His Longing (Billionaire Blind Date Book 4)

by Jacinda Chance

  I didn’t ask Grant any questions, because there was simply no time to do so. And then a hush fell over the crowd, and a white-haired man in a black suit stood behind the altar. After a moment, I realized he was one of Clayton’s brothers I’d just met.

  “All of you here today were special to my brother—his beloved wife, Marie, his family, close friends. He loved you all, and you loved him. No matter what disease did to his mind near the end of his life, I feel in my heart that he took that love with him, he held on to that even as his memories faded away, he will keep it with him always.”

  He said some more lovely things about his brother, shared a few memories that made people in pews laugh, and invited others to stand and speak if they wished to say something about Clayton.

  A hymn played through a speaker system I couldn’t see. A few more people got up to speak briefly, and then Grant squeezed my hand and walked to the front.

  Seven

  “Biologically,” he said, his voice firm, “Clayton was my uncle. But as all of you know, he was more a father to me than my own. He praised me when I did well, and punished me when I didn’t. But the most important thing was that he was always there for me, no matter what I did. His love, his devotion to his family, was unconditional. And I can never express with words how grateful I am for that.”

  Grant’s eyes shone with unshed tears. He kissed his fingertips and pressed them to the top of the casket. “Goodbye, Uncle Clayton. You deserved better from life.”

  Grant sat next to me again and took my hand the moment he did. I looked to him, waiting for him to meet my gaze so I could express sympathy or empathy, or show him that I was there for him. He stared forward.

  The rest of the speakers said essentially the same thing, with a few personal anecdotes thrown in. When it was over, everyone stood, and people milled around greeting one another. I was surprised at how quick the service was, with no priest offering prayers, no incense, no kneeling or repeating anything. I wasn’t that familiar with Catholic traditions, but I’d gone to church with a school friend a time or two and expected more ceremony that I’d seen.

  Several people, upon meeting me, said things to Grant like it’s about time, or good job. One woman, who gave the appearance that she might have had a cocktail for breakfast, hugged Grant tightly and said I didn’t think you’d ever find a nice girl and settle down. I was even beginning to wonder if you were gay.

  Her husband mumbled, “Jesus Christ, Elaine,” and apologized to Grant before pulling her away.

  Grant raised his eyebrows at me. I smiled.

  “Is that it?” I asked, when people seemed to be dispersing.

  “That’s the family function. Aunt Marie apparently explained to the priest she wanted a small family gathering before the public funeral. That starts in about a half an hour.” He led me toward the front doors of the church. When we stopped, he squeezed my hand and kissed my cheek.

  “Thank you so much for coming. I do appreciate it. Catholic funerals are long and tedious, and everyone he ever did business with will want to show us just how sad they are.” Grant rolled his eyes. “There’s no need for you to stay.”

  So, he wanted me there for the private family funeral, but I didn’t need to stay for the public one? I wasn’t sure how to take that.

  “Grant . . . I don’t mind.”

  His eyebrows dropped. “I don’t expect you to stay, Sophie. It’s all right.”

  I let out a breath with a laugh. “I know. But . . . really. I don’t mind at all.”

  Grant swallowed, and I thought for a moment he was going to say something cutting. It was how he usually handled such things.

  Instead, he met my gaze and tilted his head. “If you really don’t mind . . . then thank you.”

  Grant led me back toward the front pew, holding my hand all the while.

  During the funeral Mass, Grant never let emotion seep into his expression as he had during the private one. When it was over, I rode in a limousine behind the hearse with Grant and his Aunt Marie to the cemetery, and sat between them again for the graveside service. Grant held my hand the entire time. And when the priest started with the ashes to ashes, dust to dust part of the rite, Marie clutched my other hand.

  Afterward, we rode back to the church. Grant stood with me on the curb. “So,” he said. “Chris Hale.”

  “Grant,” I said, “that can wait. You’ve just been to your uncle’s funeral.”

  “I have. Life goes on.”

  I sense he wanted it to, but hadn’t properly grieved or let what had happened sink in. He continued despite my protests.

  Grant sighed and looked at the church. “We could sneak into the confessional, and you could straddle me while I explain.” He gave me a sly look.

  He wanted to have sex in the church where everyone had just said goodbye to his uncle—an uncle I knew he loved and respected. I made no move, so he dropped the leer off his face and nodded in the direction of the car that was there to pick us up.

  “Or you can come home with me, and we can talk there.”

  “You’re not going to the luncheon at the hall?” Everyone seemed to be heading to eat at the post-funeral lunch that had been announced at the graveside service. Not as many had attended that, but it was still quite a crowd.

  “I’ve spent a lot of time with Aunt Marie over the last couple of days. She doesn’t expect me to be there. She doesn’t even want to be there.”

  “I see.”

  Grant stepped forward fast and caught my mouth in a rough kiss, right in front of the church with family and business associates milling about. “Come home with me, Sophie.”

  How could I have said no to that?

  Eight - Grant

  I would have fucked her in the confessional. That would have been amazing. But I didn’t want her to ride me and look at me like she was looking at me—with sympathy.

  I understood why she did, but that’s not what I wanted. Feeling sorry for me while fucking me? Absolutely not.

  She wanted answers, and I wanted her near me. So I invited her home.

  As we got into the limo, I wondered what the hell I thought I was doing. Not just taking her home, but asking her to come to the funeral in the first place. Ever since I’d gotten the message about Uncle Clayton’s turn for the worse while I was at dinner with Sophie on Friday, it had been on my mind to have her with me. I’d almost called her from the hospital twice, just to hear her voice. The moment his funeral arrangements had been set, I’d thought about asking her. I decided I’d wait until Tuesday, and perhaps she would already have plans. Poor timing would save me from myself.

  I just wanted her with me during the family service. And I hated how much I’d wanted that.

  And how much her presence really had made the service easier.

  “I’ve never been to a Catholic funeral,” she said, about five minutes into the ride. “Is that typically how they go, with the family’s private gathering first?”

  “I don’t think so, no. But money is good motivation for the priest breaking with tradition. It’s not difficult to get things your way when you can pay.”

  Sophie nodded, but didn’t say anything else.

  “The pearls look good on you.” I drew my index finger under them, following the curve back and forth. “Beautiful.” I pressed the button that raised the divider and blocked us from our driver’s view.

  “Thank you, Grant. I love them. But . . .”

  “But? No buts, Sophie.” He patted his thighs. “Straddle me.”

  She hesitated.

  “Straddle me, Sophie. I want to touch you, look at you.”

  She carefully straddled my lap, her knees on the seat, thighs spread. I pushed her dress up and out of the way so I could see her tiny, black underwear. Then I cupped both her tits in my hands right through the dress, loving the feel of them against my palms.

  “I’d love to tie you to my bed and have my way with you.” I slipped my hand between her thighs to rub her through the
thin slip of her panties. “I have a surprise at the house that was going to wait until Saturday, but I think we should test it first.”

  “A surprise? You’ve already given me such a beautiful dress, the jewelry . . . about—”

  “This is a different kind of surprise. Panties I want you to wear Saturday. A very special pair.”

  She whimpered as I pressed my finger against her, the fabric of her panties slipping into her crease.

  “Grant,” she whispered. “We have to talk about—”

  “All right. Yes, Sophie, I talked to Hollis about Christopher Hale.” I slipped into her underwear to press two fingers into her tight heat, my thumb stroking her clit. Time to lay this on the table. If it made her angry, at least she wasn’t pitying me and looking at me in that soft, sad way like she had earlier.

  “Yes, I told him I was uncomfortable with Chris working so closely with you. Yes, Aten transferred him because of that. Chris Hale wanted to fuck you, and I wanted him as far away from you as I could possibly get him. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  Nine - Sophie

  I was amazed I was going to Grant’s home. Or that I straddled him in the back of the limo, his fingers inside me.

  Or that he’d just admitted to having Chris transferred.

  His fingers withdrew and pushed deep again, his thumb toying with me, sending little shivers of building pleasure out like a sunburst. He’d done that to distract me. I was on to him.

  “You shouldn’t have done that. Chris didn’t . . . he didn’t do anything wrong.” I gasped as he expertly stroked me from within in time with his thumb.

  “He asked you on a date.”

  “How did—”

  “Christopher told me as much. You were in the meeting. He admitted that he’d ask you out before he knew you were engaged. I suppose he thought you might have told me.” Grant kneaded my breast and flicked his thumb against my clit. “Which you didn’t, by the way.”

  “I didn’t because it wasn’t a big deal. When I told him I had a fiancé, he apologized, embarrassed, and he was simply friendly and professional after that.”

  Grant’s hands stopped. “You told him you were engaged?”

  “Yes. There wasn’t any way to not say it at that point.”

  “So you lied.”

  “I had to.”

  “Hmm.” Grant took a deep breath. “Well, he’s gone now. You should be thanking me. He got a promotion out of it.”

  I grabbed his wrist so he’d stop teasing me. He didn’t. “That’s not the point, Grant. You upended a man’s life over a lunch meeting and a simple attempt to go on a date, which wouldn’t have happened again.”

  “I didn’t like the way he looked at you. He had to go.”

  “Grant . . . you bought me that skimpy dress. Every man in the restaurant looked at me like that. I thought you liked it.”

  He shook his head. “No, they looked at you like you were the sexiest thing they’d seen. They wanted what I had—they wanted to fuck you.”

  Grant wrapped his arm around my waist and shifted, tilting us so that he lay me down on my back on the long seat.

  “Christopher Hale looked at you like you were within his reach. Like he could fuck you.” Grant pulled my panties down my legs and off, then pushed my legs up and apart with hands on my inner thighs. “I’m the only man who gets to do that,” he growled.

  Then his mouth and tongue were on me, dipping into me and tapping out a rhythm against my core that made me need to come. I put both of my own hands over my mouth so I wouldn’t moan loudly enough to distract the driver, and tossed my head side to side. Grant sucked and flicked, and then he plunged two fingers deep as his tongue slapped pleasure straight into me, bringing me to the peak faster than ever before. I held my mouth closed behind my hand, but as I came, the moan was surprisingly loud despite that.

  My back arched, my thighs trembled as Grant sucked lightly against my throbbing clit, his fingers pushing deep into me and twisting out, stroking every place that ached for it.

  He licked his lips and looked up at me. “I’m the one who makes you scream. Not him. Not anybody else.”

  Isn’t that up to me? The thought came, but it didn’t matter. It was up to me, but my decision was the same as Grant’s.

  He was the only one I wanted to touch me.

  He sat up and left a hand on my stomach, stroking lightly in circles. I took several breaths before I dared move. He held my panties up, then shoved them into his pocket with a smirk. I tried to straighten my clothes, and sat next to him, leaning against him. His arm went around my shoulders.

  “Are you hungry, too?” he asked softly.

  “Yes.” I licked my lips and nodded, and began to unzip his fly. His hand went over mine. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

  “I genuinely meant for food. You sounded like you wanted to go to the luncheon, so I thought you might want to eat something when we arrived.”

  I was hungry, but I hungered for him more.

  “I’d like that, but . . . let me now?” I pressed on the bulge in his slacks with the palm of my hand.

  Grant hissed and clamped his hand over mine, grinding it against him. “Tell me exactly what you want, Sophie. Ask me sweetly.”

  “I . . . I want to suck your cock. May I? Please?”

  His tongue dashed out to slide across his lower lip, and he nodded with hooded eyes. “Suck my cock,” he breathed. “Hard.”

  I unzipped his trousers and pulled him from the confines of his underwear. His length stood hard and proud, the head shining dark pink. A hand cupped the back of my neck and guided me to move to my knees on the floorboard in front of him. Then he pulled me forward, urging me to do what I’d wanted.

  I took Grant in, swirling my tongue around him eagerly, and sucked hard, just as he’d asked. I did my best to suck him down and swallow, to do everything I could that I knew would give him pleasure.

  “That’s it,” he moaned. “Such a good girl. My sweet Sophie . . .”

  I moaned around him, and his head tossed back against the leather seat. “Oh, so good.” His hand kneaded the back of my neck, pressing down as I lowered my mouth onto his cock and relaxing when I sucked as I let it slide through my lips.

  The limo stopped, and for a moment I thought I should stop, too, before the driver opened Grant’s door. No slam came—the driver apparently waited in the front seat. I guess the privacy panel was enough to stop him from interrupting us. I realized he might know what we were doing, but put that out of my mind.

  “You want it?” Grant breathed.

  I moaned softly and nodded as I sucked him.

  “Yeah, you want it. Take it, all of it.” He shuddered and thrust, and his release hit the back of my throat when he came with a growl. I swallowed instinctively to avoid gagging, and fell into a rhythm of swallowing and sucking while he shuddered and twitched in my mouth.

  Despite the hand clamped onto my neck, holding me on him, I felt powerful. I’d made this man shiver in pleasure.

  And he breathed my name in a way I wanted to hear again and again.

  “Oh, Sophie,” it came softly, barely there, but I know I didn’t imagine it.

  His hand guided me to move enough for him to slip free. I looked up at him, and he rubbed the head against my lips. I stuck my tongue out enough to catch it.

  “Beautiful,” he said. He urged me back into the seat, his hand never leaving my neck. His mouth closed over mine in a deep, hungry kiss. I could taste myself on his tongue, and I knew he did the same. It was such an erotic idea, it was my turn to shiver.

  “You’re all mine, Sophie. Your body, your mouth, they belong to me. You know it, I know it, and now Christopher Hale knows it, too.”

  Grant kissed me again, pulling me hard against him. He was right. I knew it. And with a sinking feeling, I knew it wasn’t just my mouth and body that belonged to him. He took good care of those, but I wasn’t sure he would be so careful with my heart.

  Ten


  I could barely believe my eyes when I stepped out of the limo. It was stopped right in front of the walk that led to the double-wide front doors of Grant’s home with plenty of room for at least two cars to pass on the other side. The dark gray walkway led to the double-doors that each had a huge, round knob in the middle. Grant opened both doors and waved me in.

  The foyer was as large as my entire apartment, with a double staircase leading to a long landing on the second floor. Paintings, all the same size, were hung in a row across the landing, with art in oval frames adorning the curved walls that followed the staircase down.

  A marble table sat between the base of the staircases, with a gorgeous, light blue vase in the center, tall flowers and greenery reaching far above my head.

  “Hungry? For food, this time?” Grant took my hand before I answered and led me to the right, down a hall with more art lining the walls, into a kitchen with stainless steel appliances, a stone-tiled floor, gray marble countertops and a huge island in the massive space with stools lining both sides. Pots and pans hung from the ceiling near the wall over a long counter, next to a column of built-in ovens and an actual grill top between the ovens and a cooktop with six burners.

  Grant patted a stool, then pulled a tray out of the wide refrigerator that was covered with finger sandwiches, little pots of spreads, a bowl of raw veggies like broccoli and carrots, olives, cubes of cheese and some grapes.

  He poured us each a stemmed glass of ice water from a pitcher in the fridge, and sat on the stool across the island from me. In a restaurant, he liked to sit as close as possible, so I wondered why he chose to sit facing me instead.