by Bay, Louise
Grace’s eyes widened as she nodded. “You do?”
“Absolutely.”
There was nothing fake about the smile she replied with.
“That’s settled then,” Harper said.
I didn’t encourage or accept social invitations, but if that’s what Grace wanted, I’d go along with it.
“You know these girls will drink too much and leave us to handle the kids,” Max said.
“I think we can handle it.” I’d heard of Max King, but never met him before. He had a reputation as a ballbuster, but he seemed laid back as he spent the evening with his wife. I’d never had social time with guys like that. The only man I could call a friend was Chas and that was only because of Angie.
The girls continued to discuss dates for the Connecticut weekend until dessert was served and Grace went back to her chair. My body was cold where she’d been. Couldn’t she have eaten on my knee?
Harper glanced at me and lowered her voice. “Grace told me she saw the picture when she was with you.” Her hand went to her throat. “Was she very upset?”
“Who?” I asked.
“Grace,” Harper explained, “when she saw the painting.”
I clearly should know what she was talking about, but despite scrolling through my memory at warp speed, I had no idea. “The picture?”
“The Renoir in the front window of a gallery a few stores down from hers.”
Oh, she meant the portrait Grace used to own. “She said she loved that picture.” I hadn’t realized it was such a big deal.
“That was the picture her grandfather gave her as a child—she loves it. It’s what started her obsession with art.”
Had Grace told me that? There was so much I was learning about her.
“She sold it so she could open the gallery. Handpicked the buyer because she wanted someone to love it as much as she did. Then the weasel up and sold it on within six months, can you believe it?” Harper turned to her husband. “She’s heartbroken about it. Almost asked her father for the money to buy it back, but of course, she won’t.” Why hadn’t Grace told me? “She’s so desperate not to be her mother, but this painting is emotional for Grace—it’s not about the money, never is with Grace.” Harper explained.
It was part of the reason I liked her so much.
It was part of the reason I was agreeing to weekends away in the country.
It was part of the reason I was pretty sure I’d still like her next Thursday.
* * *
Grace held open the door to her apartment while I carried in the two bags filled with presents we’d brought back from the restaurant.
“Thank you,” she said, grinning at me.
“You’re very welcome.” I paused at the door to kiss her on the lips. It was difficult to go more than a few seconds without touching her when she was so close.
“You have a lot of gifts,” I said as I put down the overflowing bags.
“I’m sure you don’t approve.” She poked me in the abs, but smiled before she went into the kitchen.
“Why would you think that?” I asked, following her.
“I know how you feel about material things.” She set down two glasses on the counter and filled each of them with seltzer. There were so many things to appreciate about this moment. The fact that she now bought the water she knew I liked. That she was making me a drink without asking, because she already knew what I wanted, even before I did. I’d spent a lifetime avoiding this kind of interaction but I found myself enjoying it.
“You know that it’s not that I think material things are frivolous. Just that they don’t hold meaning for me.” I certainly didn’t judge Grace for having a fully-furnished apartment and expensive clothes and accoutrements. It just wasn’t something I needed.
She handed me a glass and pressed her hand against my stomach. “It’s fine.”
“I haven’t given you a birthday gift yet,” I said. “I did go shopping—I took Angie.”
She tilted her head to one side. “I didn’t expect anything.”
“I got you something very small, for now. I want to get you something else—I think I know what, but I haven’t had time.” I pulled out the square package from the bag of gifts I’d brought in. “This one I wrapped myself.”
“You did?” She stood on her tiptoes and I kissed her quickly.
“You haven’t opened it yet.” I handed her the gift.
“I don’t need to. I like that you wrapped it yourself—that’s the best thing you could have said.”
We moved to her couch and I took off my jacket, laying it on the chair. She beamed at me as I took a seat next to her. Christ, I wish I’d bought her diamonds or a horse or something. She looked at me as if I’d just given her the moon.
“Go on then,” I said.
She tore open the paper like a five-year-old on Christmas morning and looked up at me when she saw what it was. “Oh Sam, I love it,” she said, flipping through the coffee-table book I’d bought of the Frick.
She ran her hand over the glossy cover. “That’s so thoughtful.”
My heart thumped against my ribcage as she curled her fingers around the top right-hand corner of the book and opened to the page where I’d written an inscription.
I want for nothing with you in my world.
She traced over the words in silence. Was it too much? Not enough?
She stared at the page. “I feel the same, Sam.”
I ran my hand over hers and lifted her fingers from the paper, drawing them up to my mouth, kissing the back of her hand. “I didn’t know what to buy.”
“This is perfect,” she whispered as I pulled her onto my lap.
“Harper asked me if I was sleeping with other women.” Grace’s face froze and her smile wilted. “I told her of course I wasn’t.”
I wanted to ask her if she could say the same. I knew she wasn’t, but I needed to hear it. We both stared at each other before she answered my unasked question. She sucked in a breath. “Neither am I.”
I tried to bite back my grin before she pressed her lips against mine, soft and certain. I cupped her face.
I should have been roaring in delight. Instead, the flecks of fear over caring about someone—having them care about me—seemed to embed more deeply.
Her mouth on my jaw brought me back to her, back to the joy. She smelled like cherries—ripe and sweet. I shifted her legs over mine.
“I know we haven’t been together long, but there’s something about you that fits with me.”
I knew exactly what she meant. It was as if we’d been separated and found our way back to each other. But it didn’t eradicate the fear I felt. Much as I cared about her, those feelings brought fear along with them.
“I feel very lucky to know you, Grace Astor.”
“The feeling’s mutual, Sam Shaw.”
Her giggle vibrated against my chest and I pulled her closer. “Tell me about the painting that we saw in the window. Harper said you sold it to pay for the gallery and that it was the piece that started your love of art. Is that true?”
She pulled her hands from my face and shrugged. She relaxed against my chest, moving nearer. “It’s been sold. I found out yesterday. I walked by the gallery and it was gone, so I couldn’t help but ask what had happened to it. Some buyer from the Middle East apparently.”
I circled her with my arms. “I’m so sorry, Grace.”
“As much as I loved it, it gave me my gallery. I shouldn’t be sad.”
I stroked her back, the joy draining from me, replaced by frustration that I couldn’t erase her loss. “I wish I could make it better.”
She placed her hand on my cheek and dropped a kiss next to it. “Harper shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“I’m glad she did. I want to know what’s troubling you.” I might have spent my whole life since my parents died trying to avoid caring about anyone, but Grace had broken my stride. I’d do whatever it took to keep her happy and safe.
She t
wisted in my arms so she was facing me. “Other than being a complete busybody, how did you like Harper?”
“I love how much she cares about you.”
“Did she threaten violence? I think Angie might have. Subtly.”
I chuckled. Angie wasn’t violent, but she was protective. “Did she?”
“She told me the story about you punching her husband because you thought he was cheating on her.” She lifted my hand and placed her palm against mine.
“That was the last time I hit someone.”
“Have you punched a lot of people?” she asked, cocking her head.
“I’ve done what I’ve needed to protect myself and Angie.” At Hightimes I’d kept to myself most of the time. There was a group of four boys who had terrorized the place, but after I’d broken the nose of their leader, they’d left me alone. The Kung Fu lessons I’d had before my parents died had been useful.
“I’m sorry, Sam. I wish I could make it better,” she replied.
I buried my face in her neck because I didn’t want her to see my expression. This was new to me, having someone care about me. I wanted to shout from the top of the Empire State building how incredible it felt, but a nagging sense of fear kept me from sprinting to Fifth Avenue.
Would I always worry, or would Grace chase that from my life?
Chapter Sixteen
Grace
His fingers trickled across my leg as we sat contentedly on the couch, my back to his front. I couldn’t remember ever having a better birthday. Sam made everything better. Unlike previous men I’d been with, he’d overcome real hardship on his own. He hadn’t looked to anyone else to solve his problems or make his life better. I was finally dating an adult. But dating felt like too slight a word for what was happening between Sam and me.
“You know what would round this birthday off kinda perfectly?” I asked and grinned up at him.
“What’s that, Grace Astor?”
I shrugged. “An orgasm.”
“Oh, I see.” He nodded. “You’re expecting me to put out.”
My laugh was interrupted as he slid his hand down my leg and gripped the hem of my dress. “It is my birthday.”
“Did you really think I would have an evening with you and not spend the whole time wanting you naked and under me?” He pulled up the fabric, his hand rough against the skin of my thighs, and every cell in my body tightened.
The atmosphere shifted and I tried hard to steady my breathing. Just a few cursory words and his fingers on my thighs had me ready to beg for more.
“You think I don’t notice how your breathing changes when I touch you. Tonight, when I first saw you at the restaurant, you think I didn’t see your nipples harden as I put my hand around your waist?”
I could hide nothing from this man. I didn’t want to.
His fingers pushed into my underwear.
“I understand how much you want me. Because I want you that bad too. Every second. You can’t think for a moment I’d not want to feel this.” His finger pushed between my folds and I gasped, partly in pleasure but mostly in relief that he was here with me, making me feel so good in every way. “That I don’t want to feel you wrapped tight around my cock.”
I gripped his thighs on either side of me and pushed my hips up, wanting his finger deeper.
I tugged at my blouse, needing to feel his hands everywhere. The buttons were stiff and I was impatient. His fingers stroked me up and down, as he unfastened the buttons with his free hand. I sank back against him as he took over.
“Why would you think I could do without this any more than you could?” he asked.
And that was why he was so different to anyone that had come before him—we were equals. We’d had very different lives but we wanted each other for the same reasons and just as badly.
He pulled my bra down and I cried out as my nipple grazed against the lace. He groaned from behind me, removing his hand from my underwear. Before I had a chance to complain, he’d stood up, taking me with him, me still facing forward.
“Stand,” he said. And he let go of me and moved away. Starting with my shirt, he peeled everything I was wearing from my body until I was totally naked.
I felt his hands at my feet, sliding up to my ankles. He must be kneeling behind me. “I want every part of you.” His palms pushed up my legs. His movements weren’t fluttering or tantalizing. They were sure and possessive. He ran his hands up the back of my thigh and then gripped my ass—squeezing and kneading. “And your beautiful ass, Grace Astor. That’s mine too.”
As much as it felt good, he was touching me for him, not me. And I loved it.
“Yes,” I breathed.
“And this.” His hands slid over my hips. He was standing now, pressing his cheek against mine. “This beautiful pussy,” he said as he roughly pushed his finger against my clit. “That’s all mine too. Everything. Every part of you.”
My knees weakened. It was true. My body responded as if I’d been waiting for him my whole life and now I’d found him. It was awakening properly for the first time ever.
His other hand grabbed my breasts and I wanted to melt into him, become part of him. “Tell me I have all of you,” he whispered.
I reached over my head behind me, threading my fingers through his hair. “You do.”
His hand left my clit and it was only the sound of his zipper that made me feel better.
“Condom,” I managed to choke out.
He pulled me back toward him. “I got it.”
His fingers slid lengthways between my butt cheeks, skirting the puckered asshole and making me shiver. “So wet, Princess. I get you so wet.” I was over my embarrassment of how much he turned me on. There was no point trying to hide it. As he said, he saw it all.
“You got me so hard.”
And then I felt him. The tip of him. The hot, hard end of him.
Sam just slid his cock along my sex, between my cheeks, making me wait.
“Sam. Don’t torture me. It’s my birthday.”
“Do you want it so bad it hurts yet?” His voice was deep and raw. “That’s what you do to me. I want you so bad right now it hurts.”
Before I had time to absorb what he was saying, he was inside me in one swift movement.
It was relief, pleasure, desire all mixed into one. And my knees buckled.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said, holding me at the waist. Me impaled on him. “Is it too much?”
It was.
“Sam,” I said. I couldn’t think of the words in the right order. I couldn’t tell him how good it was.
He pulled out and guided me to the couch. I sat astride him. “We can take it at your pace. We can do it how you like it.”
I realized I had my eyes closed, lost in a trance. I opened them and he was looking at me. He had a slight sheen to his forehead and I reached out and stroked his hair. “I like it every way with you.”
He lifted my hips and pulled me on to him again. My body was still weak, but the couch and his hands supported me, and I placed my palms against his chest.
He blinked lazily as he kept his focus on my face and began to lift my hips, just slightly, and then pull me back onto him. I let him move me, watching his jaw clench when he hit the end of me. He was so deep and it was so good.
I concentrated on the press of his thumbs below my hips, the hard muscles under my palms. Anything to stop myself from coming because I wanted this to last forever.
His eyes flickered from my face to my chest and the sway of my breasts as they lifted with each thrust.
“You look so beautiful,” he said.
I shuddered and he groaned as I involuntarily squeezed him.
“Jesus, Grace.” He picked up his pace, lifting and pulling.
I bit down on my lip to stop myself from crying out, but it didn’t work and I screamed out a plea. For more. For Sam. For this moment to never end.
I began to move my hips a little more, increasing the push and the pull, speeding up the ple
asure as it circled us both.
I wanted him as much as he wanted me.
I wanted this moment.
I clung to his chest, my fingernails digging into his skin, and he sat up, pulling us chest to chest, his mouth finding mine.
His kisses were jerky and staccato as if he were using any energy he had left to pour into me. His breathing was labored and he groaned. “I can feel you. So tight. You’re almost . . .” Before he had time to finish his sentence, I was spiraling into orgasm and he was following, pumping his hips from the sofa. His expression was equal parts tight and soft as we gazed into each other’s eyes through our climax.
I wanted for nothing with Sam Shaw in my world.
* * *
“They’re both great—the perfect combination of soft and firm,” I said, staring at Bergdorf’s ceiling as Sam wriggled next to me. We were furniture shopping—bed shopping more specifically—and we’d narrowed it down to two. “You should make the decision. It’s your bed.”
“You’ll be sleeping in it as much as I will,” Sam replied.
I turned to face him, making no effort to hide my grin. In the weeks since my birthday, there was no longer any discussion of whether we’d see each other that night. We were together every night, but he came to Brooklyn because I refused to sleep on his mattress. I might deny being a princess, but a mattress on the floor was just a step too far. “Well, why not buy both of them? You have four bedrooms to fill, after all.”
Other than not having a bed to sleep on, part of the reason we didn’t spend much time at his apartment was because it felt odd to be back there. Park Avenue was the symbol of everything I hadn’t wanted to become. I didn’t want to be a Park Avenue princess, didn’t want to marry a man I didn’t love because it was a so-called good match. I didn’t want to cheat on him to get an escape, but stay with him because I liked the trappings of my life. Trappings that just didn’t matter.
I didn’t want to turn into my mother.
