarnated in human form, and he—Oh, God!—just moved.
Her eyes jerked downward, very aware of the large masculine hand climbing absently up her torso. She held still, her body frozen as he rolled up on his side and discovered her bare breast in the process, cupping her. He seemed to be content with his find and fell back into a deep slumber.
Once she saw the return of his breaths, the deep rise and fall of his back, she was finally able to breathe herself. However, she was in no less worse situation given the new placement of his hand.
Cursing inwardly, she slid herself toward the edge of the bed, watching his limp hand drag across her chest until it dropped onto the mattress. Her eyes flashed up at his face, but thankfully, he didn’t seem to feel a thing. He didn’t even notice the warmth of her round breast being replaced by the flat, coolness of the sheets.
She certainly did.
As she stood up beside the bed, looking down at him, she could feel the lingering sensation of his heated touch across her skin. And damn! if she didn’t want to leap back in bed with him.
No, she heard a voice say. You’ll only ruin this moment. Instead…capture it.
Like a light flicking on, an idea broke free from the confines of her muse-dampened mind. She may not be a sculptor from the Hellenistic period, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t create something as dramatic and dimensional as the Drunken Satyr using her oils.
Inspired by the simple beauty of a lean, hard-muscled, naked man, lying in the cradle of his downy soft, expensive bedding, she bent down to pick up her lacy apparels and heels, her thoughts on long strokes of color and contrast. With nothing on her mind but bringing this perfectly serene moment to life, she tip-toed out of the bedroom.
****
Grayson opened his eyes, a smile instantaneously gracing his lips as he remembered the amazing woman who had danced with him last night—and shared his bed. But it quickly erased when he reached out and touched nothing but an empty space beside him.
Confused, he sat up, looking around his sunlit bedroom. The only evidence of her ever being there was the impression still left behind on his pillow. His mouth fell open to call out for her, and then closed again.
He didn’t know her name.
After a moment, he slumped back down in his bed, disappointed, planting his nose in the pillow upon which she had slept. A hint of her fragrance filled his senses, and he smiled again, recalling the sweet vanilla aroma of her skin. The softness of her delicate body as he had removed her clothes last night, piece by piece. The natural beauty of her God-given c
urves beneath the touch of his eager hands.
And to think all that feminine sumptuousness had been hidden from every man’s eyes, save his. By her style of dress, no one could have known the sexy temptress beneath all that fabric, which seemed to be one of the reasons he liked her so much.
She was unlike other women he had met. She wasn’t caught up in how she looked or how to desperately appeal to the opposite sex, nor did she seem hell-bent on hooking a man’s attention by flashing generous amounts of skin.
Her skirt was tight, he recalled as he reminisced unzipping the alluring fly at her rear. But it was long, below her knees; the type of skirt a woman could very well wear to a family function.
His thoughts ran wild over their passionate sexual encounter, and he couldn’t forget the dainty baby-blue intimate apparel he had discovered in removing her refined attire. They were definitely not family functional.
Just the thought of those sheer lacy undergarments hardened him.
He sighed, rolling to his back, and took the sweet smelling pillow with him. With his arms wrapped around the smooth cotton cushion, he drew in a long breath, imagining her soft, curvaceous body in his embrace, her perfect ass sitting temptingly at his groin.
He liked that image—too much—and many times throughout last night he was hard put to hide his delight. The pleasure she had afforded him was priceless, for no one had ever been able to satisfy him like she had.
And yet, he didn’t know the name of his generous grantor.
Arising in a flash, he threw his legs over the side of the bed, determined to find the elusive woman who had so impressed him. He rushed to his dresser drawer, threw it open and absentmindedly snatched a pair of jeans. Throwing his one leg in the pant, he walked awkwardly out of his room and into the hallway, practically tripping as he dressed. Jerking on the zipper, he stopped abruptly, the sight of his living room doorway—where he had chucked two full shot glasses—shocking him.
His hardwood floor, where he had expected to see a mess of shattered glass and puddled alcohol, was completely clean. Not a shred of last night’s carelessness could be found.
A smile washed over him. She’s a clean-freak….
Perfect. Because he was too. If he had learned anything from his mother, it was the importance of cleanliness and organization. There was nothing he hated more than inefficiency.
Still doubting she had actually taken the initiative to clean up his mess before she left, he padded to the kitchen and jerked open the pantry door. Leaning against the doorframe, he shook his head upon seeing the shards of glass in the shiny, metal waste can. Unbelievable….
For the first time in his life, he found himself flirting with the idea of keeping her around. He was an only child and having someone else in the picture, to complicate his self-indulgent lifestyle—or hamper, as he often saw it—was not something he cared to substantiate. All too often, women were with him for two things: his money and the fact that they could boast being Grayson Anders’ love interest. Neither of which he was willing to offer. Sure, they were worth bedding a time or two, but aside from that, they’d linger far too long for his taste the next morning. So much, that he quit pursuing the opposite sex as readily as he had in his younger years.
But as he thought of last night’s woman, he found himself longing to be with her. If he had to admit it, she was too good to be true. She could dance like no other woman he had ever seen and she had the power to charm him into a relationship. Well the thought of it, anyway.
What puzzled him was that she didn’t wait around to find out. Hell, she didn’t even stay long enough to say goodbye. Had it not been for the broken glass in his garbage, he would’ve begun to think he had dreamed her. That he had only created the perfect woman in his wild imagination.
A knock at the door broke apart his thoughts, and for a split second his heart leapt.
Had she come back? Was she not able to stay away from him any longer than he could from her?
Elated to find out, he ran to the door, his bare feet almost slipping out from underneath him as he turned the corner. Grabbing the door handle, he threw it open, a huge smile plastered on his face.
“Oh,” Grayson mumbled, after setting eyes on his friend, Richard, dressed in the normal suit and tie. “It’s just you. Come on in.”
“Nice to see you too, Gray.”
Grayson turned on his heels to hide his rolling eyes as he wandered into his living room, plopping down on his plush black leather couch. “Is this going to take long? I’ve got some place to be.”
“Dressed like that?” Richard asked sardonically. “Doubt you’ll get very far unless you’ve taken up exotic dancing now.”
Grayson glanced down at his bare chest and half-opened fly. Grimacing, he zipped his jeans. “So, what do you want?”
Richard casually strolled into the room, paused at the other sofa across from him, and sat down just as purposefully. There was a certain air of cautiousness in the way Richard unbuttoned his Italian suit coat before sitting, almost as if he were about to address a panel of uptight board members from his downtown artist cooperative, R. Fitzgerald Gallery.
“What’s up, Richard?”
His friend took a deep breath and smoothed his tie. “We have to move forward.”
Grayson drew backward. “All right,” he said with hesitation. “But don’t I, at least, deserve dinner and a movie first?”
Richard sighed. “I’m serious, Gray. I agreed to take on this dance club and studio as your friend, but I’m speaking to you as a co-owner. We’ve been open now for more than five months, but the studio has lagged behind. I know you are searching for that perfect female partner but—”
“Richard, I’ve—”
“Dammit, Gray, let me finish.”
Grayson threw up his hands, giving his friend the floor. “Have at it…”
“Thank you. As I was saying, I know you don’t want to open the studio until you find your dance partner, but we need someone by the end of next month. I have contractors coming in this afternoon to renovate and that is that. I don’t like pushing you or stepping on your toes, you know that. But this is a business arrangement and banks don’t give a fuck about your perfect partner. They want payments at regular intervals and we don’t have the budget for putting this off any longer. We barely have enough for the labor. There. I said my piece.”
Grayson laughed and headed toward the kitchen. “You want a drink?” he asked over his shoulder, still amused by Richard’s subtle tyrant.
“No,” Richard replied, following him into the next room as Grayson pulled an Evian out of the fridge. He leaned across the marble countertop. “I want an answer from you. I want an ‘Okay, Richard, let’s do this thing.’”
Grayson twisted the top of the water bottle and drank heavily, his eyes fixed on his eagerly awaiting friend. After gulping down half the water, he smiled and quoted verbatim, “Okay, Richard. Let’s do this thing.”
“Gray, could you at least take me seriously for once?”
“I am taking you seriously. And I said Okay.”
It was Richard’s turn to draw back. “Really? You’re fine with this?”
Grayson took one more drink and replaced the cap. “Yeah. Give the keys to the contractor and let’s get this baby up. Why are you so surprised?”
Richard thought for a moment. “Because…you’re never this appeasing. Normally, you are adamant about taking things on yourself and not letting others take charge. I half expected you to refuse the idea of the contractor coming in, and I planned on getting an earful of why we shouldn’t open next month. So, why the change of heart?”
Grayson continued to smile. How could he not? The thought of dancing with last night’s woman, night after night, was worth smiling about.
A light bulb went off in Richard’s head. “You found a dance partner?” he asked in disbelief.
Chapter Four
“Yeah, I did.”
“Excellent!” Richard exclaimed, slapping h
is hands together. “What’s her name?”
“No idea.”
Richard’s face fell. “You don’t know her name? Then how did you meet her?”
Grayson heard the coarse speculation in his friend’s voice. “I met her last night at Gyrations.”
“So, you were able to see her dance,” Richard tried to reason. “This is good.”
“Yeah, it’s good.”
Richard gave him a sideways glance. “I’m assuming she left you with some type of contact information?”
Grayson turned around and replaced the water bottle inside the fridge. “Not exactly. She left early this morning before I could ask her.”
Richard’s eyes widened as he drew in a deep breath. “You slept with her?”
An automatic smile returned to Grayson’s face despite his friend’s blatant disapproval. “Yes, I did.”
“Oh, don’t look so proud, Gray. This is a legitimate business we’re trying to run here, not some underground escort service.” Richard pinched the bridge of his nose. “And how in the hell can you bring a woman into your home, into your bed—a woman you know nothing about—and still sleep at night?” He threw up a quick hand, silencing Grayson. “No. Forget I asked. I don’t want to know. And wipe that smirk off your face. This is not in the least bit funny.”
Grayson gave it his best shot, rubbing his taut grin downward with a stiff hand, but it was useless. Watching Richard sweat was quite entertaining.
“I’m serious!” Richard barked. “Don’t get me wrong, I know you have impeccable taste in women and it never ceases to amaze me the caliber of ass you’ve had in your possession, but sleeping with a future employee for the sake of determining her qualifications is no way to run a business. I don’t need a bunch of prostitutes hanging out on the corner. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Will you relax, Richard,” Grayson waved off as he walked through his living room. “She’s not a prostitute, nor have I ever resorted to being a ‘skip.’ By the way, I resent that, too.” He was done with this conversation, done with being reprimanded like a gullible teenager, and decided to prove his friend wrong by doing what he had intended all along—find her and offer her the dance position.
Unforgettable Heroes Boxed Set Page 124