by Addison Cole
THE SOUND OF Grace’s car drew Reed’s attention from the living room wall he was painting. He climbed down from the ladder and leaned the brush on the paint tray, hoping her class went well. Earlier in the day he’d gotten a glimpse of the strong businesswoman she was, while she’d paced the yard, talking on the phone as he’d worked on her parents’ porch. He hadn’t eavesdropped, but it would have been hard for anyone to miss the determined set of her stride and the calm though firm sound of her voice.
“Knock, knock,” Grace said through the screen door, ogling his bare chest.
Reed made his way to the door. He’d been thinking of her all day. Her familiar scent had still lingered in his bedroom when he’d come home, and as he’d painted, he’d felt her presence all around him, rousing his emotions. Now, as he opened the door and she stepped forward looking innocent and sensual at once in her miniskirt and blouse, he drew her into his arms and his heart poured out.
“Welcome home, pretty girl.” He closed the door and lowered his lips to hers, kissing her with all the passion that had been building up all day. He intensified his efforts, and the bag she was carrying dropped to the floor.
“Can I go back outside and knock again? I like this greeting.”
“How about you stay right here and I kiss you until those gorgeous legs of yours don’t have the energy to take you anywhere?”
“Yes, please,” she said in a sultry voice, and rubbed her body against him.
He took her in a slow, sensual kiss that brought fire to his veins. Her hands moved up his back, keeping him close as he nipped at her lower lip.
“Wow, Gracie. How can I miss you this much after only a few hours?” He kissed her neck, and she leaned to the side, giving him better access.
“I don’t know, but I think we need to spend a few hours apart every day just so I can come back to this.”
He brushed his lips teasingly over hers. “That can be arranged.”
“I’m interrupting your painting,” she said between kisses.
“I thought I’d be done before you finished your class, but since I wasn’t…” He ran his tongue along the shell of her ear, his hands moving up her sides. “How do you feel about a painting date?”
He sank his teeth into her neck, and she gasped.
“Yes,” she said breathlessly.
He touched her pretty blouse, then ran his fingers along her thighs as he kissed her again. Her skin was warm and soft, and painting was the last thing on his mind. “This isn’t really getting dirty attire.”
“I think it’s working pretty well,” she said, and looked down at the streak of cream-colored paint on her leg.
He glanced at her leg, then at the paint on her blouse and cringed. “Sorry, babe. I’ll pay for that to be dry cleaned.”
“Maybe I should take it off.” She began unbuttoning her blouse, eyes trained on him. “Oops.” Her hands stilled on her buttons. “I might distract you too much to finish painting.”
“Distract me, baby.” He kissed her deeply, but as he’d come to expect, it wasn’t enough for either of them. Their kisses turned urgent and messy as he fumbled with her buttons and she worked open his belt buckle.
“I swear I don’t only want you for sex,” he said. “I want to hear about your class.”
“It was fantastic.”
She kissed his chest, her nimble fingers playing over his pecs as he struggled with her buttons. He managed one more button and stilled at the sight of her beautiful curves restrained by a skimpy pink bra. A heavy groan escaped before he could stop it.
“Holy…Gracie. You know how much I love you in pink lace.”
“Then you’ll probably enjoy the matching bottoms.” She blinked flirtatiously, gazing up through her long, dark lashes as she lifted the hem of her skirt, revealing sexy pink lace panties.
He crashed his mouth to hers, and then their hands were everywhere at once. She grabbed at his head and shoulders, her softness pressing into him.
“Oh, Reed—” she said, and tugged at the button on his jeans.
He grabbed her wrist, and her eyes flew open, dark and ravenous. “First I take my fill.”
And he did.
Afterward, he held her so tight he didn’t know where she ended and he began.
She rested her cheek on his shoulder, her warm breath coasting over his skin as she said, “We were never very good at waiting.”
He could hear the smile in her voice and pressed a kiss to her neck as a car door sounded outside.
She lifted her head, eyes wide. “Who’s that?”
“Probably the pizza delivery guy. Good thing we were fast.”
“Reed!” she snapped as he set her on her feet. She grabbed her panties and the bag she’d brought. “What if they’d caught us?” She didn’t wait for an answer as she bolted up the stairs.
He hiked up his jeans and called after her, “Then I’d say they got a pretty big tip!”
After paying for the pizza, he set it in the living room and went upstairs to wash up. He followed the sound of Grace humming and found her in the master bathroom. She held the hem of a dark T-shirt in her teeth as she zipped up a pair of cutoffs. Her hair curtained her face, and she looked eighteen years old again. She tucked her hair behind her ear as she released her shirt, lifting sultry eyes to his.
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her softly.
“You smell clean,” he said, nuzzling against her neck.
“And you smell like me.”
“My favorite scent.” He lifted her onto the sink and played with the fringe on her faded shorts. “I remember these shorts.”
“I can’t believe I still fit in them. When you said to dress in something that could get dirty, I wasn’t sure what you meant, so I grabbed some of my old clothes from my closet, and…”
Her gaze trailed to the bag by his feet, and he followed it down, noticing a few pieces of silk and lace. “If you keep showing me your lingerie, I’ll never finish painting.”
“Good point.” She slid off the sink. “Besides, you had dessert, but I’m starved.”
“I’ve got your dessert right here, baby.”
She laughed as she headed for the stairs. “I like whipped cream on my desserts.”
He chuckled as he turned on the sink and made a mental note to buy a case of whipped cream.
MUSIC STREAMED FROM Reed’s phone as they ate dinner and painted the living room. Grace was surprised to see he’d chosen the colors she liked best. He’d already painted the trim white, and he’d also painted the center of the raised panels below the chair rail a pale seafoam green. The room looked warmer and brighter. Reed listened intently as they rolled paint on the walls and she told him about her class.
“They want to work as a group, which is really cool, because collaborative writing can lead to even more creativity. And you know how Nana is,” Grace said. Reed knew Nana, Hellie, and Janie from around town. “Can you imagine if she put all that sass into a play? Oh my gosh, Reed. Maybe I should have told her to keep it rated PG or something.”
“Nana is hilarious. When I first moved in and was working on the exterior of the house, she’d drive by really slow and watch me work. Sometimes she’d bring me a pitcher of iced tea or a muffin. She said she had some women in mind for me and proceeded to tell me about a litany of women, including Sophie’s sister, Lindsay, who according to Nana is shamefully single.”
“She used to always try to set up Sophie. She was scoping you out.”
“Whatever,” he said with a laugh. “If your class is even half as excited as you are, then it sounds like you’re really making a difference.”
“I don’t know about making a difference,” she said as she dipped her roller in the tray again. “I mean, it’s too early to tell if they’ll even stick with it. Three weeks is a long time. But their enthusiasm reminded me of what I was like when I first went into the business. I had that same level of excitement about everything I did.”
He lowered the paint roller to t
he tray and asked, “And you don’t now?”
“I do, but it’s different. I thought producing would be like it was when I was in school, only on a much bigger scale. But it’s like being the CEO of a huge, complicated corporation. There’s a lot of babysitting, hand-holding, placating…”
“What exactly do you do as a producer?”
“What don’t I do?” she said sarcastically. “I’m an independent producer, so I initiate the production, which means finding the script and hiring the director. Sometimes I handle casting, and other times I only approve the cast. I develop and handle the budgets, secure funding, create marketing and advertising strategies, set ticket prices, performance times. And, lucky me, most of the time I get to deal with the divas and snooty actors, too.”
She set her roller in the tray and sighed, thinking of the hoops she’d had to jump through to get the lead actor. Keagen Thorpe was a hothead who thought he pooped gold, which he just might, given how much money he earned. The investors had insisted on using him, and she counted herself lucky that so far he’d played by the rules.
“This is going to sound silly, but I miss being excited over productions the way I used to. Is every career like that?” she asked. “Does the joy go out of it once you’ve done it for a while?”
“Mine never has. Well, that’s not true. After what happened in Michigan, just the thought of working on any of the projects I’d been doing with Thad made me sick. But that was because of him, not the work. I love what I do. Every project is unique and holds its own challenges. Restoring old buildings to their original beauty restores memories and history, and it feels like I’m giving back to the communities in which they’re built.”
The thrill in his voice was palpable, making Grace realize how sorely it was missing from her own. She began painting again. “That’s something else I miss. Everyone in my business is take, take, take. And that’s cool. I get it. It’s a tough industry, and everyone wants to get ahead. But I miss giving back to people who appreciate what they’re being offered. When I went to college I volunteered at a high school helping their drama club. The kids were so excited about every little thing—the routines, the rehearsals, the friendships.”
“I remember, and you were in drama club in high school. I always assumed you continued doing those things in college. Can’t you volunteer at a school in the city?”
“Not with my schedule. These three weeks are an anomaly for me. But even when I take time off, I don’t really get it. I have one production that’s running smoothly and an assistant who’s taking care of things while I’m here, but this time in between is when I typically get started with the next show. Unfortunately, the director I was hoping to work with is giving me a hard time. I’ll either have to convince him to go with a script I like, or I’ll have to hire a new director. But that’s just a headache, not overwhelming. I think slowing down these past few days has really shown me how much of a hamster wheel my life has become. Do you know that Sophie and I can’t even meet for dinner more than once a month because of my schedule? We work out together, but even that’s rare these days. It’s crazy, and there’s been no time to write, which is my true passion. I used to love writing in Central Park in the mornings. I’d sit on a bench or on a blanket in the sun and write until I had to start my day. The outdoors is so inspiring. But between work, exercise, and sleep, that time has just disappeared. Other than these past few days, I don’t think I’ve even relaxed since college.”
Reed set his roller down and came to her. He set her roller aside and laced their fingers together. “I watched you on the phone this morning. You’re obviously business savvy, and you always had a knack for figuring things out. Can’t you find a way to produce less and write more?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t really work that way unless I take a hiatus, and then I have the struggle of trying to get back into the game. Don’t get me wrong. I still enjoy producing, and I’m grateful for all that I’ve achieved. The class today just sort of amplified how much enthusiasm I’ve lost, and I want to get that back.”
He gathered her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers. “Let’s brainstorm. What makes you happiest? What’s missing?”
This. “A number of things.”
“Give me an example.”
“Besides time to breathe?”
He rubbed his whiskers over her cheek, sending titillating tingles all the way to her toes. “Come on, Gracie. I want to help.”
“Orgasms,” she said with a playful smirk.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that, since I haven’t been there with you. We’ll have to make sure you go back fulfilled and have lots of FaceTime trysts in between visits.”
“FaceTime trysts? I can’t…” Can I? She was surprised to realize she wanted to. She shivered with the idea of doing something so naughty with Reed.
“Baby, there’s nothing we can’t do together.” He brushed his thumb over her cheek, and his eyes darkened seductively as he dragged that thick digit over her lower lip. “You can, and we will.”
“Okay,” came out easily, surprising and exciting her at once.
“Now, focus on your job for a second. How can I help you find that excitement again? Do you want to figure out a way to teach? I know you want to write. Can you do that on your lunch hour, or on the weekends?”
“You’re such a fixer,” she said, smiling, because he’d always tried to fix things for her when she was younger. It didn’t matter if it was an argument with a sibling or trouble memorizing her lines for a play, he was there by her side trying to figure out a solution.
“And you’ve always been too stubborn to let me help. But why was that? Is it because you’re the oldest and you think it’s your job to help everyone else? Let me in, babe. Let’s talk about it.”
She’d seen needing help as a sign of weakness for as long as she could remember. She prepared to tell him that he had no idea of the magnitude of her schedule and that if she couldn’t figure it out how could he, but she forced herself to slow down and take a step back.
She’d felt this way about her job for the last several months, and she’d done nothing to make it better. Maybe talking it out would help her see things more clearly. Maybe if we’d taken the time to talk through all of our options before I’d gone to college, I wouldn’t have jumped to the wrong conclusion and spent a decade carrying around unnecessary hurt. Maybe you never would have left town. Or maybe you would have come to New York at some point.
She squeezed his hand and said, “Do you have any wine?”
Chapter Twelve
TUESDAY MORNING GRACE got up early, ate a handful of M&M’s, and pulled on her running clothes even though she and Reed had probably worked off enough energy last night to negate the caloric content of the candy. After they’d talked about her crazy life in the city, she’d felt much better. Not that they’d come up with any firm answers, but they’d come up with some ideas for her to think about. More importantly, she’d been handling her own issues in such a vacuum for so long, it was cathartic to share her innermost thoughts with someone who cared about her without any ulterior motives toward her work or trying to get her to move back home. They’d finished painting the walls, ended up naked, painted, and intertwined on the tarps in the living room, and then they’d taken a shower together, where they cleaned each other up only to get down and dirty again.
She was lacing up her running shoes when Sable sauntered into her bedroom, wearing the same outfit, from boots to Stetson, she’d worn yesterday. She walked past Grace, grabbed a fistful of M&M’s, then sat beside her on the bed. Grace glanced at the time—6:02—and bit back the urge to tell her to find her own boyfriend and eat his M&M’s.
“Who was the lucky guy last night?”
“Nobody got lucky.” Sable shoved the candy in her mouth and flopped onto her back. “After band practice we went to JJ’s Pub and hung out until it closed. The only guy who piqued my interest was a certain fireman who’s blown me off too many times f
or me to try again.”
“Who?”
Sable gave her a deadpan look. “How many hot firemen do you know that would blow me off?”
Grace pushed to her feet and began stretching, uninterested in guessing, but knowing one for sure. Chet Hudson had never given Sable the time of day, which made him the ultimate challenge for her ballsy sister. “I’m surprised you didn’t find some other hot guy to hit on.”
“I did, but I wasn’t into him.”
“Maybe you’re getting tired of hookups.”
“Bite your tongue. I was sidetracked. I’ve been working on some new ideas for songs, so I sat out on the hill and tried to get inspired, but…” Sable sighed. “I’m just not feeling it. I’ve been having a hard time with that lately. I even spoke to Axsel for a while. He’s so good at opening my creative pathways.”
While Grace never liked to ask for help, Sable preferred people not to have any inclination that she might even need it. Grace was glad to see her easing up on the typical tough-as-nails vibe she gave off and not only turning to Axsel but sharing with her, too. It helped Grace feel closer to the one sister who had always made her feel a little unnecessary. Her mind traveled back to her conversation with Reed about her predicament at work. He’d had some good suggestions, like cutting back from three productions a year to two and trying to work in a few more afternoons off once each production was up and running. She’d been on such a fast track for so long, the idea of taking any time off just to rejuvenate had somehow become slated as wasted time. How had that happened? Time off to sneak in some writing or enjoy a long weekend with Reed was definitely not wasted time. She had a lot to consider.
She caught the tail end of something Sable was saying and realized she’d zoned out. Trying to play catch-up, she said, “How is Axsel?” Axsel was just shy of six years younger than Grace, and he traveled so much, she saw him only once or twice a year.
“Has he ever not been great? Chill boy is always good. He never gets rattled. He’s back in L.A., and bummed he’s not here to hang with you.”
