by Kendall Ryan
“From what we can tell, your grandmother is going to be just fine,” she says gently, reassuring me. “The doctor will want to examine her just to make sure there’s no head injury or broken bones. It’s nothing we’d keep her overnight for. Maybe your boyfriend can drive you to the hospital so you’ll all have a ride home tonight.”
I freeze, my mouth falling open as I stutter, grasping for words to correct her on her assumption. To my surprise, Josh is unfazed. He reaches out and shakes the paramedic’s hand, returning her forced smile with a genuine one.
“Sounds perfect. Thank you for all your help. We’ll follow your ambulance.”
The last of the medics pile into the second ambulance and they peel off down the road, with Josh and me right behind them in his car. He holds my hand as he drives, steering with the heel of his left hand. He keeps his attention glued to the road, and I try to do the same, but every part of me desperately wants to lean over the console and kiss him, to pour all my gratitude from my mouth to his.
“I owe you one,” I finally whisper as Josh turns the car into the hospital parking lot. It’s not how I want to express my thanks, but it’ll do for now.
“You don’t owe me anything, Peyton.”
I shake my head, a shaky sigh escaping my lips. “I don’t know what we would’ve done if your insurance didn’t cover the ambulance.”
One corner of Josh’s mouth twitches into the cutest half smile as he shifts the car into park. “Insurance doesn’t cover it, actually. I knew if I told you otherwise, you wouldn’t have agreed,” he says, combing his fingers through his wet hair. “But I’ve got it. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got you.”
As he turns his head, pointing those sharp blue eyes and that adorable smile my way, a flutter builds in my chest, his words echoing in my head.
He’s got me.
Chapter Fifteen
Peyton
“All right, Gram, I think that’s about the last of it.”
This has to be the fourth or fifth basket of Gram’s makeup and hair products that I’ve lugged downstairs from her bathroom. I always knew my grandmother was much hipper than me, but who knew she’d have multiple contouring kits?
After setting the basket down next to the others, I scan the living room, now full of all of Gram’s belongings, searching for anything we might have missed.
One end table was easily converted into a bedside table, and the linen closet in the hall is now filled with all her clothes. Josh, being the angel he is, has been here helping out since first thing this morning. And thank the Lord for him, because it would have been a complete disaster if I tried to get Gram’s bed down the stairs by myself. Even with the extra help, we still had to face the obstacle of Gram trying to block the staircase with her walker, insisting that she could just sleep on the couch. Like her back isn’t messed up enough.
“Looks like we’re all set,” I say, surveying our surroundings. “You should be entirely able to function on the first floor only.”
“Thank you so much, you two. Although I still think I could’ve made it up and down the stairs once a day to go to bed.” Gram looks at Josh, her eyes filled with hope that he’ll side with her, but he just chuckles and shakes his head, lifting his hands in surrender.
“I’m staying out of that argument. I just want you to recover as fast as you can. So if there’s anything else you need, just say the word.”
Gram’s mouth stretches open in a gaping yawn. “What I need right now is a nap, I think.” She scoots across the carpet with her walker and lowers herself onto her bed, testing the springs with a few careful bounces. “And wouldn’t you know it, I’m already in my new bedroom.”
“We’ll give you your privacy,” I say, tilting my head toward the staircase. “I’ve got laundry to fold anyway. And, Josh, I’m sure you have a million and one more important things to be doing on a Saturday.”
Josh scrunches his brow. “I don’t have anything to rush off for. I’m more than happy to lend a hand with laundry, if you want.”
Without even looking Gram’s way, I can feel her look piercing through me, urging me to take him up on the offer. When I don’t say anything right away, she lets out the biggest, most dramatic fake yawn I’ve ever heard.
“Yeah, I’m pooped. Peyton, you must be real tired too. A little help with laundry would probably go a long way.”
I can barely hold back my eye roll. Apparently, even a minor back injury can’t dethrone the queen of subtlety.
Don’t get me wrong, I would love for Josh to stick around. Actually, I think I might want him to stay a little too much. When he showed up at the door this morning with a box of doughnuts and a positive attitude about the manual labor I had in store for him, I could have ripped the man’s clothes off then and there. And I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t get a level of enjoyment out of seeing him move furniture. The way his muscles rippled when he moved that bed sent a shock wave through my veins. And I’m fairly certain Gram noticed.
“It’s up to you.” I shrug, doing my best to play it cool as I switch off the lights in what is now Gram’s bedroom.
With Josh close behind, I pad down the hall, my socks sliding on the hardwood all the way to the base of the stairs where my laundry basket of clean socks awaits. I scoop it up and rest it against my hip.
“Here, let me.” Josh reaches to take the basket from me, but I swivel away, moving it out of his grasp.
“Let me carry this one thing. You’ve been hauling furniture around all day like a regular Hercules. I think I can handle one little laundry basket.”
Josh’s mouth twitches into a smirk, and my skin responds accordingly by flooding with goose bumps. “Fine, you’re right,” he says in surrender.
“Damn right I am.” I smile. Those are some terms I can agree on.
Josh follows me up the stairs and down the hall to my bedroom door, where I suddenly jolt to a stop.
I was planning on folding laundry in my room, but is it crossing a line to bring Josh in here? There’s something that seems entirely unprofessional about bringing your business partner into the bedroom. Then again, beds haven’t really been our thing so far. We’re more of a hotel-closet type of couple.
No. Bad Peyton. We are not thinking about the hotel closet right now. And more importantly, we are not, under any circumstances, a couple.
“Are you leading the way or am I?” Josh asks with a tap on my shoulder. I guess I paused here a moment or two too long.
“Uh, yeah,” I stammer, searching the back corners of my brain for an excuse. “I’m fine. I couldn’t remember if I turned the lights off for Gram. But I just remembered that I did.”
Rolling my shoulders, I take the quietest deep breath I can and push open my bedroom door. I need to chill the hell out and stop making this out to be a bigger deal than it is. He’s just here to help me out during a tough time. And the last time I checked, folding laundry isn’t exactly code for anything sexy. Unless sorting socks turns him on.
Josh sits on the bed next to me as I tip the laundry basket, causing an avalanche of socks to tumble onto my comforter.
“I think it’s easier to sort them this way,” I say, snagging two navy blue socks that I know are mine. “Thanks again for helping out so much today. It really means the world.”
“My pleasure.” Josh’s gaze flits across the pile as he grabs a banana-yellow sock with a monkey-face pattern, then quickly finds its match. “These are fun.”
“Gram’s,” I tell him, folding the navy socks together and tossing them back into the empty basket. “What can I say? She’s a lot more fun than I am.”
Interest sparks in Josh’s eyes as he spots something in the pile. “I don’t know about that.” He smirks. “Because these look like a whole lot of fun to me.”
From what I was sure was merely an innocent sock pile, Josh pulls a red satin thong, letting it hang off his fingers like a piece of evidence. I lunge to snatch it from his hands, but he yanks it back too quickly
.
“Ah, so this is yours, I assume?”
The flush on my face is fire hot. Suddenly, the term “apples of my cheeks” makes perfect sense to me. I must be the color of a red delicious. Or more accurately, the color of the thong dangling from Josh’s fingertips.
“Um, yeah. It’s mine.”
He runs a thumb along the silky fabric, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I knew it felt familiar.”
My gut does a quadruple somersault as I process what he just said. Holy shit. Those are the underwear I wore to the hotel event. The pair he peeled aside before plunging his fingers into me and bringing me to the best orgasm of my life.
I bashfully tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, avoiding his gaze as my heart rate shoots through the roof. How am I supposed to respond to that?
When I muster the courage to look up, I find Josh with a crease of frustration on his forehead as he tries to fold the tiny scrap of red fabric. I snicker. He may be good with his hands, but I guess that doesn’t include folding women’s underthings.
“What?” Josh shoots me a defensive look, and I giggle again.
“Let’s just say you did a little better with those panties the last time you had your hands on them.”
My heart leaps into my throat. Um. What? Did those words really just come out of my mouth?
Josh seems as surprised as I am. His mouth falls open ever so slightly, and his eyes dance as they lock with mine. “Oh yeah?” He balls the silky red thong in his fist. “Well, I’d love a chance to do that again.”
Sabrina and Libby’s voices are practically screaming in my ears, telling me to go for it. This is it. This is my chance. Josh is sitting on my bed, less than a foot away from me, my panties in his fucking hands. And as loud as my best friends’ voices are in my head, my own is even louder.
I know what I want. I want Josh.
I reach out and cup his stubbled jaw in my hand, enjoying the roughness on the pads of my fingers as I lean in. He meets me halfway, pressing his mouth against mine, taking my lower lip between his.
God, he tastes heavenly. Even better than I remembered.
Sliding his arms around my waist, he pulls me toward him till I’m settled in his lap, my legs wrapped around his waist.
Even through his jeans, I can feel his bulge stiffen beneath me as his hands make their way to the curve of my ass. A hungry moan builds in my throat, but I choke it back. It’s dangerous enough to be making out with Gram sleeping downstairs. The last thing I want is to give her an unexpected wake-up call.
Just as I feel him getting fully hard, Josh lifts me off of him by my hips until I’m reclined against my pillows. I giggle as he pushes the mountain of socks off the bed and onto the floor.
“I’ll deal with that later,” he murmurs against my ear, causing every hair on my body to stand on end. “I’ve got something else to take care of right now.”
With strong, nimble fingers, he tugs my leggings down to my ankles in one swift pull, taking my panties with them. His chest rumbles with a hum of approval, a hungry fire flickering in his eyes as he takes me in, wetting his lower lip.
“Goddamn.” He groans, shaking his head. “Just as good as I imagined you’d look.”
A flush of pink creeps down my cheeks and chest as he tosses my leggings and panties aside and kisses his way down my hips. It feels too good to be true, and definitely too good to be quiet.
A needy moan escapes my lips. “Fuck, Josh.”
He looks up at me with hooded blue eyes, pressing one finger against his lips. “Let’s not wake anyone up,” he teases, then leans over to nip at the inside of my thigh.
My whole body shudders as his nipping turns to gentle kisses planted everywhere but where I want them. He slides his tongue along my thigh, so close to my center, and I let out a needy whimper, lifting my hips closer to his mouth.
“You’re so perfect,” he whispers against me.
Then, oh so slowly, he parts me with his tongue, getting his first taste. I can’t help but gasp.
“Mmm.” He smiles. “You taste amazing, angel.”
His eyes flicker, their usual sapphire hue deepening to a stormy, sultry blue. And with that, he’s gone, a man laser focused on his mission. His tongue runs expertly along me, lapping up every bit of wetness he can get his mouth on as my back arches into him.
I shudder and buck as he explores me, finding my most sensitive places and lingering there, holding me right at the edge. When he sucks on my clit, I’m done for. My thighs quake as I bite hard on my lower lip, trying to hold in my moans as he flicks his tongue one last time. Then everything within me releases, his name falling off my lips in a constricted sigh as I come undone.
Holy shit. This man may be good with his hands, but with his mouth, he’s next-level extraordinary.
Planting one last gentle kiss on my hip, Josh rejoins me on the top half of the bed, pulling me into the crook of his arm where I can cuddle and catch my breath. The silence between us is warm and comforting, a moment of peace between what just happened between us and the inevitable: talking about it.
“So . . .” Josh finally breaks the silence, and the word lingers between us as he toys with a lock of my hair.
“So.” I grin up at him, my lips quirked. “That was . . . unexpected.”
He shrugs. “What can I say? You’re a little bit addictive, Miss Richards. I had to get a taste.”
Maybe it’s the post-orgasm adrenaline, or maybe it’s the low, husky rumble of his voice, but every inch of me wants to give him a lot more than a taste. I want Josh Hanson to make a four-course meal out of me.
But before I can say a word, I hear Gram call my name from downstairs.
I bolt upright, and Josh does too. Quickly stepping into my panties and then my leggings, I watch with equal parts frustration and desire as Josh adjusts his erection and then opens the door.
“You’d better go check on her,” he says.
“Are you okay?” I ask, moving toward the door.
“Of course.” He nods. “I didn’t do that because I expected something in return, Peyton. You don’t owe me anything.”
I nod once. A small warning bell rings in the back of my head somewhere as I begin to descend the stairs with Josh behind me. Of course I don’t owe him anything. It would be wrong to trade sexual favors for help with my business. Which isn’t what we’re doing here. Is it?
I reach the bottom of the stairs in time to see Gram trying to heave herself up from the bed. “Damn walker’s not close enough to the bed,” she says, reaching for it.
“Here, let me.” I move it closer to her bed where she can grip the handles to help her stand up.
“I didn’t mean to bother you,” she says, frowning. “But I really wanted one of those chocolate mint cookies we bought from the little girl next door.”
I grin at her. “Oh, trust me, I get it. Those things are heavenly.”
Gram toddles off to the kitchen, and I can feel Josh’s gaze on me. When I turn around, he’s standing by the front door, holding his coat.
I join him by the door. “Heading out?”
His chest inflates as he takes in a long, slow breath. “Yeah. I think I should probably go.”
I’m not sure why, but it feels like something has shifted between us in the last few minutes. And I don’t just mean Gram’s untimely interruption. It feels like we’re miles away from the playful banter we just shared about him finding my thong, and I can only assume it’s because he’s thinking the same thing I am.
That it’s probably not a good idea to keep doing this as long as we’re still working together. It’s too dangerous.
“Are you sure you have to go?” I ask.
“I probably should.” He sighs, giving me a reassuring squeeze.
“Because of work stuff?”
He swallows and places one hand loosely against my waist, letting it linger there—like he’s not sure he wants to release me, but he’s also not sure he can clai
m me. “I’m not thrilled about it either. But if your launch is going to be successful, we need to pump the brakes a bit here. I can’t even think about work when I’m around you. Which would be the greatest thing of all time if we weren’t, you know, working together. I don’t want this to stand in the way of your business succeeding.”
“You’re right.” I hate to admit it, although it doesn’t stop me from snuggling up to him a little tighter. I don’t want to let go just yet.
He gives me one last hug, and then calls out a good-bye to Gram.
Chapter Sixteen
Josh
If you’re looking for the quickest way to feel like the world’s biggest prick, here’s my advice: take a girl away from her recently hospitalized grandmother and drag her on a business trip upstate.
Insta-douchebag. It works like a charm. Trust me, I know from experience.
I’ve offered Peyton a hundred different options that would allow her to stay home with Gram as she recovers from her fall. We can video conference her into our meetings, or even reschedule the trip altogether.
But Peyton insists on going, saying that she won’t let anything stand in the way of her pitching her subscription boxes to our wine-country store managers. That woman is unstoppable. It’s a major turn-on. And since she insists that Gram will be fine without her, I relent.
In an effort to make myself look like slightly less of an asshole, I offer to drive Peyton to the airport to save her on gas and parking. I’m thrilled when she takes me up on it. It’s the least I can do to make this last-minute trip a little easier on her.
Plus, I like the idea of a little one-on-one time with Peyton before we spend the whole weekend acting professional in front of Brody and Toby. Emphasis on acting. I deserve an Academy Award for pretending I’m not instantly rock hard every time those brilliant blue eyes look my way.
“How is Gram? You’re totally sure she’s okay for the weekend?”
I’ve been genuinely worried about Peyton’s feisty grandmother ever since she fell last week. Peyton has kept me as apprised as a coworker needs to be. Maybe a bit more, since I told her the ambulance is going on my insurance. Maybe she doesn’t realize that my concern for her and Gram runs much deeper than our professional relationship. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love, and I’ve been wondering if Gram’s age and health are weighing on Peyton’s mind.
