by Lauren Layne
“Does practice round include sex?” Riley asked. “Because this one needs it.” She jerked a thumb at Grace. “Also, where the hell is our server?”
Two minutes later, Riley had flagged down one of the flustered servers and they were ordering one of their usual assortment of small plates, while Grace’s mind drifted.
No, 2.0 said succinctly. Just no.
But it’s just one night.
Still no.
What’s the worst that can happen? Grace pleaded.
Crossing her arms, 2.0 glared. Crabs. Mayhem. A UTI. A broken heart.
Orrrr, the one night could help get him out of my system, Grace argued back. You know, sleep with him so I can move on.
After thinking it over, 2.0 inquired, So this is like an itch you need to scratch? One night of hanky-panky to take the edge off so that you can get him out of your system?
Grace pounced on it. Yes. Precisely.
Fine, 2.0 huffed. Use a condom.
“Grace?” Julie asked. “You want to add anything to the order?”
She shut the menu, her mind made up on more than just food. “The cheese plate,” she told the waitress. “Definitely the cheese plate.”
Then she retrieved her cell phone from Riley’s clutches and typed in one fateful word in response to Jake’s message.
Yes.
Chapter Eighteen
Grace had known she was out of practice with dating.
She hadn’t known that getting back on the damned wagon would be such a complete disaster.
Clad only in matching green bra and panties, she stood in front of her closet. And stared. And stared some more.
Without taking her eyes off the mess of clothes that were all wrong, she retrieved her phone from the nightstand and called Julie.
“Hey, Grace,” her friend chirped.
“I have nothing to wear.”
There was a beat of silence followed by rustling … of sheets, or maybe clothes? … followed by a whispered, “Stop!” and then a giggle.
Grace rolled her eyes. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Of course not,” Julie said. Another giggle was followed by a squeal.
“When Mitchell’s done copping a feel, can we please deal with my crisis?”
“Sure, sure,” Julie said, her voice turning all business. “Listen, you’ve called the right woman. I’ve written about eight articles on exactly this problem. Now, I know this is going to be hard to believe, but what you think you’re experiencing is not real.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s the first-date-and-I-have-absolutely-nothing-to-wear panic you’re experiencing. It’s perfectly common, but also 100 percent in your head. Now repeat after me: ‘There is the perfect thing to wear in this closet.’ ”
“If I’d known you were going to be in weird-shrink mode, I would have called Riley or Emma.”
“I knew it! You do like Emma.”
“Can we discuss this later? Like maybe after we’ve figured out what I’m wearing?”
“How much time do we have?”
Grace checked the clock and tried to stifle the surge of panic. “Um … about eight minutes.”
“Until you have to leave? Or is Jake coming over there?”
“He’s coming here. Something about that’s how boys from the dairy farms do it.”
A beat of silence on the other end. “I’m trying to figure out if there’s a sexual reference in there, but mostly it just seems weird. But either way, that’s a big step for a first date. These days, showing a man your home is a bigger step than showing him your boobs.”
“According to whom, Riley? And besides, he’s already seen my home,” Grace said as she held up a blue dress and promptly discarded it. Too corporate. White sundress? Too bridal. Last year’s skinny jeans? Too tight.
“What do you mean he’s seen it?” Julie shrieked. “Jake Malone has been inside your apartment?”
“Just once. He came over after that first stunt with the video camera. I thought he was going to machete me to pieces, but mostly he just wanted to rant and stomp around manlike.”
And kiss me. He wanted to kiss me.
“And we haven’t heard about the apartment drop-by because …?”
Because it was private. And somehow important. “I don’t know. I guess it just never came up.”
Julie made a noise that sounded suspiciously like bullshit. “How’d he even get your address?”
Grace paused. “You know, I never actually thought about that. If I had to guess, I’d imagine he slept with someone, or a handful of someones, who had connections to people who know things. And we’re down to four minutes, so …”
“Boot cut jeans. The dark ones that you always complain make your hips look big because you’re delusional. You look killer in them. Red heels, red belt, and your black halter top. It’s raining, so bring your red trench. The Burberry one.”
Grace raced to pull out each item that Julie mentioned, too aware of the time to doubt her friend’s advice. “How do you know all this? Maybe now that you’re old and settled instead of dating the entire city, you should join the Fashion section of Stiletto.”
“Please. Oliver would never have me. Now hurry along and get dressed. And Grace?”
“Yeah?”
“Nobody would judge you if you put out.”
With that, Julie clicked off just as the door bell rang.
“Craaaaap.” Grace would have bet money that Jake wasn’t the on-time type of guy. He struck her as the type that always assumed it would take “two seconds” to find a cab, never paying any heed to things like rush hour. And she knew firsthand that he had a not-so-delightful habit of declaring that everything will take “five minutes” when really he meant it would take some high multiple of five minutes.
But of course, he’d chosen now to be early.
So much for her grand plan of opening the door looking dead sexy with his favorite bourbon in hand. She slipped on her blue robe and went to the door.
Oh my.
Jake Malone did wonders for jeans. And the way his dark green dress shirt was rolled up just enough to show forearms. A particular weakness of hers.
His eyes skimmed up her legs, hovering on the hem, before he smiled into her eyes. “I have fond memories of that robe.”
“I’ll bet,” she said, gesturing to him to come in. “I’ll be ready in just a minute.”
“No hurry,” he said as he pulled a bottle of champagne out of the bag he’d brought with him. “Reservations are actually thirty minutes after when I originally told you.”
“On purpose?” she asked, scandalized. “You expected me to be late?”
“I was right, wasn’t I?” he asked as he began searching her cupboards for glasses for the champagne.
“But I’m never late.”
“You were never late with your buffoon ex-boyfriend because you didn’t care what you were wearing.”
“I cared!”
“You cared about looking presentable,” he clarified, finally finding the glasses. “Not about looking sexy.”
“Is that what you think I’m doing tonight? Trying to look sexy?” She accepted the glass he held out even though she was tempted to sulk.
He clinked his glass to hers before taking a sip and appraising her. “You never have to try, Grace.”
Grace felt a happy, bubbly feeling that had absolutely nothing to do with the champagne.
“Damn you’re an expert at this.”
“Lots of practice,” he said with a little wink. “Now go. Scamper into whatever hot outfit your friend told you to wear at the eleventh hour.”
Grace couldn’t help but laugh as she followed instructions and headed into the bedroom. “If you put any of this male genius up on that damned website, I’ll deny all of it!” she called.
“No website business tonight, Grace. This is just us. And don’t start with that no-men nonsense either, or I’ll take this champagne a couple streets over to that hussy I
was with the morning we met.”
Grace found herself smiling as she wiggled into her jeans.
Damn it. She was really starting to like this guy.
* * *
Grace knew that she and Greg had held hands during the course of their relationship. She just couldn’t remember the specific moments.
She didn’t remember it feeling this right. Or this natural.
Or this wonderful.
They’d finished dinner, and Jake had suggested they take a walk, which Grace had pointed out as his first misstep of the evening. If he knew women even half as well as he thought he did, he’d understand that women in high heels didn’t do walks. They could walk. From point A to point B. Sometimes. But ambling with no destination? Not so much.
“What if I give you a destination?” he asked.
“Now, now, is that just a clever way of suggesting sex?”
He grinned. “Do you want it to be?”
Yes. “I don’t believe you’ve uttered the magic words.”
“Please?”
“Cheese plate.”
Jake tilted his head back and laughed, and it was then that he’d reached out and gently linked his fingers with hers.
She tried to be cool about it. Tried not to let herself look down at the way their hands joined, her smaller fingers twined with his larger ones. Tried not to think about how warm he was, or how good he felt.
“Seriously, where is our destination?” she asked once she realized that she was indeed being led in a specific direction.
“Tell me you’ve heard of La Maison du Chocolat.”
Grace groaned. “Only the most expensive, most sinful, most amazing chocolate in the city. In the world. Aren’t they from France?”
“Indeed. The damned French are always doing it right. The fries. The cheese. The chocolate … the kissing.”
He tugged at her hand, pulling her to a stop under the awning of a boutique long closed for the night. Then he kissed her. Right there for anyone and everyone to see.
One hand continued to hold her hand as the other found her cheek, his lips gently moving over hers. It was the first time in a long time she’d been kissed in public. Greg hadn’t been one for PDAs, and Grace hadn’t thought she was either.
But here with Jake, kissing on a quiet side street in downtown Manhattan felt right.
Sweet.
She was just a little bit breathless when he pulled back, and he took one last nip of a kiss before he stood upright and resumed walking as though it had never happened.
“You’re good at that,” Grace said.
He glanced down at her. “Kissing?”
“That. And making me want you to do more than kiss me.”
Grace hadn’t meant to say it, and for the life of her she didn’t know what had spurred her to be so uncharacteristically bold. But she didn’t take it back. Because she did want him. All of him.
His eyes darkened and his fingers tightened. “That kind of talk isn’t going to get you chocolate, Ms. Brighton.”
“No?” she asked. “What’s it going to get me?”
This time when he kissed her, it wasn’t gentle and it wasn’t slow. The kiss was savage and hot, and involved more than a little tongue and even a whistle from a passerby.
“Any other stupid questions?” he asked when they broke apart, both breathing hard. Grace mutely shook her head.
“Okay then.”
Inside the chocolate shop, it was as though the kiss had never happened. Jake let her roam around, ogling everything in sight, and although she protested that she really didn’t need anything, Grace hardly kicked up a fuss when they left the store with a small assortment of macaroons and a box of chocolates that had been flown in from Paris just days before.
“So?” he asked, feeding her a bite of hazelnut macaroon.
Grace closed her eyes as the decadent sugary goodness rolled over her tongue. “I lied before. I don’t need sex. Just hand over the macaroons and the chocolates and slip out the back door.”
Jake snatched the last bite of macaroon out of her hand and held the bag of remaining treats well out of reach. “Okay, then. I think we’ve had just about enough of that.”
Grace laughed, and made a grab for the last nibble of her cookie, but it disappeared into Jake’s mouth.
“Usually decadent desserts get them into my bed,” he grumbled. “They doesn’t replace me in their bed.”
“Oh, so you’ve done this before, huh?” she asked, linking her arm through his and weaving to the left to avoid a heel-snagging grate in the middle of the sidewalk. “This is a common ploy of yours? The French-chocolate-and-French-kiss routine?”
Jake slid one arm around her waist and pulled her to a halt against him as his other hand went up to hail a cab. “This is a first for me, actually.”
He didn’t look at her when he said it, and that made his unexpected comment all the more sweet.
There was no cocky wink or smug smile. Just a quiet confession.
A first …
She liked the thought of being a first for Jake.
Oh no you don’t, Grace 2.0 railed in her brain. This is exactly why I okayed this hanky-panky tonight. Because Jake is not the type of guy who gets involved.
Yeah, yeah. She knew that. Just for fun, no commitment, blah blah blah.
But when the cab pulled to a stop and he asked the inevitable “My place or yours?” her stomach flipped in more than just sexual awareness.
Grace thought 2.0 might be right … she was definitely in over her head.
Chapter Nineteen
“Want a glass of wine?”
“No thanks.”
“Whisky?”
“No,” Grace said. “Do you?”
“I’m good. More chocolate? Another macaroon?”
Grace held up a hand. “Jake. I know I’m new at this, but isn’t the benefit of you going back to the woman’s place that you don’t have to play host?”
He ran a hand through his hair looking sheepish. “I just don’t want you to be nervous. And I want to give you time to think about it so you won’t regret it later.”
She slowly moved toward him, settling her hands on his waist. Seriously, did the man not have any fat? Where was his pooch? The love handles? The early signs of a beer belly?
“I’m not nervous,” she said, looking up into his eyes. “And I’m not going to regret this.”
Well, I might. But it’ll be worth it.
She went up on her toes, pressing her mouth to his before saying softly, “I want you.”
He sucked in a breath, his hands roughly framing her face.
“Grace.” His voice was raspy.
“Jake.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“About what?”
His arms banded around her back, lifting her off her feet as his mouth fused with hers and he walked backward into the bedroom. Kicking the door closed behind him until it was just them in darkness other than the city lights outside Grace’s window.
She took a deep breath, about to ask if they could go slow, but then his hands were in her hair, his mouth on hers, and slow was the last thing she wanted. Jake’s teeth nipped at her lower lip and Grace gasped.
Oh. So this is what he’d wanted to warn her about.
Grace had expected someone with Jake’s experience to have her out of her panties in about five seconds flat, but the man took his time. She lost track of the number of times he switched the angles of their kiss, exploring every corner of her mouth, every sensitive spot of her lips, until she was grasping frantically at his shirt.
“More.”
“You sure?” he asked, his breath hot against her mouth.
“Quit asking me stupid questions.”
She felt him smile against her mouth before his lips moved across her cheek, his tongue playfully flicking the spot just below her ear until he was dragging warm lips and tongue down her throat. He found a spot just below the string of her halter top w
here her neck met her shoulder, and as he sucked, Grace moaned.
Jake pulled back slightly, his eyes holding hers, and he lifted a hand to undo the tie around her neck. His fingers were gentle as he undid the knot, and belatedly Grace realized that there was no sexy way to remove a clingy halter top.
Really, Julie? This was your best advice?
But then Jake’s hands slid under the top, skimming up and down her spine, and Grace forgot all about her friend. Since easing the thing over her head would be slightly less awkward than shimmying it down her body, she lifted her arms.
He removed it with ease, his eyes hungrily taking in a nearly topless Grace before he ran a finger along the top of her green strapless bra.
“This matches your eyes,” he said softly.
Her eyes fluttered shut as the tips of his fingers trailed over her softly. His fingers undid the back clasp without even the slightest fumble, and he tossed the bra aside before sitting on the bed and pulling her toward him until she was standing between his legs. Grace kept waiting for the surge of embarrassment at the realization that he was entirely clothed and she was half naked.
But instead she felt want, low and urgent.
His hands came up to cup her breasts, his touch gentle and sure, and they locked eyes as his thumbs found her nipples, rubbing her in idle motions, until she jerked toward him. “Jake.”
He wrapped his warm mouth around her nipple, his mouth working her as his fingers quickly removed her belt and unbuttoned her jeans.
Grace’s eyes flew wide when he pulled her jeans and panties down just enough for his fingers to find her wetness, one finger sliding into her as his thumb made wicked patterns against her clit. She was on the edge in a matter of seconds. Embarrassed, she tried to push him away, but he merely sucked harder and rubbed a little faster.
When he eased a second finger into her, his hand moving in a steady rhythm as his thumb circled harder, Grace exploded.
This was no well-isn’t-this-nice? orgasm that she was used to. It was her personal apocalypse. Her hands clutched frantically at his hair as her hips writhed on his hand. Too-wide hips that she hadn’t once tried to hide from Jake the way she might have with Greg.
