by Avery Laval
“You haven’t been drinking?” she asked, when they’d made their way outside to wait for the valet. “I mean, are you safe to drive?”
“I’m not much of a drinker,” he said gruffly. “I leave that business to experts like you.”
“I’m no expert, I’m afraid, not anymore,” she said wistfully, far away. “My party-girl days are long behind me, and I’m not sure I can even handle the two glasses of champagne I had.” She looked at her hands, and then back up at him, her eyes wide like a doe’s. “Or was it three? Uh oh. This can’t be good. I do feel a little light-headed.”
Grant frowned, realizing that she was in no shape to drive herself home when they got back to the office parking garage. Dammit. The last thing he needed was more time in close proximity with her. “It does seem like you were a bit out of your league. I’ll have to drive you home.”
Jenna looked down to the pavement, chided. “I’m sorry, Grant. I shouldn’t have toasted with Mitchell.”
Grant rolled his eyes at her apology. “Of course you should have. That man is a terrific client, and he was looking at you like you were the stars and moon.” He knew the feeling. “Never mind it. Just get in the car.” Once again, he watched her slide in as he held the door for her, watched her move her lean legs into the car and rub them against each other like flint and steel. He cursed himself silently as he felt himself stiffen and come to attention.
He walked around the hood to the driver’s side and strapped in, thinking of cold showers all the way. If he could just get her home, out of his car, tomorrow she’d be back to her prim and proper act in the office, sober enough to at least conceal the desire he saw in her eyes tonight. But then he thought of her in a buttoned-up suit with her hair pulled back, and groaned. Tomorrow, he realized, she’d be no less of a temptation.
The thought made him irritable. He barked at her for her home address and then pulled out of the hotel’s drive, turning left to take them north through the Strip again.
“Wait,” she said as they neared the Bellagio. “Pull in here.”
Grant took his foot off the gas but did not turn. “You can’t possibly want to go gambling at this hour, Jenna.”
“I don’t—I hate gambling. But you live here now, don’t you?”
“Yes.” He looked at her, curious despite himself.
“Perfect. There are always plenty of taxis out front. Drop me off and I’ll take one home so you don’t have to drive all the way up to the suburbs and back. It will save you hours.”
Grant cut a glance toward her, surprised. “That’s not necessary. I can get you home.”
“But I really don’t mind,” Jenna insisted, sounding almost desperate to convince him. “Actually, I prefer it. I hate to be an inconvenience, and anyway, this is a good excuse to see the place where I used to live—I haven’t been back for years.”
“Are you sure?” His sense of chivalry bristled at the thought of only taking her halfway home, but perhaps it was a good idea for everyone’s sake. And he would insist on covering the cab fare, of course—a work expense, he could tell her, though it would be no such thing.
“Quite sure, thank you.” She turned to look at the enormous Bellagio fountains that were making their dramatic display in time to the music of Debussy.
Grant slowed down and pulled into the turn lane, puzzling at this turn of events. Her request for a cab had taken him aback. If her goal was to seduce him, wouldn’t she want to spend as much time in his company as possible? But instead she seemed to be trying to escape him. And the look on her face as she’d made her request had been absolutely genuine. He warred with himself. If she wasn’t out to entrap him, could he have been wrong about her motives all along? His blood stirred at the thought, and his desire for her surged higher.
He parked at the front entrance and tossed the keys to Martin, his favorite of the rowdy team of valets. Before he could reach her door to open it for her, Jenna practically leapt out of the car and waved her arms toward the drive. “See, plenty of cabs!” she announced, sounding far too cheerful. Then she turned to look at the tall glass doors that led to the hotel, pausing only for a moment before she beelined towards them into and the lobby. She stopped suddenly a few feet inside the door and stood gazing up at the Dale Chihuly ceiling, openmouthed.
Involuntarily, Grant moved to follow, as though she were magnetized. With long strides, he quickly caught up with her, then followed her eyes up to the intensely colored glass sculptures blown into the shapes of thousands of jellyfish—or were they flowers?—that covered the ceiling in a brilliant frenzy. “You know, the Bellagio lobby’s a public place. You can come and see the artwork whenever you like.”
Jenna sighed deeply, her hand pressed to her chest. The lights and colors of the glasswork shimmered in her eyes, tinted the smooth skin of her face. “It’s so beautiful, I don’t know why I haven’t done so sooner. I think the past…” Jenna fumbled for the right words. “The past and I haven’t been on speaking terms these last six years.”
Grant saw again that genuine quality in her eyes, and couldn’t help wanting to know more. “What made you want to extend the olive branch tonight, then?”
She looked at him square, and he was hit hard again with the sensuality that seemed to simmer under her surface. It sizzled like a dynamite fuse stretching between them. He’d managed to resist that intense chemistry all this time, but now, standing just fourteen floors from his penthouse, he felt himself too tempted to turn back. If she had just behaved as he’d expected her to and hadn’t surprised him at every turn, as few had surprised him before.
She surprised him again with the words she spoke next.
“I’m not sure what I’m doing here,” she said, her eyes soft, her chin tilted high to look him directly in the eyes. “Maybe it’s you. You’ve opened up something that’s been quiet in me for a long time.”
With her words, the last of his iron will melted away. He didn’t want to kiss her, but he couldn’t stop himself.
6
Jenna gasped when she realized what was about to happen, but was absolutely powerless to stop it. Grant lowered his lips to hers—slowly—and then they connected in the most searing kiss of her life. His hands were on her shoulders, clutching her close to him, but all she could truly feel was the heat of his mouth on hers, the thrill of their touch, the slight parting of their lips and then the sensation of his tongue licking, touching, tasting her. It was a fantasy she’d indulged in who knows how many times when she was younger—and something a tiny part of her had hoped for all night long. But now that it was happening, it blew all hopes and fantasies out of the water. The reality of this kiss was like nothing she could have imagined before.
The clichés are true, thought Jenna with her last remaining brain cell as they pressed against each other amongst the bustle of gamblers and tourists, an island of stillness and quiet in the throng. There are kisses that can make the whole world seem to fade away. The past, the future—none of it mattered for that long moment while they embraced. And then, far too soon, he wrenched himself away from her, bracing himself against her shoulders, and she kept her face tilted up to read his eyes, to try to find some reason in them. Instead she felt herself tumbling out of the realm of reason and into pure desire.
“Not here. Come upstairs with me,” she heard him growl, his voice thick, incontestable. Without waiting for an answer—she was sure all the answer he needed was there in her eyes, for how could she give up even one more kiss like the one they’d just shared?—he took her hand and brought her to the banks of elevators, pulled her inside an open car. He pulled a keycard from his pocket and inserted it in the slot marked PH.
Penthouse. The meaning of the word slammed into Jenna’s dizzy brain. It was the very place she’d lived for years before she’d lost everything. Seeing her old address, realizing that she was headed up there now with the last man in the world she’d have expected, gave her a moment’s pause. Did she want to go back there? Back then, she
’d had no idea how good she’d had it. She’d taken it all for granted. Now, despite her struggles, she was living a meaningful life, fulfilling her promises to her family. This was the life she wanted.
So what was she doing now? Why was she in this elevator, a few feet from this dangerous man, feeling more vulnerable—more susceptible—than she ever had before?
The doors were sliding shut, trapping her on this path, and she felt a surge of panic. She shouldn’t be here. Standing this close to Grant, longing only to have his lips on hers again, she was moments from succumbing to her desire for him, and putting everything important in her life at risk.
Jenna suddenly moved to stop the closing elevator doors. To escape.
But it was too late. The doors locked shut and the floor seemed to drop out from under her. There was nowhere to go but up.
The elevator doors slid back open all too quickly, and Jenna found herself standing in a vast marble hallway that looked exactly as she’d remembered it. Her heels clicked on the floor in that unforgettable way as she stepped out of the car, and her shadow stretched out long on either side from the low LED lights that were nestled in the glass walls. The effect was beautiful and evocative, but she hardly noticed. All she seemed to see were Grant’s broad shoulders, his hooded eyes as he led her down the hall. Just a few feet inside, they locked eyes, and the damage was done. With a groan he pushed her back, into the wall, leaning the full weight of his body against hers, stretching his arm out high on the wall to brace himself.
Then he leaned in tight, and closed the last inches of space between them entirely. He snaked his other hand around her to her head, holding it firmly in his large hand as he tilted it upward.
And kissed her hard.
His mouth was hot. When Jenna was able to think again, that was her first thought. It was hot, like hers, and it was sweet. His lips met hers in an easy fit, then pressed more firmly, then pulled, played, pushed, held her with just that kiss, put her into some sort of insane trance of need. Her arms hung useless at her sides, while he plundered her mouth, pulled her in ever tighter, ever deeper into his power. His lips parted and hers did, too, so much did she want to feel his tongue dip into her, to widen the kiss, to fit together with him as closely as physically possible. She was ready to let the sensation go on forever. To stand there and kiss him and be kissed back until she fell to the floor exhausted.
Her knees felt unsteady, her weight entirely on his, her mind nothing but blank desire. Then her hands gained a life of their own. As he kissed, nibbled, and kissed again, she clung to him and pushed her hands through his hair. She grabbed the back of his neck, then his shoulders, and fought to push away his suit coat, to remove his tie. She fumbled, clumsy. The hunger she felt was stronger than she was. She lost herself in it.
His hands were as greedy as hers. She felt them in her hair first, then firmly across her back, then lower, pulling her in tighter. The feeling of his arousal was unmistakable. For a moment that felt far too long, he wrenched his lips away from hers to lean back and help her take his suit jacket off, to let her fingers slide over the buttons of his shirt, pull them apart, pull the shirt as wide as she could with it still tucked in.
There. She nearly gasped at the sight of his hard, exposed chest, the dusting of dark hair across the top, the pectoral muscles almost quivering under the dark skin of his body. She pushed both of her hands flat on it, almost as if to push him away, then dragged them to his shoulders under the soft cotton of his shirt and grabbed on for dear life, pulled him into her brazenly and let him recapture her mouth with his.
He did, and it was as intense and blinding as it had been the first time. Now he bent his knees just slightly and slid his fingers up the sides of her thighs to the hemline of her dress, past it to her bare legs, higher until her hips were in his hands, her dress pushed up nearly to her waist, exposing black panties with just a touch of lace. He pulled away again to look at her and groaned, as he dipped his mouth to her long neck. He marked a line down it to where it met her shoulders, then shoved his hand underneath the wide strap of her dress and her bra, and pushed it out of his way.
Had she known until now that she was so sensitive on her shoulders? The
sensation his hands left behind in their wake vibrated through her. When she let
a quiet moan escape, Grant pulled back and looked her in the eyes, took her chin in his hands. Was he asking for permission? She could hardly stop herself from giving it. “Yes,” she told him, as though the question had been spoken out loud. “Please. Yes.”
That was all it took. He grabbed her by the hand and nearly dragged her into a main living area, where a long black leather sofa faced the most incredible view of Las Vegas—a view that went totally to waste now. Grant moved his large hands to circle her waist and pushed her down onto that sofa, straddling her now, and yanking at the dress every which way. “The zipper,” she reminded him, and just like that, both of his arms were around her, searching for the way to get her out of the garment. As soon as he found it, he pulled hard, then grabbed the hem and tugged until she sat on the sofa wearing nothing but her plain black bra and panties. For a moment she felt cold, naked—and then she watched him pull his shirt off and work on the belt of his trousers and felt the hot flush return to her skin.
Looking at him was amazing, but touching him was better. She reached up from her vulnerable position and grabbed him by the wrists, pulled him down on top of her, wondering where the will to do it had come from and at the same time not caring. Now he stretched out above her and began to kiss her breasts, cupping each one and rubbing a coarse thumb over her nipples. She thought of how it would feel to take him inside her, how incredible the sensation would be. She didn’t know how much longer she could wait.
“Grant,” she gasped. “I want you.”
His head leaned back, arms holding her to him, and he raked his darkening eyes across her body. For a moment, Jenna imagined what he saw: her breathing hard, nearly naked, exposed on his couch with nothing but a couple of cheap bits of cotton stretched over her. Self-consciousness overtook her. She watched as his eyes seemed to inhale the sight of her, his face filled completely with some expression, and felt a shudder move through her. What was the look? Was it desire? Need?
Was it something colder? Without thinking, she moved her arms to cover herself. She wanted so much to keep going, to feel this man’s body on her own again, but at the same time, she wanted him to be anyone in the world except Grant Blakely. Could she allow herself to forget who he was, just for this moment, just for one night?
Before she could answer the question, she saw his eyelids blink hard, and then watched as he pulled away. He pulled his arms out from under her, letting her drop back hard on the sofa, as if suddenly he couldn’t stand to touch her. She felt a nakedness on her lips, across the front of her body where his chest had been pressed so tightly to hers, on her back where his hands had held her to him. She felt how exposed she was before him, and felt shame.
“Why…” she tried, but didn’t know what to say next. Was the right question “Why did you kiss me?” Or was it “Why did you stop?” She felt dizzy, stupid, drunk. It was a horrifying feeling. Her heart pounded harder. She searched for something, anything, to say, as if the right words could somehow cover her near-naked body.
Grant spoke first. “Jenna.” His voice was hard as he stood fully upright, turned away from her, and reached down to find his shirt on the floor, then slid it back over his arms. “You should go. I won’t do this.” His voice was thick and heavy. He turned back toward her after saying it, put both hands on the back of his neck as if he were exhausted. Or perhaps irritated.
Jenna looked up at his face, at his heavy eyes that suddenly didn’t seem to see her, at the lips that had captured hers so suddenly and released her with no warning. She searched as hard as she could but saw nothing of the understanding or passion he’d shown her just minutes ago. She saw only cold marble, like the floor that would take her away fr
om this place.
“Maybe I should go,” she said at last, feeling the embarrassment of her situation like a gust of icy wind. She moved toward her dress and slithered back into it, relieved to have something real between her skin and his, but heartbroken by it at the same time.
“It was a mistake for you to come up here,” he said in a hard, distant voice. “Go downstairs and meet Martin—he’ll arrange a driver to take you home.” His words burned her, and her eyes stung with tears she could not let him see. She still longed for him, but she would not beg. “I’ll call him and let him know you’re coming. He’ll know what to do.”
Of course he will, Jenna thought with a twinge of pain. He’d probably arranged for the quick departure of so many one-night stands. She would be only one of many. The thought hurt, though she knew it was idiotic to care about what she meant to Grant Blakely. She meant nothing to him. She was his assistant. She had been drinking, and let herself get carried away by the situation. She’d let herself believe there was something real between them.
When she knew in her heart that there never could be.
7
The moment Grant heard the elevator doors close behind her, he sank down on the plush leather ottoman by the window and let his shoulders collapse. A curse escaped his lips. He’d come so close to falling. To giving in to his wants, to that smoldering desire she lit inside him. To forgetting himself, his responsibilities, his honor.
Hell. Grant stood up and paced to the window, staring out at the riot of lights below, but seeing nothing. What had just happened? Had this all been a set up? A path to seduction from the champagne to the hotel, to the kittenish gasp at his burning touch?
Or was it truly her? Did she want this as badly as he did?
He thought of the way her body seemed to turn itself over to him, the far-off look of pleasure in her eyes as he traced his lips all over her, the way she’d pushed into his body urgently. She’d wanted him, all right. That kind of desire he knew she couldn’t fake.
