His home looked like something out of Architectural Digest, a penthouse suite of some famous actor in downtown New York. While hers resembled a barely middle-class, single-income dive, with drop cloths on the floor and artist utensils resting on every flat surface of the room.
He stopped dancing, his face scrunched in thought. “Can you turn this down? I can barely hear myself think.”
Chloe swallowed hard and nodded, leaving his arms in haste to find the remote on the table. She aimed it at the TV and pressed the volume button, her heartbeat climbing as the volume fell.
She stared at it, lost. It was inevitable he would find out about her secret, but she wasn’t prepared to tell him now. Truthfully, she never thought there’d be an opportunity to explain or a need to. She had left his bed this morning thinking she would scarcely cross his mind. Evidently, she was wrong.
A smile curved the corners of her mouth at that very thought. Her perfect Adonis had thought enough about little ol’ her to go searching for her and he must have been pretty adamant about it since he had succeeded.
She felt his presence behind her and turned around, his arms already crisscrossing her back.
“Just because the music is turned low, doesn’t mean I’m finished dancing.”
Again, he gyrated his hips against hers, fanning his hands again across her bottom. She followed his lead, though she still couldn’t believe he was here. In her home. Looking at her with an insatiable lust in his eyes.
And why? She wasn’t dressed in tight-fitting clothes or even an outfit that revealed a large amount of skin or cleavage. She was wearing sweats for crying out loud!
As if reading her conflicted mind, he nudged his nose with hers. “You are sexy as hell, you know that?”
His words flattered her immensely, but she could tell by the look in his eyes he meant them. She closed her eyes, feeling his hands moving up her sides, his palms skimming over every single rib as he went. His thumbs lingered just beneath her breasts, the anticipation killing her.
Okay, so he wasn’t a trained burglar. But he was man with extremely talented hands. Touch me, already!
It seemed, he was so in tune with her. He stroked one thumb over her, her nipple tightening to a taut peak beneath her shirt. He left his thumb there, lightly grazing over it back and forth.
Her stomach flipped and a warming sensation flared between her legs. He stared at her, his tempestuous gaze threatening to light her afire. She glanced at his mouth, craving to taste his lips. To give him whatever he came for. She knew, right then, he wasn’t going to take it unless she offered it. He may have been boldly intrusive and daring when he snuck into her residence. But now, he didn’t seem so self-assured. Could it be that her arrogant Adonis was not so haughty after all? Or maybe…a gentleman?
She wasn’t the cruel type to make him sweat it out. She ran her hands up the length of his arms, enjoying the feel of his flexed biceps beneath her palms as she continued over his shoulders and up his neck into his hair. Pulling him down slightly, she tip-toed up on the balls of her feet and kissed him.
The softness of his lips melted her like butter, while the tender prickling of his goatee solidified her into a covetous woman. She had to have more. His mouth. His touch. His body. Everything he possessed, she wanted.
Opening her mouth to him, she took his passion and ran free with it. Her tongue slipped between his lips, soft and heated, and found the powerful hunger of him inside. Finally, he severed every restraint tethered around his fiery spirit, his hands swarming her body with wild fervency.
In the blink of an eye, he gripped the collar of her worn t-shirt with both hands and tore it in half, stripping her of her lucky shirt, his mouth never leaving hers.
Well, it was her lucky shirt.
His hands were all over her now, groping her through the thin fabric of her bra. She could feel the searing heat of his touch and her entire body longed to feel his warmth, his naked skin blanketing her.
His feral kisses fell from her mouth, blazing a trail down her neck and across her shoulder. He pulled away for a moment, breathless, as he gazed at her chest.
Teasingly, he slipped a finger beneath her bra strap, sliding it downward. “White lace today, huh? Matching panties, I assume?”
Chloe bit her lip, hoping like the devil he’d check for himself.
With his other hand, he tugged her waistband open and peered down into her pants. His devilish smile told her he liked what he saw.
“So, is this just like last night?” he asked, his brow raising curiously. “Sex now…talk later.”
She answered him quickly by unclasping the front closure of her bra, her breasts falling out of the cups for his pleasure. She liked how his eyes roamed over her, his mouth slightly parting in awe.
Immediately, his hands went to his shirt, his fingers working over every button like a wild man. He seemed to have no patience by the last one and he whisked his shirt away, taking her into his arms.
She sighed at the feel of his hot skin, the comfort of his strong embrace enveloping her. She glanced over his shoulder at her newly painted canvas. It was as if her sleeping Adonis had awakened, stepped right off of the easel, and had come to her, thanking her for bringing life to him.
If only he knew how alive she felt to be in his arms….
He pulled her down to the floor, lying on top of her. A large block-pattered area rug acted as their bed and that was fine with her. She didn’t care where he chose to take her, just as long as he remained strapped to her body. Between the weight of him crushing her into the carpet, and his mouth wickedly sucking at her neck, she felt like she was in heaven.
No one had made her feel this good, this bad, in a long time. Hell, she couldn’t even recall a time when sex was this exciting the second time around. With his hand petting over the sensitive skin of her bare stomach, she wanted nothing more than feel his probing fingers between her thighs.
She loved when he touched her there, the feel of his fingertips caressing, smoothing…teasing. He knew where to be delicate and when it was okay to be rough. Right now, she could stand a little rough.
She pushed him to the side and rolled on top, straddling him. His eyes widened and he arched his back in pain. “Wait!” he exclaimed, reaching for whatever was beneath him.
He pulled out a tube of paint, most of it squeezed-out on his hand and back.
Chloe brought her hand to her mouth, hiding her smile. She didn’t realize it had been dropped on the floor, but in this little apartment, there wasn’t much room for storing her utensils and supplies.
As he tried to wipe the mess from his back, the soft yellow color smeared across his dark skin, his hand covered in thick oily paint. With a compulsion to be daring, she grabbed his hand and hooked a dollop on her finger and began drawing the letter “M” right above his navel.
His head jerked and his abdomen flexed. She could feel his pelvis rise to meet hers, his erection, trapped beneath his denim jeans, pressing against her naked flesh. But still she continued to write.
“I”
Then an “N”…
And an “E”…
And then finally, a downward arrow.
She watched his face turn devious. “Oh, really…” he said, relaxing back onto the carpet. “Prove it.”
Chloe raised her brow, reveling in his dare. Little did he know, her entire life had been urged on a dare, proving people wrong. Especially after her surgery, she constantly trudged through life proving she could live a normal life and succeed at it. Her small business attested to that.
Accepting his challenge, she wiped the residual paint across her breasts in a suggestive manner and undid the button on his fly. Unzipping his jeans caused him to shudder, and she smiled at his response, stroking her palm down the length of him. Her powerful Adonis weakened with each touch of her hand, but there was nothing weak about his arousal when she pulled his jeans and boxers from his legs. Like the rest of him, he was long and hard. She swore his erecti
on stiffened even more when she took hold of him. His head fell back and his eyes glazed over, waiting for her next move.
She breathed on him, blowing warm air around him before licking him from bottom to top. His hands clenched at his sides, paint seeping from his fist. He must have liked what she did, for he arched his hips toward her, trembling as she hovered around his engorged head.
She took him in her mouth, slowly, watching how his mouth fell open and his eyes closed the further she eased him in. From that position, the word “MINE” caught her eye.
Yes…for a little while, he was hers—all hers. But she couldn’t help but wonder if he would still be around when they were finished having their fun.
The famous pessimistic phrase flashed through her thoughts: All good things must come to an end….
Chapter Seven
On the floor, he lay sprawled upon her, sweat clinging to their spent bodies. Chloe aimlessly stroked her nails up and down his back, feeling every long breath he took within her arms. She could hold him all day long. She didn’t even need to eat.
But her stomach argued differently.
Mr. Gyration lifted his head from her chest, as if a revelation just hit him. “Hey, I brought food.”
He slipped from her embrace and padded barefoot across her floor, his beautifully toned backside bringing a smile to her face. Chloe sat up, enjoying the view. He seemed very comfortable with his nakedness, as if they’d known each other forever. Yet, she suddenly felt the opposite. Not because of her lack of clothing…she was pretty much over that by now. But with another kind of nakedness—her secret about to be laid wide open.
Her stomach knotted and her mouth went dry.
Even as he bent to pick up two Styrofoam containers from the floor, a sight that should have been so pleasing to her eyes, she was distracted with her own guilt. Her own shame. Not for what she was about to tell him, but because she hadn’t told him at all.
She had wanted to tell him way before they had jumped into bed together. But the opportunity never came. She was too wrapped up in him and he had seemed just as absorbed. She would have told him early this afternoon, had he not looked at her with those stunningly mesmeric eyes. Touched her with those hot, masculine hands.
There wasn’t a decent opportunity to tell him.
She looked around for a shirt, something to help her feel less naked when she opened her soul to him. Shit, everything was too far out of reach. She bit her lip as he came back to their spot on the floor and sat beside her.
“I brought a surprise for you. Hope I got it right.”
Chloe glanced at the lunch he presented and forced a smile. Suddenly, she didn’t feel all that hungry. Sick was more like it.
Just tell him!
She caught his eyes staring at her. He had this cute endearing look about him, as if she had never eaten take-out before and he had just revealed a modern miracle.
“Come on, say something,” he crooned for her. “I brought your favorite sandwich from Beacon Hill Bistro and all I get is a half-smile?” He set the food down next to him, and reached out, cupping her chin in his large hand. “Give me something, beautiful. I’ve never heard your voice and I’m betting it purrs like a kitten.”
Chloe closed her eyes and pushed his hand away. This was it. The moment she had been dreading since the first time he had brushed against her arm at the bar. The moment that would determine what kind of man her unknown Adonis was. She didn’t think he’d be so shallow as to judge her by her faults, but she couldn’t be so sure. She didn’t know him well enough.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, scooting closer. “Cat got your tongue?”
She sat up straighter and took a deep breath. She brought her hands in front of her, paused, and signed the words, “I’m deaf.”
Chloe watched him draw back in surprise and then his brows lower in confusion. “What are you doing? What does that mean?”
Her breath escaped, and a heavy weight of dread pushed her down to rock bottom. She stood to find a piece of paper and a pen from her tiny kitchenette, shaking as she tried to write. She tore the slip and handed him the sticky note.
He stood up in front of her, wary in taking it from her hands. His eyes glanced down at the simple sentence.
I’m deaf.
His eyes shot back at her. “Are you serious?”
She nodded reluctantly.
“But…you danced with me,” he argued. “Like no one I’d ever seen. You danced with me at Gyrations and…today.” His justifications fell like autumn leaves in the wind, each one being a futile attempt to oppose her profound hearing loss. “You danced…keeping perfect time with the rhythm. How can you do that if you can’t hear?”
She started to sign again, but he rudely waved her off.
“I can’t understand what you’re doing. Write it down.”
Hot tears burned her eyes as she wrote her reply.
This time, he snatched the paper from her, irritation written across his ignorant face.
I used to dance. But I lost my hearing eight years ago. I know what rhythm is and I can still feel the beat and keep time to it if the music is loud enough for me to feel it.
His eyes returned to hers, but they were not the warm amber color anymore. They were cold, and dark, and narrow. She swallowed hard, waiting. Her hand gripped the pen tightly, fearing he was about to turn from her and run.
He stepped forward, nearly into her, touching her elbows with both hands. “You can’t be deaf. I talked to you and you understood every word I said.”
Good. This was good. He was touching her, staying close, wanting to be close to her. He was still denying her hearing loss, which was normal. It was the first stage of any sort of bereavement. She had to yield to it, let him wander through this phase so he was able to freely move on to the next.
But she knew what the next one was—anger. And she didn’t know if she was strong enough to withstand it.
Despite the warmth of his touch on her arms, she was trembling inside, trying to steady her hand as she wrote her next note. I can read your lips. Not many can, but I have a knack for it.
He tossed the paper aside and rubbed his hand down over his clenched jaw, stepping back, pondering. After a few agonizing seconds, he bent and grabbed his clothes from the floor.
“I can’t believe this,” he muttered, shoving his legs into his pants.
Chloe endured the hard glare of his eyes as he buttoned his jeans and threw on his shirt. Her heart ached inside her, watching him get ready to walk out of her life, a painful lump hardening in her throat.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded curtly, staring at her like he had been stabbed in the back.
Automatically, and as fast as she could, she signed the words, “I wanted to. But—”
He threw his palm up, closing his eyes to her unfamiliar gestures. “Don’t. I can’t understand it anyway. Let’s just forget we ever met, because clearly this…this would never work between us. And to think I came here because I wanted you to be my dance partner for my studio that is opening at the end of next month.” He scoffed at the sound of it. “I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”
He looked at her one last time. Her heart skipped as she thought she saw a hint of remorse in his eyes. That he might recant all he had said and hold on to what he may have felt for her in his heart.
She knew he didn’t love her, but she was certainly hoping he’d remember just how enthralled he had been by her. So much so that he went out of his way to find out who she was, where she lived, and what sandwich she liked to eat on Sundays.
Hope.
Chloe was hanging onto that tiny thread with all she had.
But he looked away, his hands on his hips. She saw his head shake back and forth. She didn’t have to see his face to know he was chastising himself for being foolish enough to fall for her.
Without another glance, he walked into his shoes and left.
Chapter Eight
Grayson st
epped out of Chloe’s gallery, still in shock.
I’m deaf.
Those words ran him down like a street worker’s steamroller, over and over. How could he not know this? How could he be so stupid as to not pick up on something as obvious as a woman who couldn’t hear a lick?
Was he that blind? Was he that stupid to not see the signs?
He replayed last night over in his head, from the moment he had walked up to the bar, to the moment he dragged her out on the dance floor. She never made a peep. Then again, he never said anything to warrant a reply either. They had remained locked in each other’s arms, captured by each other’s eyes, unable to separate. Words had not been necessary.
All he remembered was wanting her, his body aching to be close to her, and nothing else, not even her name, seemed important at the time.
If only he’d struck up a conversation like a normal person last night, instead of coming onto her like a deer in rut, he would have realized the huge language barrier between them. Or, at least, put his brakes on, for shit’s sake. More importantly, he wouldn’t be standing with his dick in his hand looking like a dumb ass.
He shook his head, disappointment hugging him close. He was so excited to have finally found a woman who danced as well as he, and loved to do so. He saw it with his own eyes.
But how? How could a woman, who could only feel the beat, be better than all the other women who could hear it? It didn’t make any sense. What puzzled him more was how Chloe had made him feel inside. Even now, he couldn’t shake her from his mind. He liked the “gotta find her” compulsion he woke up with this morning and the strange, never-before longing he felt in his search. No one had ever made him feel that way.
Even if he did enjoy what she had brought, it would never work out between them. He had no idea how to sign his words and he sure as hell couldn’t foresee himself learning.
He thought of all the things he’d miss out on. Normal conversations over candlelit dinners. Those cute little inside jokes between lovers. The sound of her voice whispering in his ear. There’d be none of that.
Unforgettable Heroes Boxed Set Page 127