by Savannah May
“She isn’t a danger to anyone,” I hiss, “Or aren’t you fit enough to restrain one tiny girl?”
Yeah, let’s toss a little shame his way, see how it feels. And he’s brandishing weapons attached to his sagging stomach, he’s not a helpless poor girl.
“I have authority over my staff in my building here, no one else.”
He looks like he might refuse still but his partner nudges him and he reluctantly goes to uncuff Grace. She still doesn't lift her gaze from the carpet. All the work I did building her confidence back after the hit it had clearly taken has evaporated.
“What did she do?” I demand.
“Sir, there have been multiple fraudulent charges on your Amex card,” Janice steps in. “Aside from gold and diamond jewelry, there’s a trip to Europe, fine hotels, and then for ten people to a resort in Tahiti.”
I eye Grace. The thought that she’s planning to take off on me renders me speechless with rage. I don't care about her using my money. How can she be plotting to leave without so much as a word? Is it vengeance for the way I’ve been treating her? I gave her an apartment but I withdrew the promise of myself in the mix.
I did my best to be the responsible boss but now I realize I had no intention of her leaving, ever. Which makes the end of her summer temp job a little awkward. My time of pulling back from her hasn't helped at all. If anything I’m more frustrated and as pent up as a bear. It wouldn’t take much to unleash my rage on the arrogant cop.
My gaze piercing into Grace’s bowed form must connect to some deep sense in her, because very slowly she lifts her head, then her eyes to locate mine. I know in one look there’s something more going on here. This girl isn’t your normal fraudster thief. I’ve spent enough time around phonies and with her over the last few weeks to know Gracie is genuine in her heart.
Anyway, I’’d give anything to wipe the smug self-satisfaction from the officer’s face.
“I gave Miss Hart my Amex card,” I announce.
“But, sir...” I hold up my hand for Janice to quiet down which she immediately does. She knows better than to correct me.
“Yes Ms. Markle,” I say for the officer's benefit alone, “I know that as far as you’re concerned, she was supposed to buy a business outfit but I also gave her permission to use my card for further purchases.”
“But the thing is, Mr Grady, Grace here denies using the card,” the smug one intervenes with a ‘gotcha’ grin.
He’s acting like he can’t wait to get her downtown and work her over. Like he’s saving the world from evil by arresting one broke girl.
“She’s clearly distressed at her treatment here today,” I say casually but firm. “I may have to discuss this with my legal team and see what grounds we have for harassment. As it is, you don’t have a case if there’s been no fraud and so I’ll allow you to take your leave.”
The officers look at each other then at Janice who I assume confirmed their suspicion, seeing as she fired Grace a few weeks ago. I stand firm, between the cops and their suspect and eventually they leave slowly, unwilling to give up an easy snag and disgruntled. Janice bustles about with paperwork, while apologizing and looking for the way back to my good graces.
My eyes remain fixed on my only Grace. The terror in her eyes tells me everything that she suffered in the prison she was locked in. If you aren't accustomed to that kind of chaos, if you didn't grow up in violence and hatred, or if you did and also had shame heaped on you from an early age, a cell can be a horrific experience.
I get Grace up out of her chair where she seems almost frozen solid, limbs rigid with what must be fear.
“Have a good weekend, Janice,” I say and with Grace held in my arm, weaving like a drunk, we leave with Janice’s slack-mouthed gaze following us. It seems no one quite believes that Grace and I are suited. Not that I give a fuck what anyone thinks.
“Thanks for the Knight in Shiny routine,” Grace slurs. She leans into me for support and the blood surges hot in my veins just having her close to me again.
“Any time,” I say. “I hate that kind of assumption of guilt.”
“I didn’t...”
“Shhh, It’s okay. I think you’re in shock. I’m going to take you home.”
“I’ll be okay. I mean I won’t let you down tomorrow.”
I get her into the elevator and across the lobby, waving away the concierge when he rushes forward to help a little too eagerly for my liking.
“Are you okay, Grace?” He asks her.
“She’s fine,” I grit, what the fuck is it to him?
“Thank you Ryan, I’ll be okay.”
Her fingers reach to his arm and I almost detonate with rage that some guy wants to protect her when that falls to me. Is this who she wants to be with? This type of down to earth dude could make her feel comfortable?
Ryan – how does she even know the guy’s name? - holds the door and I lead Grace to my car, at last Henry discreetly averts his eyes. Grace gives the appearance of a drunk, the way she’s slurring and rambling. She rests her head on my shoulder and when I don’t take her hand in both mine as usual, rests her palm on my thigh. Her touch sends searing heat straight to my balls. My desire for her has in no way diminished despite my best efforts.
She’s still woozy when we arrive at her place and I summon all the discipline I have to not take her home with me. The thought of her alone in her apartment is unsettling. The thought of her alone with me in mine is more so. I know I can’t control myself any longer.
“Don’t worry I’m fine,” she says again, as I help her out of the car, then immediately stumbles into me.
I catch her and pull her close, trying to ignore the temptation of her perfect curves against my body.
“Come on, baby girl, let’s tuck you up.”
Holding Grace in one arm, I get her upstairs and unlock her door. Once inside I get her out of her clothes, picturing cold showers and when that doesn't work, icebergs and freezing to death in the death zone on Everest, the coldest place I’ve ever been when I summitted on my thirtieth birthday.
I leave her underwear on. There are limits to my endurance.
“Don’t go,” she moans as I turn to leave. She reaches out her arms for me and the surge through my blood is irresistible.
“Just a few minutes,” I tell her. “Until you fall asleep.”
I take off my jacket and lie down beside her, wrapping her under my arm. She curls into me, wriggling herself into the spaces created by my swollen muscles, then further settling her softness into my ridges. Her little fingers toy along the length of my ab muscles, purring softly as she explores. She’s not herself. She’s not thinking clearly. I have to restrain the wolf rearing up in me from ravaging her.
Moments later Grace is snoring lightly, passed out from the stresses she went through this afternoon that have taken a huge toll on her body. The most perfect body I’ve ever had nestled in my arms. She fits into me like the key to the kingdom.
21
Grace
I come to as soon as the light cracks the shades around five in the morning. Before thought is rational I reach out to stroke across an empty bed. Did I dream all that happened last night? I force my mind to backtrack through the previous twelve hours. The police trying to arrest me was real enough and makes my heart pound painfully hard just remembering it. But what about Hopper? Was my boss really here in my bed with me? Or did I sink into lush fantasy?
It seems like a delicious dream, his hard body against my chest, my thighs slightly wrapping his thick one. My leg was thrown across his lower half as though I could only sleep by pinning him down and being connected at every limb.
I recall, I think, playing my fingers along every last tendon on his exceptional frame. It has to be my fantasy. I could go with that if it weren’t for the fact there’s a definite indentation in the pillow beside me that has to be from someone else. The bed covers are mussed on that side. I direct my focus to between my legs.
My purity
is intact.
Sadly.
I’m still wearing my underwear that has in no way been dislodged although the panties are soaked through between my legs. It’s all too obvious that the ache located there isn’t from the friction of fierce pounding, just the desperate desire for that. At the wedding we attended a few weekends ago, I really thought my boss had the hots for me. The way he held me on the beach and when we danced – I didn’t imagine the electric showers falling all around that day, did I?
Since then he’s been all about business, including our private deal. Aside from one or two moments I turned and caught him gazing at me with a look of intense lust bordering on animal. I’m not imagining how Hopper stepped up to rescue me from the police, impressively telling them how things would go in a way I would never dare even if I were a powerful billionaire.
Shit, it’s Saturday. My heart rate picks up as I remember we have another wedding to attend today. The company may be ugly under the surface but the surroundings are always so picture perfect and I’ll get to be be with Hopper all day into the evening. Maybe we can get back to where we were that wedding a month ago – when I’m sure the romance fueled atmosphere wasn’t only because of the occasion. Our brief time spent alone on the beach was the best moment of my life.
I hope Hopper isn’t pissed about his charge card being run up. He can’t believe that was me, right? If he did he wouldn’t have blown off the cops then taken care of me and brought me home. He wouldn’t have laid down with me. But then why did he take off in the night like a cat burglar? Ugh, don’t think of criminal behavior. It renders the simple act of breathing into hard labor.
I snuggle down into the crisp sheets and soft coverlet, filled with gratitude for the luxury of a comfortable bed. Something most people take for granted probably. But after the jail, with the plastic mattress over iron slats, then that hideous halfway house, I’ll be forever grateful for this miraculous pleasure of tempurpedic that Hopper thought to give me.
Actually it was right after he brought me here that he went cold on what seemed like increasing affection. The way he held me while we danced, the way he kissed the side of my neck and inhaled my aroma. Oh god, it makes me shiver to remember that.
Now I can’t stay in bed without thinking of Hopper. Certain I can detect his lingering masculine scent on the covers, my hands slide down between my thighs.
My clit urgently needs relief but I don’t want to lose the jittery feeling I’ll get when Hopper touches me. And I’ll be with him all of today. I remain agitated and get out of bed to get busy and take my mind off how desperately I want my boss’s huge cock sliding between my legs.
First I luxuriate in a long bath then fix my hair carefully. I must try on at least twenty different dresses before I fix on the perfect one. Then there are the shoes to match which necessitates trying on every pair just to be sure. I want to be perfect for him, today more than ever.
Even though I was up so early, I finish getting ready exactly at the moment he knocks at the door.
My heart leaps up and goes skittering around my chest as I dash to open it. He could easily use his key.
“Wow,” I gasp, because somehow he looks breathtaking, more so than ever.
He hands me a hand-tied bouquet of white peonies and roses. The scent is incredible but the headier perfume comes off Hopper himself, dark earth masculinity.
“Thank you, they’re so beautiful,” I chirp, touching his arm as I step aside to let him enter.
“You look very nice,” he says flatly. His eyes travel to the bedroom where he takes in the clothes strewn across the bed like I’m preparing for a yard sale.
Damn. He must think I’m a real slob. Plus all those dresses cost a fortune and deserve better treatment. Is he calculating what I’m costing him in this game we’re playing? Whether he could have gotten better value elsewhere.
“Can I get you a coffee? Or anything?” I ask, politely.
“No, we should get going. Traffic.”
“Okay I’ll just put these in water.”
Why is he being so cold? Did something happen last night I can’t remember? I don’t even know why my recall is so hazy and why my heart beats so painfully when I think about yesterday.
He’s the perfect escort, seeing me into the back seat like always. But as the car moves off with us side by side in the back seat, Hopper doesn’t take my hand in his. He looks straight ahead, his jaw steely. Disappointment sits in my tummy from my thwarted expectations. I realize how eagerly I’d been waiting to spend the day with him, outside of the office. He can’t possibly think that those worldwide trips were booked by me. I’d never take advantage of his generosity.
“I don’t remember much about yesterday,” I tell him, trying to break the icy environment.
“You were under a lot of stress,” he says dully and looks to the side window, away from me. “That’s a killer.”
“I didn’t run up those charges on your card,” I blurt, suddenly desperate to know that he doesn't believe it was me. He stares ahead without a word. The need to get through to him makes me continue. “I know the evidence says otherwise but -”
“Evidence is meaningless,” Hopper snaps.
I sit silent for awhile then decide to try again, to share what’s going on for me inside.
“Sometimes I wonder whether I’m a little broken by what happened to me, being herded around like an animal for something I didn’t do.”
His face twitches at that, like he’s moved an inch but no more.
“You’re only broken if you let yourself be,” he says.
“I don't know how to make myself feel differently,” I admit and am rewarded with a turn of his head so his gorgeous dark eyes burrow into mine, making goosebumps lift along my arms.
“You rise above what people think of you and trust the way you think about yourself,” he says. Softening a little.
“I’m trying,” I say, “It’s so hard.”
“I know. The important things in life are.”
“Like what?” I ask, lurching for something to keep him engaged.
“Like love.”
I bite on my tongue so as not to gasp. That word fills the car and pushes against us.
“Have you ever been in love?” I inquire gently.
“Not that I know of. Ever. Before.”
And just like that he’s disappeared again. Maybe he’s gone back in time to some woman he could have loved. I have no idea where he went but Hopper’s renewed cool attitude toward me feels like the ultimate rejection. Time to focus only on the job. As I told myself from the beginning but somehow forgot, subsumed in the gorgeousness of Mr Grady.
We arrive at perhaps the grandest estate of any we’ve been to yet. Not one, but two long staircases fan out on each side of the double entrance.
“Do we take one each?” I joke, nervous at the unsettling grandeur but mostly because of Hopper’s detachment.
His smile of response isn’t the usual Hopper but he remains the perfect gentleman. As usual he palms the small of my back to guide me into the celebrations. This is my fifth wedding this summer as Hopper’s girlfriend. While the natives aren’t exactly friendly, I’ve learned a ton about people and the roles they all play. So I don’t feel too dislodged by mine or that I stand out like the ugly ducking in a parade of swans. The same faces at every ritual ceremony have become used to seeing Hopper and I as a couple and no longer stare with such outright incredulity.
Hopper grabs two flutes from a passing tray and hands me one. He downs his and grabs another as he leads me out to the pristine garden sweeping down to the water, where everyone is mingling. A string quartet plays some syrupy tune as some of Hopper’s business associates pass by to shake his hand. A couple of women swarm around to kiss him lingeringly and I notice they still press their pelvises into his. A move he pulls back from firmly before shifting closer into me. At least he does the imitation of the perfect boyfriend – perfectly.
“I’ll be right back,” he
murmurs once we’re alone again, “bathroom break.”
“Not surprising,” I joke. “You’ve had a bottle of champagne already.”
“Who’s counting?” he snips before heading off to the house.
I wander over to the pool, a freeform shape with an island of rocks and tumbling waterfall in the middle. I still find it amazing how some people get to live their lives.
“Grace Hart of the Chicago Harts,” a voice startles me behind.
I whirl around to see Sophie, wearing a plunging white dress like she’s set to compete with the bride, at her deflowerment.
“I never -” I start to remind her, it wasn’t me that claimed that.
“Or should we call you Sing-sing Grace?”
My heart plummets through my lungs, ripping a tear through my core.
“Does Hopper know you’re a felon?” Sophie sneers, looking me up and down like I’m covered with the stinky stuff. “What did you do to worm your way into his life? Or is it too filthy to relate in civilized company? Never mind, tell me anyway I love a good slut story.”
“Shut up,” I snap. “Hopper knows what he’s doing and what he wants. It just isn’t you. Probably because you’re such an uncivilized bitch.”
My champagne glass goes flying into the pool as Sophie barrels into me, screeching like a banshee. Her hands are flapping and tugging at anything she can grab, forcing me to respond. She pulls my hair, my clothes in a fury. Her long nails scratch at my bare skin and I fight back, trying to shove her off me. Locked in a rage, we stagger this way and that on our stiletto points.
One sideways hip-check and she wobbles on her towering heels. We’ve worked our way, scraping and slapping to the edge of the pool. Her eyes stretch wide as she realizes what’s about to happen. Her hand tangled in my hair, grips for purchase then she reaches out with the other to grab my sleeve.
