As his words crossed the few feet between them in the chilly air, her disgust slowly disappeared.
The clear disapproval had shifted to something else. “Why didn’t she tell me she was looking for someone? I could’ve asked a friend of mine to be her date.”
“That would’ve made it too personal. It’s embarrassing enough for her to go stag to an event like this when she’s already self-conscious, but then admit it to her boss? Someone she looks up to as her mentor?” He shook his head. “It’s better to ask someone like me with no emotional ties, and help her through it. Like a coach.”
“Then why the ruse of a relationship?”
“Because of that attitude right there.” Dorian pointed at her judgmental glare.
Grace reared back, like his finger was a snake. However, she didn’t move away. Instead, she uncrossed her arms, letting them hang at her sides.
Does she understand now? “Too bad if my explanation doesn’t fit into the stereotype you’ve created in your head. But I’m not the sleaze you’ve painted me to be.”
“Grace!” An elderly woman called from inside the lobby, and they both turned.
“Madelyn, I thought you’d left.” She recovered her gracious smile, as though she hadn’t been arguing on a street corner for the last few minutes.
Madelyn pulled her wrap tighter around her as she stepped outside. “I was in the ladies room. I just received a text from Tom. He said you brought a new beau with you tonight. Is this him?” Her wrinkled gaze widened, and her hazel eyes visibly scanned him up and down. Probing, and almost invasive.
Dorian didn’t know whether to chuckle and strike a Superman pose, or cover his junk.
“For Heaven’s sake,” Grace groaned. “No, Madelyn. This isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my neighbor.”
The older woman’s gaze saddened, and she patted Grace’s elbow. “It’s all right, darling. You don’t have to defend your actions. I think it’s wonderful! And he’s certainly a looker, isn’t he? Good for you!”
“What?” she blubbered.
“If I were forty years younger, I’d be all over him.”
Heat flooded Dorian’s cheeks, and he laughed. “Oh, Madelyn. You probably have a younger man waiting for you at home right now, don’t you? Admit it. You’ll break my heart if you do.”
Her smile stretched even further across her wrinkled face. “You little rascal! And he’s funny, too! You better swoop him up fast, Grace dear. He won’t be unmarried for long.”
Grace lifted her eyes to the sky. “Oh, I’m sure he will be.”
Dorian nudged her with an elbow.
She cast a sideways glance at him, but he couldn’t stop smiling.
“Madelyn, may I escort you to your car?” He stepped forward and offered his arm.
The surprise on the woman’s face mirrored Grace’s. “Aren’t you a gentleman? But no need, young man. I came in a taxi and I’m leaving the same way. Too many drinks for this old party animal.” She chuckled. “No, you two go ahead and have fun! You deserve it, Grace.”
A taxi pulled forward from the waiting line, and she disappeared in the backseat.
The russet-haired dream glared down the street. “Did the valet park the cars in Tibet or something?”
“Downtown parking. He probably had to run six blocks.”
Grace glared. “A text!”
“Why are you yelling at me? I didn’t send it.”
“That means Tom sent it to everyone on the board. This is a nightmare!”
“Gee, thanks. I’m really that awful to you?” His throat turned dry.
A few strands of her hair dangled down her cheek, and the flush dipped down into her chest.
He never liked to see anyone upset, but it was damn gorgeous on Grace.
“I could kill him for this. Madelyn is the gossip of the board room.”
“What’s the big deal? Why are they all so surprised to see you dating someone?”
“We are not dating!” She stomped her foot.
Dorian leaned in a touch closer, a mischievous smile rising to his lips. “But we could be.”
Something flashed in her eyes, and her breasts rose and fell with every breath. Completely delectable. She opened her mouth to fire something back, and the valet rolled up with her silver Mercedes.
“Would you be sweet enough to offer me a ride?” he asked with a wink. “You already know my address.”
Another valet turned the corner in his black Charger.
She rolled her eyes, and took the keys from the first valet.
“By the way, the Harley raffle tickets,” he started. She looked at him. “It wasn’t the price. It was the crowd.”
Grace crunched her brows together.
“The cliental didn’t look like a bunch of motorcyclists to me,” Dorian explained. “Perhaps had the Harley been autographed by a celebrity, someone big in that scene. Then it would’ve been a collectible. Just a suggestion.”
She nodded. “Thanks.”
“The offer for a nightcap at my apartment still stands. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Grace
Grace pounded on the man’s door. An hour ago, she hadn’t believed she could be more furious.
Boy was I wrong.
The door swung open, and she filled her lungs with enough air to propel vicious words across his threshold. Only to have them blasted away by Dorian’s bare chest.
Chiseled was one word that came to her mind. Washboard was another. Dark ink wrapped around his bicep, contrasting his tanned skin. A name written in the middle of a rose in mid-blossom, wrapped in thorns ended just at the top of his shoulder.
Hot-as-fudge.
The plaid pajama pants didn’t have any right looking that good on a man. His hair glistened in the dim interior lighting, fresh from a shower. All he was missing was a damn hand towel around his waist, and he was the complete eighties-movie-cliché come-to-life.
“I honestly didn’t expect you to come up.” His low voice sanded away the rough edges of her temper. “I’m damn glad to be wrong.”
“I have a bone to pick with you.” The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them.
He looked down at his crotch, and then smiled up at her. “So do I.”
Grace groaned. “Do you have to be such a guy?”
“Well, I’ve never really tried to be anything else. Not sure how I’d look in heels.”
Someone hissed from down the hall.
Dorian grimaced. “If you’re going to yell at me, better do it inside. Some of my neighbors are a bit grouchy at one a.m.” He opened the door wider.
She tossed him a glare as she strode through. “Must put a damper on your business.”
“I don’t bring clients to my place.”
When she glanced around his living room, it was almost a disappointment that he didn’t bring business home.
She wasn’t sure what to expect of an escort’s personal décor style, but it certainly wasn’t this.
A dark leather reading chair sat poised in the corner, with a matching loveseat next to it, complemented with cream-colored pillows. Two walls contained built-in, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A few picture frames and knick-knacks littered the shelves, but most of it was full of books. A fluffy wheat-colored rug covered the wood floors, with a large leather ottoman sitting off to the side.
The flat-screen on the other end of the room was small, hung on the wall between colorful, abstract paintings. Like an afterthought.
Through the half-wall, the kitchen’s pearl granite and light wood cabinets matched her apartment below, though his counters were fuller than hers. She only had a single-serve coffeemaker in the kitchen.
No need for more than that.
When her gaze settled on the gourmet knife-set sitting next to the stove, she almost grew envious.
He likes to cook.
So did she.
I used to.
Dorian’s movements caught
her attention. He’d managed to put on a plain white t-shirt, but it didn’t hide much. The outline of his sculpted abs was still visible. “What’s your poison?” he asked.
“I’m not here for a nightcap.”
“Coffee then?” He moved toward the kitchen.
“Do you have any idea what I’ve been dealing with for the last hour?”
Dorian pulled down two cobalt, glass mugs from a cabinet. “Given the hour, I would’ve assumed dreaming.”
“I’ve been on the phone with a donor, who gave a last minute, major donation to the charity, because he was so happy for me.”
He paused and gawked at her. “That’s awesome!”
“No! It’s not awesome. This is wrong.”
“I’m confused. You’re mad about a donation?” He held a mug in midair, and blinked.
“Obviously.”
“Sugar?”
A flare burst in her mind. Grace cocked her head at him. “What?”
“Sugar?” He held up a mug. “For your coffee.”
Oh. The flare snuffed out. “It’s one in the morning.”
Dorian laughed. “And you’re here. I’m not going to sleep anytime soon.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She shook her head. “Never mind. The point is that it’s wrong to accept a donation under false pretenses.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Madelyn called a former associate, told him I was in a new relationship and paraded you around the fundraiser tonight. He was so thrilled to hear the news, he wire-transferred a huge donation an hour ago.”
Dorian walked around the counter, and stood in front of her with his arms crossed. “Wait a second. Some rich stiff donated to your charity because we’re in a relationship?”
“We are not in a relationship!” she growled.
He waved her protest off. “Whatever. What kind of guy donates money only because you have a boyfriend? Why is this such a news-worthy event?”
“It’s not,” Grace barked. “That’s the point. I don’t want this to be about me.”
He tilted his head, genuine concern covering his face. “Why are you so upset?”
She shook her head. “Why aren’t you?”
“Why would I be? I’d be thrilled to date you.” His eyes widened.
His phone danced across the counter, and he glanced at the caller ID. He scowled. When he answered, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Luis, I know. I apologize.”
Luis? The building manager?
She inwardly cringed.
“It won’t happen again. Sorry.” Dorian hung up and slid the phone across the counter. “Miss Kettleman across the hall wants us to know she had the option of calling the police for this disturbance, but we should be grateful she called the super instead.”
Grace forced a deep breath to calm her nerves, and dragged her hands down her face. She went to the bookcase, more to give her eyes a chance to rest on something other than a visual feast for the feminine wiles.
The sofa looked way too comfortable, but she refused to sit. The books on the shelves were mostly mystery and suspense authors, as well as a bunch of biographies. A few comic books caught her eye.
Comic books? Really?
Then her gaze stopped on a framed box containing three awards. A bronze star, and two medals, one gold the other bronze. The plaque at the bottom had been polished to a respected shine.
Sgt. First Class Dorian West. United States Marine Corps.
Bronze Star, Humanitarian Service Medal, Marine Commendation Medal
“You were in the military?” She’d intended to only think the question to herself, but the words came out of her mouth anyway.
“That surprises you?” Dorian slowly moved to her side, a safe distance away, but his muscular physique was just as distracting. That, and his fresh shampoo or soap permeated the air around her.
“I didn’t peg you for a Marine.”
“Something you would’ve known, had you agreed to that coffee date.” His gaze was playful, but he didn’t smile.
She traced the edge of box. “What were these for?”
He took a deep breath. “The Humanitarian Service Medal and Marine Commendation were for the efforts in West Africa assisting medical teams with an outbreak. The bronze star…” He stared at it, his expression tense. “Heroic achievement in combat.” Dorian sat on the loveseat. With a swipe of his dark hair, the intense look was gone.
The weight of those accolades pressed in on Grace’s chest. A folded flag in the signature triangle encased in a frame sat on another shelf, higher up and squeezed between two bronze eagle bookends. “I assume those events had something to do with that folded flag.”
He didn’t look at the memento. Just continued staring at her with a thoughtful expression.
One that chipped at the ice around her heart.
“I always knew you were a smart cookie.”
She wanted to roll her eyes at the comment, but the phrase was cute. She hadn’t heard cute in a long time.
His sleeves pulled up when he rested his arm on the back of the couch, revealing the ink on his arm.
It was all she could focus on. The rose petals, brilliantly shaded, overpowered the tiny thorns on the stems. Color didn’t detract from the name etched in the center. Evelyn.
Another shaving chipped off her heart. “Who’s Evelyn?”
Please don’t say a client on a drunken date.
Dorian glanced at his shoulder. “My mother.”
Something tugged at the corner of her mouth. A mama’s boy. Sweet. “So, what happened? With the medals?”
His smile disappeared, and he shook his head. “That’s a much longer…graphic conversation. One I’d rather not discuss.”
Fair enough.
“So, what happened?” he countered. “With the whole story of why it’s a big deal for you to be dating?”
Grace swallowed, instantly defensive, and a new layer of ice refroze in her chest. “That’s a much longer conversation…I’d rather not discuss.”
He smirked. “Touché.”
Burying away her heart and emotions had taken years to perfect. She wasn’t about to dig them up tonight.
“You need to have more fun.” His words caught her off guard. But he didn’t give her time to reply. “You work so much. What do you do to de-stress?”
Instinct made her spine stiffen, but that layer of ice thawed again. It’s a simple question. Why can’t I answer it? “You clearly read for enjoyment.” She gestured to the bookshelf. “But comic books?”
Dorian scowled. “Graphic novels. And you didn’t answer my question.”
She huffed. “Work is my stress relief.”
“Uh-uh.” He shook his head and crossed his arms. “Work doesn’t count. What’s your hobby? Quilting, yoga, fashion design?”
I don’t deserve to have a hobby. “Good night.” Grace headed for the door.
“Why’d you come here?”
She stopped, holding the door handle. “What do you mean?”
“You came up here at one in the morning to yell at me for a donation from someone else? That could’ve waited until morning, for our ritual at the elevators.” He stood from the couch, and approached.
“I was angry. Wanted it off my chest now.”
“What did you expect me to do about it?”
Grace blinked, opening her mouth to answer, but he was right. She was supposed to have a purpose in coming here. “In the future, if you run across me or anyone else I know, please don’t joke around that we’re in a relationship. To you, it’s playful banter and flirting. But for me, it’s distracting and potentially damaging to my career.”
All humor erased from his face. “Damaging. To be seen with someone like me?”
She cringed and pressed her lips together. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Dorian shrugged.
Which threw her off guard. She’d expected anger, or at least severe testiness after the unintended backhan
d to his ego.
“There’s nothing wrong with a little less luster in your halo.” He shoved his hands in his pajama pockets, the image of a casual, dark man as enticing.
Dorian was too tempting.
Heat rushed her face, and her mouth went dry. He thinks I have a halo. She opened the door.
“Having fun is not a crime,” he called after her. “It’s called being human.”
Her heart raced as she bypassed the elevators and escaped to the stairwell. No time to wait when a panther was on her heels, ready for the taking.
The only problem was, a little red-horned devil inside her wanted to see how much fun the panther could show her.
CHAPTER SIX
Dorian
Sunday morning workouts both revived and exhausted Dorian. The gym around the corner was convenient, open twenty-four hours, and gave him a discounted rate for all the Knights. One of the perks of his role, arranged by his boss.
Dorian switched the playlist on his phone to classic rock, and chugged the last of his sports drink. He turned the corner, and froze.
A mass of people swarmed the entrance of his condo. Most of them held up smartphones, others with old school cameras with large flashes or zoom lenses. All of them equally determined to get inside.
What the hell?
He moved toward the crowd. When he tried to maneuver his way to the doors, someone shoved him. “I was here first!”
“Excuse me. Tryin’ to get through.” Dorian pushed in again, and someone elbowed him.
“You snooze, you lose, pal.”
He gripped his phone tighter. “I live here, jackass.”
A few heads in front of him turned. A bunch of cameras flashed. “You do?” someone asked.
“Do you know Grace Evans?” another cut in.
More flashes blinded him.
“Can you let us in?”
“How long have you known her?”
Dorian blinked, then hands grabbed for him.
“Mr. West!”
From somewhere beyond the crowd, Marco’s face appeared. The doorman’s cheeks were flushed.
“What’s going on?” he called, and shrugged off an overzealous photographer who tried to pull him back.
Tell Me What You Crave Page 3
