Unforgettable Heroes Boxed Set

  Grayson watched as she walked out from behind the bar to place the two orders she had, her hips probably swinging just a bit more than usual. But he never gave it a second thought. He glanced down at the address on the paper in his hand and smiled. He knew it was just a few blocks from here and imagined her surprised smiling face when he’d show up at her door with her favorite sandwich.

  Chapter Six

  Chloe couldn’t believe the amount of painting she had put out this afternoon. Her creation of Mr. Gyration on canvas was nearly finished. Just a few more strokes and he would be perfect. Not that he wasn’t already, she thought as she admired her work.

  She stepped back and tilted her head, getting a glimpse of her masterpiece as a whole, of her Adonis sleeping in his bed.

  The colors of his skin were deep brown, with just the right shading to highlight his well-toned, tanned body. The soft pastel of his cream-colored sheets, draping in a lissome array over his waist, portrayed a rare innocence about him as he lay prone. It was a palpable contrast to the hard lines of his chiseled face and muscled shoulders, which was just what she was looking for.

  Chloe smiled at her achievement, her eyes washing over it one last time.

  If it weren’t for the wet paint, she would’ve reached out and touched him. Caressed his long sinewy arm. Ran her fingers through his soft black hair. Cupped his hardened jaw in her palm.

  He was that real to her.

  She swallowed, fighting back the urge to throw the canvas to the floor and lay atop him. As crazy as it sounded, she wanted to do just that—but with the real McCoy.

  Oh, how her mind wouldn’t let her forget about last night. Though she knew better than to think it was hardly memorable for him, she still had those pleasant memories of that amazing, toe-curling, one-night stand embedded in her brain.

  One-night stand.

  The thought made her frown and her heart sink a little. She had never had a one-nighter and never thought she ever would. But lordy, lordy, she had never come across a man like Mr. Gyration before either. He was every girl’s fantasy and downright irresistible. Plus, it has been a long time—eons ago—since she had had sex.

  Obviously, the odds were stacked against her. There was no way she could walk away from him, unless she was a nun, and God knows she was nowhere close to being a saint. Heck, just take one look at the front room of her gallery! There’s not a clothed person anywhere. Every one of her paintings was a nude—a tasteful nude, she reminded herself—with no blatant frontal nudity, because that’s just gross. Leaving things to the imagination was where it was at, and boy, was her imagination running wild over Mr. Gyration right now…for the millionth time since she awoke early this morning.

  Yep, no saint here.

  Feeling proud of her accomplishment, she decided to reward herself with a big juicy turkey sandwich from the Bistro. She checked her watch on her wrist. Twelve thirty. Right in the middle of the lunch rush, a mad house as far as she was concerned.

  Suddenly, a microwave entrée seemed more appealing. She didn’t like to venture out from the safety of her home unless she had to, especially when the chance of people confronting her were higher.

  She wasn’t shy, but she wasn’t the regular conversationalist either, especially not since her surgery back in her late college years. They had removed a pair of tumors from her brain and a part of her was taken away with it, changing her life forever. There were things she wasn’t able to do anymore and it was difficult to make such drastic alterations in her lifestyle to accommodate it. However, she did. She had no choice.

  She persevered as best she could, but she’d give anything to reverse time and live out her days like she used to. Not having to think of what others thought of her, or how they saw her once they realized she was different.

  Her parents encouraged her to never think of her situation as a handicap. But it was.

  She couldn’t mingle with people at parties. She couldn’t get into a conversation with strangers at a bus stop. She couldn’t even order her food like a normal person at a restaurant. Her days of having a normal life were over. If she had been born with it, she’d probably feel differently. She’d probably not even notice what she was missing, and she could look at herself with pride.

  But having something all your life and then losing it in the blink of an eye, was incredibly difficult to overcome and harder to endure as time went on.

  The only thing she could still do, that she loved, was dance. Well, as long as the music was loud enough and the bass was helping her to keep time with the rhythm.

  Dance.

  It was what she had wanted to do from the time she was little; a career of dancing on stage, performing for people, entertaining them, and expressing her creative side with movement and gracefulness.

  That ship had sailed.

  The only way for her to express herself now, was through her art.

  Sure, people said her talent with the brush far outweighed her ability with choreographed movement. She could now see why, especially since her paintings had gained several prestigious, yet small, awards. But it was still hard to say good-bye to her ambition of dancing.

  She glanced at her canvas, gazing at the man who hadn’t noticed her shortcoming last night. She smiled. He was the only person who didn’t look down on her or think she was incapable. In fact, he never even seemed to notice. He had encouraged her to dance, to express herself freely without fearing what others might think, and to believe in herself again.

  She remembered feeling a bit envious of his confidence when he had first taken her hand and led her to the dance floor. But the moment he swept her into his arms and told her to hold on tight, she forgot all about feeling self-conscious, forgot about the crowd around her, and cared only for the man who was staring into her eyes, looking at her as if he’d finally found his perfect dance mate. The only partner for him.

  No one had ever looked at her like that. No one had ever made her feel so comfortable. No one had ever looked beyond the surface and into the woman within.

  Her heart swelled as she remembered the other things he had seen, the other things he had touched and tasted. Unlike her tactful canvas paintings with just enough left to the imagination, there was no part of her unexplored, untouched. He had stripped her bare of both her clothing and her inhibitions. There was nothing left to hide.

  In all honesty, when she looked back on last night, she should have felt cheap and easy. When she woke up this morning, she should have felt dirty and full of regret. But she didn’t. There was not one ounce of regret on her conscience—not one iota.

  If anything, she felt uplifted, as if she had wings to fly.

  Hugging her paintbrush to her chest, she twirled around on her heels and let out a scream of sheer happiness. She ran to the coffee table in her open studio apartment, snatched the remote and turned on the TV, which was always set to Sirius XM—the Latin channel.

  Tonight (I’m Loving You) by Enrique Iglecias was already playing.

  Perfect. One of her favorites.

  She pressed the volume button until she could feel the hard bass coming from her surround sound speakers, and danced to her heart’s content. She closed her eyes and gyrated around the floor, holding her brush to her body as if Mr. Gyration were pressed against her. She had no trouble imagining his long and lean body leading her around the dance floor, his pelvis moving against hers, his hands fanning across her lower back, his soulful tawny eyes holding her captive….

  ****

  CLOSED.

  Grayson read the sign in the window and his heart sank. He checked the address again on the paper the waitress had given him and confirmed the number above the door. Stuffing the paper back in his pocket, he sighed, wondering what to do with his double order of sandwiches. He wanted to surprise Chloe with her normal ritual Sunday lunch, and share an impromptu meal with her, but it appeared she was not available.

  …’til he heard music.

  Loud music, coming from inside.


  He turned his face and put his ear closer to the door, listening.

  She had Enrique Iglecias playing—no, blaring.

  He chuckled as he came away from the door, looking around to see if anyone else, passing by on the sidewalk, heard the booming cadence coming from within her gallery. Apparently, a few people did as their heads jerked around. He even saw one guy step up his walk to the beat, shaking his hips to the rhythm, and earning an elbow from his unimpressed girlfriend.

  Grayson cupped his hand above his brow and peered into the window. He couldn’t see her inside, but at least he knew she was home…or working…or dancing. Whatever she was doing, she didn’t seem to want to be disturbed. The ‘Closed’ sign hanging against the pane, and the music so loud she was risking breaking several ordinances, were two big indications.

  But Grayson had never been known for his reservation.

  He tried knocking, and the door moved. Surprised to see it unlocked, he pushed and it opened.

  He glanced around first and then entered, his excitement building in his chest. No woman had ever made him feel this way before. All giddy-like. It was quite unusual for him to care this much about seeing one specific woman, about being with her, but he enjoyed the newness and rolled with it.

  Once inside, his sights raised up to the numerous paintings hanging on the walls. Each one even better than the next.

  A smile crept on his lips as he took in the colors, the twisted bodies—half naked bodies—and the sensual positions of those painted partners. To him, each one looked as if they were tangled in a dance, though he doubted that was her, or anyone else’s, interpretation. He often had dancing on the brain, and if a physiologist were to hold each of these canvases up as an ink-blot test, he’d respond the same on each one. He might mix it up a bit and say that particular one was the Tango. This one was the Rumba. And that one, on the far corner, was the Paso Doble.

  One thing was for sure, Chloe LaRoche had talent.

  She could take a fleshy, near pornographic image and turn it into a beautiful display of sumptuous, erotic art. Just what his dance studio needed.

  At the change of a song, his attention finally tore from the paintings and into the gallery as a whole. It smelled like paint and wood and Chloe. He could distinctly remember the scent of her skin from last night and it lingered all around him now. Oh, how he loved the way she smelled. Clean, with a hint of vanilla.

  He walked around the small gallery, finding himself idly shopping for artwork to hang on his soon-to-be-a-studio walls. But this one…he decided as he drew closer to the register desk, was different. Hanging at eye level behind the cash register, it portrayed a solitary female with polished ivory skin, soft curves, and long dark hair draping over one shoulder. He doubted Chloe had painted such a revealing self-portrait, especially with so much detail and…skin. But he swore it looked exactly like her. From the soft curve of her hips to the modest swell of her breasts being covered by her thin dainty arm laid intentionally across her chest.

  He drew even closer, leaning across the desk.

  Yeah, that was her all right.

  Before he realized, he was already picturing it hanging in his bedroom, envisioning the dark amber hues of her painted hair coordinating well with the deep wood grain of his cherry furniture.

  Yes, that one he’d buy for himself.

  As he continued to stretch across the counter, a paper blew off onto the floor. He walked around to retrieve it and when he picked it up, he couldn’t help but notice the bright red wording at the top: 2nd NOTICE.

  Curiosity got the better of him and he glanced over the receipt. It seemed Chloe was behind on her lease and had been given her last and final warning from the landlord. He swallowed, knowing this was not his business to be reading her personal mail, and quickly returned the paper to the counter.

  He felt a pang of pity and concern for Chloe. He didn’t like knowing she was struggling to make ends meet, especially with someone of her talent. Someone like her should be selling paintings left and right, with no worries of when the next paycheck would fall.

  He shouldn’t care so much, for he barely knew her. But for some reason, he felt protective of her and wanted to help her through her financial difficulties. Never had he given thought to sharing his wealth with a woman. In fact, he steered clear of women who were gold diggers and leeches. Those kinds could be spotted a mile away.

  Chloe was different.

  She didn’t pursue him at the club like most women had. She didn’t even stick around the apartment the next morning to try her hand at gaining something for herself. Hell, she never even gave up her name. She was mysterious. Unpredictable. And until he walked into her shop, elusive.

  Perhaps those things were what drew her to him so strongly. A challenge. The thrill of the hunt….

  He glanced toward a door to the side of the counter, from where the loud music was coming—where Chloe no doubt was—and a strange sense of predation came over him. Every bone in his body screamed for the woman in the next room. To see her. To capture her. To claim her.

  Was he out of his freakin’ mind?

  She was a woman with baggage—the heaviest of all kinds—money problems. If he walked through that door, there was a strong possibility he’d be in for a hell of a lot more than what he bargained for. And since he had already slept with her, it would be nigh on impossible for him to back out.

  Save face, Grayson, and walk out the door.

  But he couldn’t.

  He wanted to see her again, to see her look of surprise. To have her in his arms again.

  Last night was the most incredible night he had ever had, and he wanted more of those nights, but only if it was with her.

  Who gives a shit if she’s a struggling artist? Every person with a dream was at one point or another. Even him, years ago.

  And let’s not forget the reason you pursued her in the first place. If she takes your offer of employment at Gyrations, the extra cash would surely help her.

  Grayson liked the sound of that. It lay lighter on his conscience to think he could assist her without feeling as if she were picking from his pockets, nor could anyone else allege to such a thing later on. There was nothing he wanted more than to dance with this woman night after night and, quite possibly, score himself a sexy, provocative lover to boot.

  Oh, but the unrelenting female club-hounds of Gyrations would be thoroughly pissed.

  He smiled, pleased that his dueling thoughts seemed to have come to an agreement. With that, he stepped forward toward the door, their lunch in hand.

  It was settled. Grayson Anders was going to pay his little enigmatic vixen a visit.

  But the moment he opened the door, his bravado temporarily left him and all he could do was stare. Like a statue, he watched as Chloe danced around her quaint, efficiency apartment in nothing but baggy dove gray sweats and a paint-splotched t-shirt, thinking she was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen.

  Yep, he was a gonner.

  Her cute little bottom bumped and grinded to David Bisbol’s Oye El Boom, her legs slightly bent, her eyes closed. She held a paint brush in one hand, pressing it close to her chest, while her other hand smoothed down the curve of her hip.

  She hadn’t noticed him standing there, but he sure noticed the twitch in his groin. His body immediately stirred behind the tightness of jeans as his eyes were glued to her body, aching to be that very paintbrush tucked between her breasts.

  He felt like he was in a gentlemen’s club, watching his own personal erotic dancer, tempting him, whetting all of his senses with tantalizing shoulder rolls and hip thrusts—minus the pole.

  This whole situation was perfect. She thought she was alone and she was being herself. He was able to catch a glimpse of Chloe LaRoche behind closed doors and see that she enjoyed dancing just as much as he did—and to the same style of music he listened to. Too many women in his life had pretended to like Latin-style dancing simply for the sake of winning his affection. Bu
t as he stood in his remote corner of the room, the real Chloe unfolded right before his eyes, and he was truly smitten.

  Unable to be the inactive spectator any longer, he set their Styrofoam to-go lunches on the floor and walked toward her. With the music blaring in his ears, he was driven by his hunger and a deep anxious need to touch her, to dance with her. He slipped his hands around her waist and pulled her into his arms.

  “Care if I join you?”

  ****

  Chloe gasped, her heart frozen in her chest. Just as quickly as she feared for her life, she melted at the sight of her Adonis’s beautiful face smiling at her. Was he real?

  Oh yes, he was real.

  Every hardened muscled in his body was pressed against hers, his strong hands at her lower back, bordering on her butt, pulling her closer. She was tightly held in his embrace, his eyes delving deep into hers.

  How did he find her? And how the hell did he get in here?

  I swore the door was locked and the ‘Closed’ sign was up.

  Her body stiffened in his arms, despite the fluid motion of his hips swaying to the beat of the music. She lost all sense of rhythm and awkwardly followed his lead, wondering if she had made a huge mistake in sleeping with this guy in the first place. Maybe he was crazy out of his mind? Maybe he was the type of guy who was overly possessive and an ax-murderer on the side.

  He drew his face back, softening. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He then thumbed behind him. “You left your outside door unlocked. But don’t worry…I secured it behind me. Besides,” he added, purposefully drilling his pelvis into hers, “you had the music up so loud it was like a beacon.” He licked his lips. “Calling to me…”

  Chloe smiled nervously, her mind going a hundred miles an hour.

  She talked herself out of thinking he was an ax-murdered, but he could very well be a trained burglar. She couldn’t believe he had snuck into her shop and made his way into her meager apartment. She glanced around, checking the condition of it, worrying about what he’d think of her modest living conditions, which were quite different from his.