by Amelia Wilde
There’s a knock somewhere between the salad I ate for lunch and whatever he’s planning for dinner, and he pokes his head through the door. “How’s it going, angel?”
I can’t help but grin at him. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“I took the afternoon off.”
I stiffen in spite of myself. It’s not that I don’t want Weston here. I do want Weston here. Today, in the heat, he’s changed out of his tailored summer-weight suit and into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that still manage to come off as high-end. The way the shirt hugs his abs has me salivating, wrenching my mind away from Criminal Law and into the verging-on-criminal things I’d like to do with him. Right now. Maybe pressed up against the window of the penthouse. The sight of him turns me on, juices already starting to pool between my legs. But I can’t. I really, really can’t.
Because when this is over....
I clear my head of the thought and give Weston a smile. “Were things slow at the office?”
He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “Things are never slow at Grant Pharmaceuticals, but I decided to take a little more time and think over the deal I was finalizing today.” I smile again, watching the sunlight play across his eyes, but before I can speak— “Don’t look so torn, angel. I’m working on a project this afternoon. I won’t bother you.”
It’s crazy, how even as relief spreads across my chest my heart sinks. “Good, because I can’t afford to take a study break.”
Weston frowns. “Not a single study break?”
There’s no way this can continue long-term, even if Weston wanted to. And that would be highly out of the ordinary for a man like him, if Serenity Kowall is any indication.
Then there’s me, with my core melting into passionate heat and every inch of me aching for his touch. It doesn’t matter at all that a minute ago I felt a flash of irritation that he was interrupting my precious study time when I have an exam on Monday morning.
I give him as stern a look as possible. “Five minutes.”
He’s inside the door in an instant, shutting it behind him, his hands flying for the hem of his shirt. “I can make five minutes worth it.”
An hour later, I’m still breathless and trying my best to pick up where I left off with Criminal Law.
We didn’t make it under the five-minute mark—and that’s saying the least of it. Somewhere around twenty minutes in, Weston had me bent over and spread wide on the ottoman in front of the fireplace, his hand firm and unyielding on my lower back, his fingers toying relentlessly at my clit while I struggled to stay in position. “That’s it, angel,” he growled in the still silence of the den, the only background noise the nearly inaudible hum of the air conditioning. “Come for me. Like this…like this....”
It hadn’t been the first orgasm of the five-minute break, or the last.
I scan my outline again, starting at the beginning.
I wouldn’t do that with anyone else on earth.
The thought breaks into my careful review of my notes, and it’s followed by a stab in my chest—pure heartache. I wouldn’t do that kind of thing with any other man. I’ve never wanted it with anyone else. I’ve heard about that kind of relationship before, but with Weston it’s nothing like the movies.
He takes control. I give it away.
And it feels so good.
What am I ever going to do without it? Without him?
I raise my chin and straighten my back even though there’s nobody around to see me. I’ll get back to my life—that’s what I’ll do. I’ll get back to my life and my routines, and I’ll set up a payment plan with Weston, something automatic, through the bank, so I don’t have my heart ripped out of my chest seeing him when I deliver checks month after month.
It’s the only way I’m going to survive it.
I could stay with him....
I laugh out loud at the thought. Weston Grant is not a long-term prospect for people from upstate New York with six weeks’ worth of a law degree and a father who’s sliding rapidly into the kind of descent that’s going to take up more and more of my time. I don’t have anything to offer him except years of tiny payments and two weeks’ worth of a fairytale bargain.
If he really wanted more than that, anyway, he would have found it by now. And not with me. With somebody who can play on his level.
I take in a deep breath and exhale all of it out of my mind.
Four days from now, the two weeks will be over, and all of this will be in the past.
It feels like a rock in my gut to think about it. So I think of Criminal Law instead, my mind laser-focused on the outline.
I’ve slapped my notebook shut when the door to the den flies open, scaring the living shit out of me. Weston stands silhouetted in the doorway, a suitcase in one hand and a sweatshirt—again, where the hell does he find sweatshirts that look so luxurious yet so normal at the same time?—and I can’t quite make out the expression on his face.
Not until he steps all the way into the den and the recessed lighting above him illuminates him like a statue of a Greek god. He’s absolutely beaming. “Good, you’re done studying.”
“I’m never done studying, but for now—”
“Come on.” He tosses the sweatshirt over his other arm and holds his hands out to me. “We’re leaving.”
My heart beats faster. Last time he swept me out of a place like this....
I take his hand, scooping up my laptop and notebook and bag in an unruly pile in my arms. “Where are we going?”
Weston’s eyes dance in the darkness. “Did you think I was going to spend my last weekend with you anywhere short of paradise?”
36
Weston
The first item on my agenda: ignore the flash of anxiety on Juliet’s face when I mention the word “paradise.” She hides it so quickly that I don’t comment on it.
I know she has exams on Monday. We’ve been walking a careful balance between total abandon and responsibility for the last ten days. More than once I’ve wanted to take my Town Car to Anderson and pull her out of class, find an empty room, and have her on her knees…and that’s to start with. But even though she’s mine every evening and every night, I know there’s a hard line there, and that crossing it would be a mistake for the ages.
Gideon is right.
If I have any chance at extending this beyond two weeks—and Jesus, could I have been any more stupidly desperate?—I need to take drastic measures.
I didn’t go back to the office after lunch. I called Sarah and had her postpone all my afternoon meetings. “Emergencies only,” I told her.
A note of concern had crept into her voice. “Did something happen, Mr. Grant?”
“I’ll be away for the weekend, and it’s essential that I not be disturbed for anything short of the building burning down.”
“Noted.”
Juliet might have let a second of hesitation slip across her face, but she scanned the streets with wide eyes as Dave drove us to LaGuardia. She took it in. “We’re flying somewhere?”
“There’s no such thing as paradise in New York City.”
“Your bedroom comes close.”
I gathered her in then, kissing her long enough for it to verge on combustion. “I’ve got something better to show you.”
“Something better” started with the private jet. The stewardess brought out champagne right away, along with dinner menus as lavish as anything I could buy her in the city. My private chef is standing by in the plane’s kitchen.
I’m pulling out all the stops. I can’t afford to do anything less.
It’s not until we’re at cruising altitude that Juliet finally cracks. We’re looking out at the sunset reflecting on miles of unbroken clouds, her head resting against my shoulder. “Weston?” There’s something tentative about her voice that I don’t quite recognize.
“What is it, angel?”
She takes in a deep breath. “All of this is incredible. I don’t think
I’ve ever seen a plane this nice in my life.”
I let out a little laugh. “The plane is nothing compared to the destination.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second. It’s….” Her voice trails off, and her hand tightens on my bicep.
“You can tell me what’s on your mind. No matter what you say, I’m stuck with you at least until we land.” I keep my tone light, teasing, but she tenses against me.
“There are things I can’t miss back in the city on Monday.” A cold flash of fear spreads its fingers through my gut and dissipates.
I run my fingers through her hair and tilt her face up toward mine. The kiss starts out gently, but after a moment, a little moan escapes her mouth and she parts her lips for me, relaxing into my arms. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the stewardess coming back into the cabin, then disappearing discreetly back out into the front.
“I know you don’t have much time,” I murmur into Juliet’s ear, my fingers tracing a pathway down the front of her tank top and circling one nipple, then the other. “I promise, we’ll be back before you miss a thing.”
Unless you ask me otherwise....
Then, because the way she nods is so pretty, so trusting, I sweep her into my arms and carry her into the bedroom at the back of the plane, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, her laughter low and hot.
I explore Juliet like it’s the first time I’ve ever conquered her, paying attention to every creamy inch of her skin while she moans, spread wide for me on top of the comforter, her hands pressed against the headboard above her head. She’s wet and sweet, and I lick her folds in long strokes. She shudders with one orgasm, then another, her hips rising up from the comforter and falling back.
The instant I pull away, she turns over onto her hands and knees and lowers her head to the surface of the bed, pressing her ass back toward me.
“Fuck.” The word is half awe, half lust. When she bends for me this way—submitting so naturally, it’s like she’s been doing it all her adult life—it makes my cock pulse with the painful need to show her that she’s mine…over and over, again and again and again. I run my hands over her back, then tighten my grip on her hips. She spreads her legs another inch. “You must know what you do to me, angel.”
“You—” She’s nearly breathless, her ass high in the air, pussy glistening, on display and loving every moment of it. “You made me this way.”
“Did I?”
“You’re the only one who—” She moans again as I trace two fingers over her hot slit, gathering her juices and then licking them clean.
“Stay where you are.” The command is enough to make her tense her muscles, bracing herself into the most delicious position on earth. “What were you saying, angel?”
Juliet breathes in and lets it out before she can continue. “You’re the only man I’ve ever—I’ve ever—” I’ve taken my soaked fingers to the cleft between her ass cheeks, and I move them down slowly, a feather-light touch.
“Spread wider.”
Her legs move apart another couple of inches, and with my other hand, I open her cheeks. Now all of her is within my view. Juliet trembles under my touch, and another gush of wetness collects between her legs.
“You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted to be this way for,” she blurts out, and then my fingertips make contact with her asshole and she gasps out loud, her hips jerking forward a couple of inches.
“Relax.” I guide her back into position. “Good, angel. Good.”
I circle her tight hole one time, then again, and then I press one fingertip into her opening, up to the first knuckle. “Oh….” It’s a low groan, but Juliet doesn’t move away. She holds herself in place, like I told her. I sink the finger in farther. “Oh, this is…I’ve never….”
“Submitted like this?”
“No.” It’s almost a sigh.
I impale her another inch with my finger, stroking between her legs with my other hand. “Not for anyone but me?”
“Never for anyone but you.”
A flush of heat moves over my entire body. The finger is buried in Juliet now, and I slowly start to withdraw it. Then I press two fingers against her opening and wait, giving her a moment to adjust, to decide.
“Oh, please, Weston, please.”
“Please?”
“Please make me yours…I want you to have all of me.” She turns her head to the side, her cheek against the comforter. The last phrase is so soft that at first I think I’ve imagined it. “I love you.”
37
Juliet
It makes no sense at all, to say it to Weston then, when he’s doing by far the dirtiest thing that anyone has ever done to me. We’re headed for paradise, but I’m already in it with him—I’m already there, and the last pieces of resistance are falling away. I let him into my most private place and I can’t keep the terrible truth from him any longer. I’ve fallen for him, and it has nothing to do with his money. It has nothing to do with Overbrook. It has nothing to do with anything, except the way he makes me feel when I’m at my most vulnerable, spread out in front of him without an ounce of shame.
He presses two fingers into me. They feel big—it doesn’t hurt, but it feels like an accomplishment to take it, to relax through it, to let it happen.
His voice, unlike mine, isn’t a whisper. He speaks the words clearly, like he doesn’t care who hears. “I love you, angel. I love you enough to take every inch of you for myself.” His voice drops a little and the fingers push in, spreading me wider. “Forgive me for being so selfish.”
I press my nipples, hard and sensitive, against the luxurious fabric of the comforter. “Don’t ever stop,” I beg him. “Don’t ever stop.”
The moon glows bright above Maui when we land on the runway, the pearly white expanding out into the midnight sky and reflecting in the ocean. It looks like holding Weston’s hand feels—bright and new, but familiar all the same.
And fleeting.
I shove that thought down deep and squeeze his hand tighter as we walk down the steps of the plane to the runway. Weston moves ahead of me to open the door of the Town Car that’s waiting.
Last night I slept on a private plane with Weston Grant curled around me, on our way to paradise.
“Welcome to Maui.” The driver’s voice isn’t Dave’s, but his eyes in the rearview mirror are kind.
“We’re glad to be here,” says Weston, and then he leans back against the seat and wraps his arm around me. “Surprise,” he whispers into my ear, and I can’t help grinning. It’s not much of a surprise after the pilot’s announcement before landing, but I have a feeling Weston isn’t talking about the island.
“Are we staying on the beach?”
“No. The Four Seasons.”
I laugh. “That’s not part of the surprise, then?”
Weston kisses my temple and settles back to watch the day brighten, not saying another word.
“Staying at the Four Seasons,” is Weston’s code for “staying in the penthouse suite of the Four Seasons,” which is by far the most breathtaking hotel room I could ever imagine. I’ve perfected the art of playing it cool—there are plenty of men at the Rose who like to flaunt their wealth—but this place is incredible.
We tumbled into bed until sunrise, and now that I’m seeing the views…
I can’t bear to let go of Weston’s hand, so he goes with me while I look out the windows of the massive suite, soaking in every view they offer.
“You can see three other islands from here. Three.”
“I see them.” He laughs with a half-smile on his face that makes the tropical sunlight seem dim by comparison.
I should be exhausted—it’s not as if we slept a full night. Not by far. But I’m awake, energy thrumming through my veins, and Maui is so stunning—Maui as viewed from the most luxurious suite on the island, if not in the world—that I can’t decide which direction to send my body in.
“What are we going to do?”
W
eston wraps both arms around me and leans his chin on my shoulder. “About what?”
“About the island!” I cry.
“Some refreshments,” a voice says from behind us, and then three staff members are coming out onto the lanai with trays so densely covered in breakfast dishes that it’s almost impossible to tell that they’re silver underneath the goodies.
“First, we eat,” Weston murmurs into my ear, then takes me by the hand and leads me to one of the tables, pulling a chair out for me like I’m some kind of princess.
Five minutes later, over plates heaping with every kind of morning delicacy I could have hoped for—stacks of bacon, a tower of English muffins, fruit so fresh it’s still glistening—I look at him across the table, his eyes made a sea-green by the blue of the ocean. “What else do you have up your sleeve, Weston Grant?”
“What, other than the best suite at the best resort on the entire island?” He spears half a strawberry with his fork and pops it into his mouth. “Not a thing.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m deadly serious.”
“You don’t have a plan for the rest of the morning? Or later in the day?”
He leans in like he’s about to tell me something confidential. “That’s the beauty of paradise,” he says in a low voice. “It can be whatever you make it.”
“In other words…”
“In other words, angel, we’re going to do whatever it is you want to do.”
My heart beats faster. “You cannot expect me to plan our entire day. I’ve never even been to Maui before.”
“Plan? No. You only need to wish for something, and I’ll make it happen. That’s how this is supposed to work, remember?”
I take a bite of bacon. It’s the way I like it—crispy, salty, and delicious. “I don’t know if we ever discussed those kinds of details.”