by R. S. Lively
"That's incredible, and really inspiring. I had no idea." I realize I'm deeply moved by what Grant is telling me, and the flutter in my chest isn't just the bourbon. "You mentioned earlier that each of you have your specialties. What did you mean?"
I listen as Grant explain how they each play to their strengths, and everything the Laurence brothers own as part of the business. The list of sports stadiums, animals, cars, event venues, and countless other things is dizzying. It's a world I can't even begin to fathom, and I can't help but wonder if they fill their lives with expensive toys because something else is missing.
I take another sip of my drink before sliding a little closer to Grant across the couch. My shoes have fallen off by this point, and I loosen the tie of my cape.
"Tell me about some of the things clients ask you to do," I say. "I imagine most of the people you work with are wealthy, so the things they request have to be pretty outlandish."
"Sometimes," Grant says. “But not always. Surprisingly, some of the things they want are really straightforward, and simple. With some clients, I operate more like a travel agent than concierge. They want to see something specific that touched them in a book or a movie, or they want to go to a place their family talked about when they were younger, but they don't know how to go about finding it or arranging the details. There are also the ones like great-uncle Bernard, who have way too much money and time on their hands. Some of the things they ask to do are grandiose just for the sake of it. No one has ever reached the last day of their life, and thought to themselves, 'I sure wish I had spent more time coated in gold leaf, posing as a statue in an art museum' or 'I really regret not recreating an authentic gauntlet and running through it several times to pregame for swimming with an angry herd of hippos.'"
"You can't be serious."
"You would hope. Then there are the ones who want to prove something. They think of the most dangerous or strenuous thing they possibly can, and make that their request. Of course, they always act like it's easy and straightforward, or even imply they've already done it, so there's no need for concern. I think a lot of the time, these people just want someone to tell them they can't do it, so they don't have to. They hope they'll come to me with this idea, and I'll say it's impossible, or that I'm not willing to put myself through the effort of helping them, or of doing the task myself. That way, they are always able to say there was this huge thing they wanted to do, but they were never able to attempt it because they couldn't get the details right. They want to be able to look at me, or at Dean, Preston, Archer, or Seth – whoever they end up with – and convince themselves that they are stronger and braver than we are. It makes them feel good. Then we end up agreeing to help them, and it gets pretty sticky after that."
"Speaking of sticky," I say. "Do you ever get strange requests? Like, things that really creep you out or make you think the person asking for them is off? Do you ask them why they want to do something?"
"Of course, I ask them why they want to do it. I can't really plan the best experience for them if I can't understand what it means so much to them, and what they want to get out of it. But I try to never question my clients."
"Why?"
"It's not up to me to decide what's meaningful to someone, or what's going to matter to them in their life. So, I try not to question or resist what they want, unless it's obviously illegal, violent, or inexcusably disgusting. In which case, I refer them to Seth."
I can’t help but chuckle. Nerd.
"The way I see it," he continues, "I don’t know what these people have gone through, or what has led them to this point. I might not understand why someone wants to do something, or why it would have an impact on their life, but that doesn’t matter. As long as there are no negative repercussions to their list, it's my job to make it happen for them. "
We talk for what feels like hours. Grant tells me stories about his clients while I fill him in on what’s happened in the years we've been apart. I realize I've continued to slowly slide across the couch toward him, and suddenly, we're only a few inches apart. Grant turns his body like to face me, and we both have one arm rested on the back of the couch, opening our bodies toward one another. As he talks, I realize I can feel his breath on me, and I breathe in the smell of him. It's different than the last time I was this close to him. His cologne is warm and spicy, and ignites a need in me, just like it did all those years ago. But this time, it's the smell of his body, his skin, and his hair that grows that smolder into an all-consuming desire. The boy I wanted has grown into a man, and my body responds to him as a woman.
Following the draw in my chest I've been trying to deny since he found me by the side of the road, I lean toward him. Grant responds without hesitation and meets me in the middle. I melt into his kiss, and let him take over. My eyes close, and I feel his hand rest on my knee and slide up my thigh toward my hip. His grip tightens, and he pulls me closer to him. His mouth opens further, drawing me deeper, and his tongue flicks across mine. I feel a surge of emotion, and recoil, pulling away. Grant straightens up and I look away, turning my focus away from him to try to regain control over my thoughts and body.
What in the hell is wrong with me?
"What?" he asks. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I say. "I can't do this."
"Why not?"
I peek over at him again. He took off his visor when we first got back to the house, and opened the top button on his shirt, but he's still wearing the very navy blue pants and the cow belt buckle. How is he still so sexy?
My eyes burn with unexpected tears, and I blink them away before they fall.
"I should have said no when I was eighteen," I say.
"What do you mean?" he asks.
"When you came up to the ice cream shop, and asked to see me after my shift, I should have said no. And I definitely shouldn’t have kept it going. On the second day you showed up, I should have told you I was busy. I wish I had stopped us from getting as far as we did."
"Why?" Grant asks. “I thought we had an amazing two weeks together.”
"We did, but I made a promise to myself," I explain. "I made a commitment to not any distractions during the last summer before college. I was going to work as much as I could and try to study and pull ahead in my classes. That's all I was supposed to do. I had cut myself off from everything and everyone that would keep me from my goals. That meant no partying, no guys, nothing. But I couldn't resist you. Every day I would think about you from the second I woke up, wondering if you were going to show up that day, and what we were going to do together if you did. Every time you came to the shop, I was so happy, and every day we spent together broke down my resolve a little more. Eventually, I couldn’t stop myself anymore. I broke that promise to myself, and my heart was shattered because of it."
"I know," Grant says, "and I wish I could change that. I wish it didn't have to be that way."
"That's the thing, Grant. It didn't have to be. It really didn't have to be that way. I should have just walked away before I got in over my head. I had wanted you for so long. When I finally felt like you noticed me too, I couldn't help myself. Everything I had always hoped for was going to happen. You were looking at me and talking to me. Me. Not someone who just happened to be in the same space as you. Not just your little brother’s friend. You really noticed me."
"I had always noticed you, Emma," Grant says. "I told you that. But you were so young."
"I was still young, Grant. Even that first day, I told myself it was nice to spend that time with you and catch up, but it could never be anything more than that. I needed to move on. Then you came back, and we went to the water park. Do you remember that?”
“Of course, I do. We had so much fun, and I convinced you to go down all the slides again.”
“I was falling so hard for you, Grant. As soon as you kissed me, as soon as I felt your hands on my body, I just knew we were supposed to be together. That my crush had been right all along. This whole new world had ope
ned in my mind, and then, in the next second, it was over. You were gone, and I was left alone and confused."
Grant sighs. "I'm sorry, Emma. I shouldn't have ended things that way."
"That's just it. It's not your fault I felt that way. It's not your problem that I got so wrapped up in you. I should have been smart enough to realize that you had a bright, prestigious future ahead of you, and that you weren’t going to change for some teenager from the wrong side of the tracks you had fun with for a couple weeks at the end of summer. It was silly for me to ever think that way."
"I never looked at you that way, Emma. Never. I'm sorry if I made you feel like that, but that wasn't what I intended."
"You walked away from me like you didn't give a shit about me," I say. "There wasn't a second of hesitation, or even the pretense of wanting to keep up with me."
"Would you have preferred that?" he asks.
"I would have liked to not stand there on the porch and watch you leave like you couldn't wait to get away from Magnolia Falls, and me. I would have liked to feel like it mattered to you, that I mattered to you."
"You did matter to me," he insists. "I told you I shouldn't have done it like that. I should have found another way, but I thought I was doing what was right. You were never mine to look at or to want. But I couldn't resist you. I didn't want to walk away from you that day, and if I had known that was the last time I'd see you for ten years, I wouldn't have. I didn't want to stand in the way of the life you wanted – that you had worked your ass off for. I knew how much you had been through, and how proud you were of your accomplishments. And you should have been. I couldn't stand in your way, and I refused to hold you back."
"Walking away like you didn't care was one of the worst moments of my life," I admit. "I felt like you had just proven everything people said to try to hold me down."
"That definitely wasn’t what I wanted. I meant it when I said I hoped we’d meet up with each other again," he says.
"But you never did anything to try to make that happen. You never reached out or tried to get in touch with me. You just went about your life like I had never even been a part of it."
"I told you, I didn't want to interfere because you were going off to college and just starting your life. You didn't reach out to me, either."
I scoff.
"Are you serious? After I stood there on the porch thinking that you had come to whisk me away, but it was actually, 'I'm leaving, have a good life'? After that, you think I would reach out to you? You rejected me. I wasn't going to chase after you or become one of those pathetic people who can't let go. When you broke ties with me, and…" I hesitate, then stand up. My fists tighten loosely beside me as I try to steel myself, "it needs to stay that way."
"Why are you saying that?" Grant asks, standing to face me. "Maybe, we started up way before we should have, and I probably should have recognized that. But now, we’ve found our way back to each other."
"No, we didn't. You aren't really here. You have a life somewhere else, and like you said, your top priority is business and finding success. I found my way back here, but it was because I had to start over. I crashed and burned out there in the world, and now I'm back here, trying to piece myself back together. I came for a fresh start, not to be put back where I was again. I made a promise to myself back then, and I made a new one when I came back. This time, I'm not breaking it."
I start to walk toward the door, but Grant calls after me.
"Emma, wait."
I whip back around to face him.
"You know what's worse, Grant? If you had just been honest with me, this never would have happened."
I turn away again, and in an instant, I feel Grant standing behind me. I gasp as I feel his body step up behind mine. He tucks his hips against me so I can't mistake the hard bulge of his erection. His mouth comes to my ear, and his tongue pauses briefly over my earlobe before he speaks in a low, gravely whisper.
"If you want to know what I'm thinking and feeling, then I’ll be very clear with you. I want you, Emma. I haven't stopped wanting you. I want to bend you over that couch, push up your little skirt, and fuck you until you come. But I'm not going to. Not yet. I won't do anything until you say so. When you do, you’re going to scream my name so loud, no one on the island will have any doubt where I am and who I’m with."
He presses a kiss to the side of my neck and backs away. I don't trust myself to turn back around and look at him. Instead, I rush through his house, out the door, and don't stop until I am back home and under a stream of hot water in the shower.
Turning the shower to the highest temperature I can stand, I turn around and let the water pound down over me. Grant’s words have delved into the deepest parts of me, and ignited the emotions simmering there. I fill my hands with shampoo and wash my hair, but my somewhat inebriated mind takes the feeling of my fingers in the strands and transforms them into Grant's fingers. I imagine him burying his fingers through my hair and pulling me close to kiss me.
My mind rushes with images of Grant exploring my body and sweeping his tongue along the water that pools on my chest and glides over my skin. I part my thighs, letting some of the water glide down, teasing me. My body is already responding to the sensation and the vivid fantasy playing in my thoughts. I feel myself getting hot and wet, and the need grows more intense. Grant awakened this part of me more than ten years ago, and I can't deny the craving I feel for him now. It tightens low in my belly, and I run my hand over it, slipping it further down until my fingers dip down over my clit.
I want to bend you over that couch, push up your little skirt, and fuck you until you come.
Repeating the words in my mind makes my pussy ache with desire. I want Grant to do exactly that. Reaching for the showerhead, I turn the water to the strongest pulse. I keep my eyes closed and focus on my mental image of Grant's magnificent body. I sweep the pulsating water over my chest for a few seconds, then bring it down to my belly. My muscles shiver with anticipation, and I part my legs further. The water trails in rivulets down between my thighs and I let out a breath. Running my finger through my folds again, I open myself to the water. The pulses almost instantly bring me to my knees, and I cry out, biting down hard on my bottom lip to bring myself back under control. Moving the showerhead in slight circles, I envision Grant's thick, hard cock filling me as the water massages me. I scream out as the image of Grant fucking me over his desk, my body completely open to him, carries me over the brink, and I slowly lower myself to the shower floor.
The next morning…
Grant's words keep me awake almost all night, and I have just drifted off to sleep when my phone vibrates on the bedside table. I grab it and roll over onto my back to look at the screen. Its glow seems explosive against my tired eyes, but I perk up when I notice the text message from Grant.
'I'm at your door.'
I climb out of bed and tuck my feet into the thick, fuzzy slippers I always have waiting for me. Slipping into my white plush bathrobe, I try to shake my hair into some semblance of normalcy as I walk down the stairs and through the living room to the front door. It's not until I'm standing at it that I realize I'm in slippers and a robe that make me look like an aging polar bear. No makeup, and hair I didn't bother to braid like I usually do before bed, complete the atrocity. He already knows I'm standing here, though. It's not like I can take the time to go upstairs and get prepared.
Look at the bright side. Maybe his reaction to this look will reinforce my decision to stay away from him.
Tightening my robe, I open the door just enough to look out, keeping my body hidden behind the door.
"Hi," I say awkwardly.
I notice Grant is already completely dressed and looks rested. Energized, even.
Bastard.
"Hi," he says. He holds up my cape from last night. "You left this at my house."
I take it from him.
"Thanks.”
"I'm heading back to the office," he says. "I probably
won't be back until right before Thanksgiving. Then I'm spending most of the holiday season here. The next couple of weeks are going to be pretty packed, and I'll be traveling a lot, so it might not be easy to get in touch with me."
"Alright," I say. "I'll keep going through the checklist we made. To be honest, though, I'm not sure how much progress I'm going to be able to make. You’re still taking care of the bigger elements yourself, and the smaller details will have to wait until much closer to the event date."
"I know," he says. "Just do whatever you think needs to be done. I have some things in the works, and when I get back, we'll talk about them. Have a good few weeks."
"You, too," I say.
He starts to turn away, but I force myself to take a step forward and call out to him to stop him.
"Grant, wait." He turns to look at me. My stomach is fluttering, and heat creeps up the back of my neck, but I have to say this to him. I don’t want any more regrets between us. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry about last night. I wanted to tell you about Wyatt because you'd asked, but I didn't mean for it to spiral out of control like that. I wasn’t thinking straight. I think I might have had just a bit too much bourbon.”
He gazes at me for a beat, considering what I've said, then steps forward and touches a kiss to my forehead. He moves his mouth over so when he whispers, his lips brush against my ear.
"I didn't. And I meant every word."
