Tito claps his hands together, interrupting the look Raven and I are locked into. “Well how about we get this party started, huh?”
Her posture softens, and she takes me by the arm. “Come on, let’s have some fun.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
She winks, and for most of the night we’re attached at the hip, separating only when one of us has to go to the bathroom, or when I sneak away to fetch her some more drinks.
“So what do you think?” she asks.
We’re tucked away in a corner at a small table. The party’s in full swing, with Tito and Frankie working the room like two Manhattan socialites, even though they’re both far removed from that world. I watch them together, hand-in-hand, excited to take the next step in their journey.
“I think it’s great. They obviously care a great deal about one another.”
“So the whole gay thing doesn’t bother you?”
“Why would it bother me?” I sip from a bottle of Heineken and look on, curious about her question.
Raven shrugs. “I don’t know. I just figured you for the conservative type.”
“Really?” I arch my eyebrows in surprise. “With a mouth like mine and you figured me for a conservative?”
She laughs, and places a hand on my forearm. “You’re right, and besides, I do like that dirty mouth of yours.”
“Oh yeah?”
Her hand slides up my bicep, sending a shiver of desire through me. “Totally,” she purrs.
As much as I’d like to believe she’s warming up to me, I can’t help but think the alcohol has something to do with it. She’s consumed I don’t know how many of those Jack Daniel’s coolers this evening, while I’m only on my second bottle of beer. Raven’s cheeks are flush, and there’s no doubt her tongue is a little looser than I’m used to.
I glance at her chest, remembering the picture she sent me just hours ago when she was in the bath. Thinking of her glistening tits, I instinctively wet my lips.
“I bet you’d like to put that mouth all over me,” she growls, getting up from her seat and coming around the table to sit in my lap. I’m not sure what to do. My body says go with the flow, but the gentleman I’m trying to be keeps one hand clutched firmly around the beer bottle, while the other dangles limp at my side.
Raven leans in and whispers close to my ear. I can smell her perfume, her breath. I can feel the heat radiating off her like a furnace as she grinds down with her ass on my ever-growing cock.
“I bet you’d like to put that mouth on my tits, my ass, my cunt. Come on, admit it.”
“I thought I already did?”
She shakes her head. “I want to hear you say it, Mr. Huffman. I want to hear you say all the naughty things you’d like to do to me.”
I stare at her. Searching her eyes for a hint of the Raven I know, and not the one consumed by alcohol at the moment. The Raven who’s flirtatious, and funny, and honest. Not the girl throwing herself at me like a cheap hooker. Not that I mind. I fucking love the feel of her grinding against my cock, but the Raven I want is nowhere to be found.
She blinks, and as if realizing what she’s doing, Raven jumps off my lap and stands over me, turning an embarrassed shade of red for a moment before shifting her attention to the crowd.
A part of me feels bad for her, because I know how much she’s trying to fight the urges she’s been having toward me. I know because I’ve been fighting my own urges, and it’s not easy. If the tables were turned, I’d be throwing myself at her right now and I’m not so sure I’d be able to take no for an answer.
“Everyone!” she shouts, “gather ‘round.”
She makes her way to the front of the room as Tito and Frankie sidle up to me. I turn to them and whisper, “Is she normally like this?”
Tito shakes his head. “No way. You must have her all kinds of worked up, Mr. Huffy.”
“I haven’t seen her this far gone since Adam,” Frankie muses.
“Adam?” I ask.
“Old boyfriend. Met him when she first moved here. They were together for a year before Rave caught him cheating on her.”
“I never liked that guy,” Tito says through gritted teeth.
I watch as she takes front and center, commanding the room with tipsy sways. My fists clench and unclench at the thought of anybody hurting her the way this Adam fellow did. I guess I was wrong. She has had her share of heartbreaks.
We all have.
“The British are coming! The British are coming!” She laughingly shouts while standing on a chair.
“Oh Lord,” Tito whispers. “What have you done to her, Huffy?”
I haven’t done anything, that’s the problem. We’ve done nothing but flirt back and forth, and it’s only been a week. Naughty text messages, sexual innuendos, and all this time she’s been the one to insist she isn’t going to sleep with me.
But it’s quite obvious Raven’s as conflicted as I am, because not only do I want to fuck her, I want to shield her from any more pain.
Something I haven’t felt since—
“All right all you Yanks, listen up. We’re here tonight to celebrate the love that my two friends share for one another. Tito, and Frankie! I had this whole speech prepared before I got here, but somewhere along the way it got lost, so fuck it. Let’s wing it, shall we?”
Murmurs course through the crowd of people. I’m sure when they signed up to come to this party, they didn’t expect a drunk British woman as entertainment.
“What is love?” she muses. “Love…is power. Love…is strong. Love is that feeling you get when you’re around someone and know it’s where you’re supposed to be.”
Her eye catches mine, and for a fleeting moment I see a glimpse of her. The real Raven. The sensible one who speaks from her heart, and for the rest of her speech she doesn’t look away.
“Love is pain,” she whispers. “Love is heartbreak, agony, and sorrow. Love is knowing it’s all those things, but still latching onto someone even though you know there’s a chance you might get hurt, because in a world as fucked up as this one…what else is there? There is only love, and love will always triumph. So here’s to Frankie and Tito,” she raises her bottle. “May they experience all love has in store for them, and still be together on the other side of the blissful storm that it is.”
Despite her slurred words, tipsy posture, and lackadaisical attitude, I know she means what she says, and for the first time I truly begin to understand her soul, and it jumpstarts my heart.
She steps down from the chair with a little help, steadying herself before she makes her way over to me. Her eyes blaze with desire. Hungry and wanting and I know when she wakes up tomorrow she’s probably not going to remember any of this, so I just go with it as I expect her to say something cheeky.
Instead, she clutches on to my shirt and pulls me close. “Come ‘ere, you,” Raven slurs.
And then her lips are on mine full throttle. Engulfing my mouth before her tongue pushes past my teeth and we connect. I don’t know what to do. I’ve dreamed about kissing her. Dreamed about having her close to me…but not like this. Not when her mind is gone and her senses are blurred. I want to reciprocate. I want to put my hands all over her body, lift her up and carry her away, but instead I look to Tito and Frankie for help, because as badly as I want to be with this woman, it can’t be like this.
Tito jumps forward and drags her away. She protests with a grin on her face and a nasty gleam in her eye as she looks at me and says, “Is that what you wanted?”
Before I can say anything in response, she collapses. Passed out drunk on the floor of Drake’s with everyone looking at her, and all I can think about doing is punching every last one of them in the face.
“No,” I say quietly to myself. “That isn’t what I wanted.”
“She’s out,” Frankie says, lifting one of her eyelids.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my cell. Dialing a number, I wait for Abel to answer. When he does,
I give him the address and tell him to pick me up in ten.
“Who was that?” Tito asks.
“A friend. I’m going to take Raven back to her apartment and make sure she’s okay.”
“On your bike?”
I shake my head. “No, he’s going to pick us up.”
I reach into my other pocket and pull out the keys to my Harley. Tossing them at him, I say, “The bike’s yours.”
Tito catches the keys, looking on with an expression of shock. “Are you serious?”
I nod, thinking only of Raven at this point. No amount of possessions or money or things matter. For now, she’s my world, and I have to make sure she’s safe.
I place one arm under her neck, and the other beneath her knees. With a heave, I lift Raven up and make my way out the door, carrying her straight into the blinding flashbulbs of the paparazzi.
Someone must have tipped them off I was here.
Son of a bitch.
- 12 -
Raven
I don’t know what time it is when I pry my eyes open. All I know is stray beams of sunlight shine in through my window blinds, so it must be morning.
Sunlight. Window blinds. Bed.
I’m in my bed, and instinctively rip off the covers to find myself still dressed in the same outfit as the night before. A gasp of relief escapes my lungs, and I slowly move my legs over the edge of the mattress and allow my feet to hit the floor. My head feels like it’s been serenaded by an orchestra clashing nothing but cymbals. Shooting pain stretches from my temples to my neck.
God, what a night.
Rising slowly, I make my way into the bathroom and gulp down a glass of water, followed by three Tylenol and another glass of water. Staring at myself in the mirror, all I can feel is shame.
Shuffling through the living room and into the kitchen, I put on a pot of coffee and wonder what Grant must think of me. He’s probably at home, drafting up my termination papers while the drip, drip, drip of the percolator fills the carafe with coffee, and the aromatic scent of caffeine hits me.
Did I just piss it all away? My job, my salary, Grant?
I stand, resting against the counter with my head in my hand. What did I do? Everything was going so well. We were having some fun, fooling around, and then one drink led to another and another and another, and then…
Shit.
Pouring a cup, I saunter aimlessly into the living room wishing I had a do-over. A magical reset button that could just whisk me away to yesterday when I was in the bathtub, before I went to the party. Maybe then I could do right by myself, instead of acting like a—
I yelp, and take a step back. A splash of coffee sloshes out of my cup and lands on the hardwood floor.
Grant is asleep on the couch, a throw tossed over himself for warmth.
Oh my gosh.
He looks so peaceful. Curled up, his hair mussed. Peaceful, and completely adorable. I just wish his reason for being here was under different circumstances.
I stare at him, wondering how we got here. From hating one another to sleeping on my couch in less than two weeks, and as I sip my coffee and stare at my clothes, I realize that it could have gone a different way. Grant could have undressed me. Could’ve slipped me into something more comfortable, or left me lying on my bed in my bloomers after catching a sneak peek of my goodies, but he didn’t. He left me clothed, preserving what little dignity remained after the display I put on.
He was a gentleman. A surprisingly honorable one.
He stirs, no doubt the smell of coffee bringing him to wake. His eyes flutter open and he sees me looking at him. Instantly a smile curls up his lips and he stretches like a cat, moaning a good morning. Shifting his legs, he makes room for me to sit down.
“Hey,” I whisper, unable to look him in the eye. Instead, I stare into my mug.
“How are you feeling?”
“Okay,” I shrug.
I can feel his eyes on me, searching for more. When I offer nothing else, he asks, “Do you remember anything from last night?”
“It’s all a blur, really.”
He nods, and goes into the kitchen. I can hear him rummaging around for a cup, pouring the coffee into it, and my heart quickens because for a split second I imagine this being something a little more permanent. Him sleeping over—in my bed rather than the couch—waking up together, talking about what we have planned for the day.
That’s just a fairy tale, though. After last night, I can’t imagine Grant being as receptive to my flirtations. I’ll be surprised if I still have a job by the time he’s out the door.
He returns, and plunks himself down next to me. His hair is sticking up at odd angles and I just want to run my fingers through it and tell him how sorry I am, for everything. For what I did, for teasing him the way I do, and still want to.
Instead, I look at him and ask, “Why are you here?”
The impact of my question makes him flinch, but he doesn’t say anything. Not until he’s had a few sips of coffee and the morning fog has cleared from his head.
“Would you rather I left you at Drake’s?”
I shake my head. “No, but why did you bring me home? Why not Tito, or Frankie, or one of the dozens of other people who were there? Why you?”
Silence fills the air for a minute. Then two. He sets his mug down on the table in front of us and shifts his weight, turning toward me while moving in close. Goosebumps pepper my body as his finger trails down my shoulder to my arm, delicately gliding across my skin in an almost ticklish manner.
“Honestly,” he grins. “I was just hoping for a blowjob.”
He stares at me, and I can’t tell if he’s being serious or not, but either way, the goosebumps of delight quickly turn to shivers of anger until I see the playfulness in his eyes, followed by a wide, cocky smirk before he starts to chuckle, and then laugh, which I gladly add to with my own laughter.
“Jerk,” I shove him, and Grant falls dramatically back to the couch holding his stomach.
“Seriously,” he says. “I brought you home because I wanted to make sure you were okay. Your friends Tito and Frankie seem nice enough, but I didn’t trust you to be alone with anyone else. Not in the state you were in. You were in rough shape, Raven, I didn’t want you to be taken advantage of.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t take advantage,” I say.
He nods. “There was a time I would have, you know.”
“So what’s changed? Why didn’t you take advantage of me last night?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. When I saw you pass out I just…wanted to protect you. It’s that same feeling when I saw Alan in the office leering over you.”
I blush, wanting to look away, but needing to see the honesty in his eyes. It’s there. Front and center. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
“You’re not like other billionaires,” I smile.
“Oh yeah? You know a lot of us, do you?” Grant stretches his arm over the back of the couch, letting his fingers play with the ends of my hair. I don’t stop him, but instead lean into his palm and allow him to cup my cheek, feeling the warmth of his hand on my face.
We stare at one another for what seems like eternity, getting lost in each other’s eyes. I realize I’m falling—hard—and that scares me, because the last time I fell it didn’t end so well, and I swore I’d try to do better. Try to not get so wrapped up in the fairy dust and rainbows that go along with meeting someone new. Someone exciting. But here I am again, with a swirl of Tinkerbells dancing above my head singing, “Fa la la la la,” while I’m left feeling dazed and confused.
Why do I have to make these things so complicated? Why can’t I just have fun and be reckless like other women are? Like I was last night?
Because you’re not that woman, I tell myself. I just let things get out of hand. Not my finest hour, for sure, but Grant’s still here, so I must have done something right.
“You’re the only billionaire I want to know,” I whisper.
“That’s good,” he smiles, “because you’re the only foul-mouthed British girl I want to know.”
“You like it,” I nudge, crinkling up my nose.
“Very much.”
He takes a deep, calming breath, and I realize he’s holding back. For me. He’s trying to be a better person. For me. Grant is trying to change.
For me.
It’s not a sure sign of things to come, but it’s a start.
He moves closer, never taking his eyes off me. His lips part ever so slightly, framed by the rough stubble of a five o’clock shadow. I’ve dreamed of those lips on me—on every part of my body—but for now, I just want them on my mouth. Kissing me. Tasting me. Devouring me.
This is what I wanted last night, and now that I’m completely sober, I plan to enjoy it, and hope like hell that whatever comes after isn’t as bad as the last time I fell this hard for someone.
“Come here,” Grant growls.
His hand shifts from my cheek to the nape of my neck, drawing me toward him. I close my eyes, and take a deep, heaving breath, bracing myself for that blissful electric shock that comes with all first kisses…
…but it doesn’t happen.
Instead, Grant’s cellphone starts ringing, interrupting the moment.
He groans, and I grab for his shirt as he stands. “Don’t get it,” I protest.
“I have to.”
“Why?”
He doesn’t answer me. Instead he crosses the room to his jacket hanging near the front door, fishes his cell from the inside pocket, and answers it, leaving me with a raging set of butterflies in my stomach.
“Hello?”
I sip from my mug, eyeballing him closely. Even in jeans and a casual shirt he commands a room. He could probably walk into a boardroom wearing footie pajamas and still hold everyone’s attention. I smile at the mere thought of that image. Grant in a onesie. Too funny.
But the fun and games stop there when I see his expression drop and his tone turns serious.
“What? How long?”
Made In America Page 8
