Unforgettable Heroes Boxed Set

  It surprised him to think he could be this compassionate, this sensitive, because truth be told, it just wasn’t his style. Being fancy-free and self-centered was always his approach toward life and it was safe.

  That was before Chloe. She came along and wreaked havoc over everything he stood for and it suited him just fine. As long as he had her friendship, he could survive in this crazy new world he’d stepped into.

  Realizing how long he had been staring at her, he pulled back, resisting the urge to kiss her. With a serious look on his face, he signed the last practiced part of his speech, the most simplest of his words. “Do you forgive me?”

  Immediately, she smiled and began signing with excitement, her inarticulate words breaking as she spoke. “Of course, I forgive you. How could I not, especially after all you’ve done. The painting, learning to sign, and this,” she said, reaching into his coat jacket and pulling out his pocket translator. “I know how much this costs.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “And I know how much you spent on the canvas. Mr. Fitzgerald told me how much it went for. You really shouldn’t have.”

  Grayson shook his head modestly. “After how I treated you…yes, I had to. It was the least I could do. Besides, I couldn’t get you out of my head. I knew the moment I walked away, I was making the biggest mistake of my life. But I’m a guy, with a lot of pride, and it takes more than just admitting I was wrong before I could feel better about the kind of man I wanted to be.”

  He looked down at the translator in her hands and recognized there was still so much to sift through, so much to spell out. Doing so would mean exposing his innermost thoughts, where his heart would be completely susceptible to breaking.

  He took a deep breath of courage and imparted his desires. “You had painted me with such content on my face and I realized it was the only time I ever felt fulfilled. When I woke, the morning after I spent the night in your arms, I was truly satisfied. You gave me that sense of peace. Now, I know I don’t deserve to ask anything more of you than what I’ve already taken, but if you give me a chance, I can be the man you painted on that canvas.”

  Chloe looked up from her hands and fixed her eyes on him. Heat spread throughout Grayson’s body as he endured the warmth of her concentrated stare. His silky ascot felt tight and cumbersome again, restrictive, as he waited for her answer.

  She leaned closer and it nearly stole the breath from his lungs. He swallowed, contending with the sweet smell of her perfume invading his nose and the overwhelming proximity of her mouth to his. He glanced down at her lips. In his opinion, they were far too strained, not the kind of lips that were intent on a kiss.

  She was going to turn him down. He knew it. She was only inching closer because she was setting him up for what was to come. She was going to take his heart in her manipulative little hands and drop it by the wayside. How could he blame her? He didn’t deserve another chance and he was damn stupid to have even asked.

  He closed his eyes, the torment too strong. Over the pounding of his heart, her voice finally broke through. “Kiss me now…talk later.”

  Chloe saw Grayson’s eyes flash open right before she took his lips. Ever since she had set foot in the limo, anger or not, she wanted to kiss those delicious lips. It took everything she had to restrain herself, especially with him dressed in that swanky tuxedo. Then, after discovering all the trouble he had gone through to make this night happen and all the lessons he had taken in order to communicate with her…how could she not want to kiss him?

  All this time she had thought he was nothing more than a man who only cared for himself, a womanizing bastard who thought the world revolved around him. And here, he had been secretly planning and preparing, buying paintings and learning sign language just so he could say he was sorry.

  For now, she didn’t worry about her past feelings. She was too preoccupied with stroking over his irresistible tuxedo chest while his strong hands rummaged over her hips.

  She missed this. She missed the feel of his masculine heat beneath his clothes, the hard, toned muscles beneath her palms, and the passion of his fiery kiss. If Grayson Anders was anything, he was a hot, sexy bundle of male virility and a damn good kisser.

  He pulled her onto his lap and dove to her neck, planting hot kisses all the way down to her shoulder. His fingers hooked into the spaghetti strap on her dress and pulled it aside, and that’s when the limo came to a halt.

  They both froze, realizing the position they sat in: he was reclined far back against the seat and somehow she was straddling his lap, her legs bent beneath her.

  Grayson cleared his throat. “It appears we are here.”

  She tried to nonchalantly lift herself from his thighs, but his hands cupped her bottom, stopping her. He was hard, magnificently hard. If it weren’t for the heat of his body, she might have flirted with the idea of him being made of cool marble.

  “The night isn’t over, you know.”

  She tried to peer through the dark tint of the window.

  “We’re at the club,” he confessed. There’s something I want to show you.”

  Chloe gave him one of those faint smiles, revealing her eagerness to go wherever he wanted to take her. But it was difficult to remove herself from him, especially when he was already in the most tempting of positions. With his head tilted back and his body practically sprawled across the seat, this was fast becoming one of her favorite images of him. He reminded her of an ad for Hugo men’s cologne, all suave and wickedly handsome in his evening attire, his face newly shaved, his eyes tumultuous and brooding.

  She rested her forearms on his shoulders, smoothing his hair at the top of his neck with both hands, and bent to kiss him. It was meant to be a parting kiss, a gentle peck on the lips, but he changed that real quick, pulling her down hard.

  He embraced her, drawing his hands higher up her body as he deepened the kiss. His tongue slid along hers and she was helpless to stop him from exploring her in every way. Between knowing where to touch and how to kiss, he was the best—hands down. And it was hard to keep her own hands from loosening his tie and ripping his shirt off.

  She pulled away abruptly. She had to, or else she’d never stop.

  He smiled, proud as a cock and just as breathless as she was. After a few more calming pants, he glanced toward the passenger door behind them. “We should probably go in.”

  She couldn’t agree more. If she sat straddling his lap any longer, she was going to resort to mounting him in the back of a limo, and that was something she didn’t’ care to add to her what-the-hell-was-I-thinking list. She was already able to cross off ‘one-night stand’ with this guy and ‘sex in the back of a limo’ wouldn’t look any better.

  She grabbed her clutch from the seat and immediately the door opened. The driver waited like a Queen’s Guard at Buckingham Palace, but without the flashy red coat. Grayson stepped out behind her, holding the large canvas. He exchanged words with the driver and shook hands, discretely passing a tip. After that, he gestured toward his club’s front entrance, where a single bouncer stood behind velvet ropes.

  “Mr. Anders,” the overly tall, broad-shouldered man said as he opened the door for them.

  When Chloe walked in, she was surprised to see a spacious dance floor, a spinning disco ball and all its glorious effects, a few dozen tables and a long bar—all empty. There wasn’t a soul in the place and it was Friday night.

  “I gave everyone the night off. Well,” he amended, glancing back at the door. “Almost everyone.”

  He watched her touch her forehead and slide her fingertips off her brow, forming the letter ‘Y’ with her thumb and pinky.

  “Because this night is for you. For us.”

  Chloe gazed out across the floor, confused.

  “Not here,” he said, shaking his head. “Upstairs. Second floor.”

  With her curiosity climbing, she turned toward the hallway she remembered from the last time she was here, lifting her brows.

&nbs
p; “Yeah, the stairwell,” he directed with a quick nod. “Though, I’m afraid you’ll have to get the keys.” He held the canvas out in front of his body, proving his hands were again full, and glanced down toward his pants pocket.

  She sauntered up to him, playing his little game. Just like old times, she didn’t just reach in and get his keys. She fumbled around for other things, grazing him repeatedly on purpose. She couldn’t say it was all for him. There was a bit of selfishness to her actions, especially when she cupped him entirely in her hand and felt him shuddered beneath her touch.

  “Chloe,” he warned, closing his eyes. “The keys. I beg you.”

  Like he asked, she drew them out, but with them she slid the back of her hand up the entire length of him on the way out.

  “Second floor,” he reminded, his eyes dilating, his lids heavy.

  Together they walked toward the far wall, through the hallway. She unlocked the first door, and held it open for him, following him up the first flight of stairs.

  Her eyes fell naturally on his lower half, taking in the way his trousers fit him so perfectly. They weren’t as revealing as the tight leather pants he once wore, but given how terribly sexy he looked in that ensemble, with his broad shoulders and narrow hips, she knew his tux had to have been altered by a personal tailor.

  He turned around abruptly with a shit-eating grin on his face. “You looking at my ass again?”

  Chloe raised and lowered her open palms alternately, conveying a wishy-washy ‘maybe’, and climbed the rest of the stairs ahead of him. When she got to the landing she stood at the door, anxious. She had never been on the second floor before and couldn’t imagine what he wanted to show her.

  He leaned the painting against the wall, taking the keys from her hand. As he unlocked the door, he brought her into his arms and gazed into her eyes. “I hope you like it.”

  He pushed open the door with his left hand and held it for her. When she peeked around the door, she saw a bright glow coming from one of the rooms down the hall, a golden light flickering against the corridor walls.

  “Go on.”

  Eager to see what was causing such a display, she walked in, though tentative in her steps. She stood at the first door, and her mouth fell open. Inside the room was hundreds of lit candles, all different lengths and widths, scattered about. Some were fitted in glorious candelabras, some in fancy jars, and some were merely tea lights lighting the perimeter where floor-to-ceiling mirrors hung on the walls. It was obvious, from the open space of the room and the type of hardwood on the floor, it was a dance studio. But in the center of it all, was a table for two, complete with two tapers, a white tablecloth, shiny white china, and gleaming crystal glasses. Sitting on the edge of the table was a silver ice bucket with a bottle of champagne.

  She felt his presence behind her, but he didn’t speak until she turned around to face him. “What do you think?”

  She opened her fingers in front of her face in a counter-clockwise motion, ending at her lips, an unmistakable emotion in her face.

  “You really think it’s beautiful?” he asked.

  She turned to take it all in again. The reflection of the many flickering candles was a breathtaking sight, but nothing could’ve come close to seeing herself in the mirror. It had been a long time since she had stood in front of a tall, panel mirror and it all came pouring back. The excitement, the splendor, the rush of staring back at a dancer.

  Grayson stepped into the mirror and looked at her. “I know how you lost your hearing and what you had to give up because of it. But whoever told you you couldn’t dance was a fool. I’ve seen you dance. I’ve danced with you. You can do this.”

  Fear took hold of her. There was no way could she dance anymore. She’d only make a fool of herself trying. The only way she could possibly dance was if she could feel its vibrations and that meant turning the bass volume up to extraordinary levels. At the expense of blowing everyone’s eardrums, she was not going to dance, at least not in a studio in front of people. She’d continue to dance in the privacy of her own home.

  He lifted her face in his hands. “I know you want to dance.”

  She clenched her jaw, frustrated that he pushed this difficult memory on her. If she could accept it, why couldn’t he? Defensively, she started to sign all kinds of reasons why this couldn’t happen and why it was best for her to walk away. But she was gesturing too fast for him to keep up.

  “Whoa, whoa,” he said, catching her flailing hands. “You’re going to fast. I can’t understand you.”

  With tears stinging her eyes, she closed them tightly, wishing the hard lump in her throat would go away. She hated to cry about this because she had cried longer than she could remember and shed more tears than she could count. But not anymore. She refused to weep over her hearing loss. This was a hard fact of life and there was nothing that could be done about it. Her cancer was operable, thank God, but her deafness was irreversible. It was a small price to pay for being alive.

  She felt him shake her gently and she opened her eyes to find him holding an iPod and a string of earbuds. She wanted to roll her eyes at him. “I’m deaf,” she signed sarcastically.

  “This isn’t what you think,” he contended, untangling the wires. “Did you or did you not dance with me downstairs at the club?”

  Again, her frustration barked out of her, her hands going a mile a minute. He grabbed them, ignoring her excuses.

  “You can say all you want, but you were able to dance with me because you felt the vibrations. And these,” he said, holding up the tiny earphones, “will let you feel those vibrations.”

  She glared at him, her hands on her hips.

  “Don’t look at me like that. Just try. For me.”

  Chloe sighed and grabbed the ear buds, but it was only to prove him wrong. While she inserted the plugs in her ears, he sifted through song choices.

  “Ah, David Bisbol, here we go, one of your favorites.” He smiled devilishly and strapped the iPod to her upper arm. “Yeah, I know he’s your favorite. ‘Course everyone on Charles Street knows it too.”

  She shrugged her shoulders, unimpressed, and waited for something to happen. She watched as he fixed the settings on the side and immediately she felt a sensation in her ears, vibrations similar to the ones she’d feel when her music was turned up. In looking at Grayson, he didn’t seem to be irritated with it. It looked as if he couldn’t hear it at all.

  Before she could ask the next logical question, he held his finger up and ran over to the corner of the room, where his laptop and a Bose speaker were set up. He made a few clicks and hit the enter button, his hips already starting to gyrate.

  He looked at her and smiled, as if he had done some great feat, and sauntered toward her, an obvious rhythm in his steps as he tore off his tuxedo jacket and threw it on the chair. Snaking his left arm around her back, he puller her firmly to his body and grabbed her right hand.

  “I’ve programmed my stereo to receive your FM transmitter frequency. So, what you feel in those, I hear the same from the speaker.”

  She bit her lip, uncertain of herself and her capabilities. She didn’t want to disappoint him, especially after all he went through to set up this little experiment, but she also didn’t want to disappoint herself. If she couldn’t dance to the caliber she used to, it would be like going through the initial pang of failure all over again.

  “You ready?”

  She tried to shove away all the doubt from her thoughts and nodded.

  “Hang on tight, sweet thing. I’m about to sweep you off your feet again.”

  His nostalgic warning was so cliché, but she had to smile at his confidence. It was one of the reasons she had fallen for him a month ago and why she was falling for him yet again.

  He moved into her, pushing his pelvis against hers, rocking to the beat without moving his feet. Once he demonstrated the timing of the song with his hips, he nodded once and stepped back, leading her into the first steps of the dance.
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  With his arm firmly around her back, he whirled her about, never taking his eyes from hers. Their gazes were locked as they stepped about, their bodies moving in flawless rhythm. She was doing it. And doing it well.

  He smiled with her, feeling her joy. “There you go,” he crooned. “Feel it. Become it. Be it.”

  His words coerced a courage within her she had long since forgotten, and no one had been able to reach this repressed side of her, save Grayson. It was truly inspirational to think he knew so much about her without really knowing her. He was a godsend. A person sent to her to remind her of how much she loved to dance and that she could if she just tried.

  All night, they danced together, never tiring. She was the happiest she’d been in a long time. His smile remained all the while and, in his dark amber eyes, she saw pride. He looked at her like she was the only dancer for him, the only woman he ever wanted.

  After what seemed like hours, sweat covering their bodies, he dipped her over his forearm, her torso freely opened to his viewing. And she didn’t mind when he followed up the move with a hand dragging down her neck and between her breasts. Like before, she felt his thumb and pinky graze down the fabric of her slinky black dress and over the tips of her nipples.

  With his hand on the flat of her stomach, he stood her up and gazed deep into her eyes, both of them trying to catch their breath.

  “You are amazing. There is no one who can dance with me like you.”

  Chloe blushed at his flattering compliment.

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” he said, his tawny eyes full of insatiable lust. “I’ll keep learning sign language if you’ll be my partner when I open this studio next week.”

  She couldn’t believe what he asked. Nor could she contain her excitement. She offered a very convincing nod and hugged him tightly around the neck.

  He embraced her in return, the strength in his arms so comforting.

  “Wait,” he said, pulling away. “When I was learning to sign, I was told every deaf person has a name sign, specific only to them.” He prepared his hands. “This is the one I made up for myself.” He formed the letter “G” and danced it across his palm. “So, what do I call you?”