But no one pounded on her door here, and she had a stunning glass-tiled six-showerhead walk-in that defied her teenage dreams. She pulled the pins out of her updo, letting her blond hair—still as blond as when she’d been a kid with only a little help from her colorist—tumble around her shoulders. It made her think of Owen pulling that single pin loose. She shivered and flipped the handle to turn on the water in the shower.
She was just chilled from her walk home. That was all. She slipped her earrings off and stowed them in the jewelry box that sat on her long white marble counter and wiped off her makeup. Her nails could use a trip to the manicurist. She kept them medium length and painted a nude shade that matched everything. There was a small chip on her thumb and one of her pinkies needed filing. It grew unevenly thanks to a door-slamming incident as a child.
She’d call tomorrow and try to squeeze it in before the end of the day. The water pounded against the pretty tiles, all white with a thick green strip that ran around the center. When the temperature rose enough to be comfortable, she peeled off her expensive lace undergarments and stepped under the spray.
It would be a quick shower tonight. She just wanted to wash the festivities off before climbing into bed. She squirted a dollop of grapefruit-scented shampoo into her palm and rubbed her hands together to create lather before stroking the suds through her hair.
The warm water flowed around her body, massaging away the knots from her long weekend and many hours of standing. Oh, she could stand here all night. She let her eyes close, slowly rubbing her scalp, making sure to work the shampoo from root to tip and clean each strand. She could forget about things under the water. This was her version of being at one with nature. A pristine white bathroom with fluffy towels and a variety of scented soaps and lotions. She was totally communing, though she knew her mother wouldn’t see it that way.
Grace exhaled and reminded herself that it was okay to be different. It was okay to be her own person even if her parents sometimes seemed to think she was surrendering to the man. But she didn’t want to be a counterculturalist or drink nettle chai tea or raise chickens. She wanted the life she had now. And there was nothing wrong with that.
Nor was there anything wrong with being attracted to a handsome man. Even one who wasn’t good husband material.
It was just...embarrassing. Grace pumped her favorite grapefruit soap onto a puffy bath lily. Yes, embarrassing. She inhaled the clean, citrusy aroma. To think she was a slave to her hormones and incapable of using logic and reason when faced with a hot guy. Sorry, even for a really hot guy that was not the case. Yes, Owen was extremely handsome and plenty charming, which was a dangerous combination. But he was certainly resistible.
She smoothed the bubbles along her arms from her wrists to her shoulders, being careful to lather each bit of skin. Like most things in her life, there was an order to her bathing. First the shampoo, twice to make sure she got every strand squeaky clean, then her conditioner, which she left to set while she washed her body. Her body went in sequence: arms, underarms, front of her torso, legs, feet, bottom, back and shoulders. Her front on the way down, her back on the return trip. Some people would probably think her neurotic, but Grace knew that patterns became habits and routines. A way to control the vagaries of life.
For the most part, she liked her life just as it was. Her career path was on a soaring trajectory. She had good staff. A beautiful home. Maybe her personal life had suffered some, but she had a plan for that, too. By this time next year, she’d be dating and maybe some of those casual friendships that she hadn’t explored—people in her Pilates class or some of the neighbors—might become real friends.
But she had to complete the rest of year four of her five-year plan before then. She didn’t believe in moving ahead or tossing the plan aside. She’d spent a lot of time coming up with the steps and building in appropriate measures so that she could create a situation ripe for success. Just because things were going better than planned, didn’t mean she should jump ahead to her next task. No, she should concentrate on her current one, using the extra time to get ahead. It was what she had done the previous three years, which was why she was seeing a better than expected return now.
Grace saw no reason to change what was working. Of course, that would be much easier when she didn’t have to deal with a hot man’s tongue in her mouth. Even if it had been delightful.
She finished soaping. She knew what she needed to do. Even as she thought it, a disappointed quiver ran through her body. No more tongue in her mouth, no more hand on her upper thigh. At least, not until next year. But it was for the best. She knew that.
And starting tomorrow, she was going to stick to it. There would not be a repeat performance of tonight. No foolish encounter that ended with her staff finding her in a compromising position.
Starting tomorrow. Tonight, though? Grace ran her hands along her body as she rinsed, being careful to remove all traces of soap. Her fingers played over her nipples. A delicious tingle followed as it always did. Grace ran her hands over her breasts again.
Owen’s hands had easily covered her breasts, palming her nipples and making them rise and demand to be touched. Demand to be rolled between a thumb and finger. Demand to be licked and sucked by a warm, wet mouth.
Grace closed her eyes, the water raining down on her head and body as she attended to the ache thrumming through her body. She didn’t often give herself over to the pleasure outside her scheduled times.
Yes, she scheduled her orgasms. Knowing in advance that she had the time and no obligations made her come faster, which meant she could come again. Because if one was good, two was better.
Sunday night was not orgasm night. She generally chose Tuesdays as they were the days least likely to have evening meetings and she’d be fully recovered from any wedding weekend exhaustion.
But tonight, even though she was off schedule and in desperate need of rest, her body would not be denied. She moaned, the sound a quiet hum under the beat of the shower.
It was Owen’s fault, those soft, thoughtful kisses and clever fingers awakening the desire she carefully held at bay. Her hands slipped down her body, now rinsed clean and slick with water.
Grace kept herself trimmed and tidy even though no one else would see. Good grooming was a ritual that didn’t require a man in her life. She threaded her fingers through the blond hair between her thighs, a small gasp escaping her lips.
This orgasm might not be scheduled but it was definitely wanted.
She imagined Owen’s hands climbing up her thighs, his fingers nearing but never touching her sweet spot. And she’d have let him. In a bar, with a man she had no future with, Grace knew she would have spread her legs and pulled her lacy underwear aside herself had Hayley been a few minutes later.
Heat suffused her skin, but it wasn’t from embarrassment or the water. It was from picturing Owen’s fingers sliding along her wetness, circling slowly and thoroughly until her legs began to shake. He wouldn’t stop there, either. No, she was certain he was the kind of man who enjoyed giving pleasure as much as receiving. She moaned again. Louder. And her temperature spiked. He’d have lifted her onto that table, disposed of her underwear and slid her dress up around her hips. Then he would’ve lowered his head and shown her what other wonderful things that tongue of his could do.
She came just thinking about it, his name a desperate cry on her lips, her fingers busy where his should have been and the warm water washing everything away. Everything. Her desire, the ache still pulsing between her legs, the thought that she should do it again.
Because she shouldn’t. This was an exception in her well-ordered life and one she didn’t intend to make a rule. And all those thoughts of getting naked with Owen Ford could go exactly where they belonged. Through the stainless steel drain of her pretty, white shower.
But she let loose one final hum, a purr
of pure contentment, before she turned off the water.
* * *
GRACE WENT TO PILATES the next morning. Not just because it was on her schedule, but to clear her head. Because it had been awfully fuzzy last night. What had she been thinking? Not only making out with Owen, but also in a public location where anyone could walk in? She got cold just thinking about the fact that Hayley had stumbled upon them, though she supposed she should be grateful. That had stopped things before they’d gone too far and, based on their conversation last night, she thought Hayley would be discreet.
She pushed open the glass doors to her gym, swiping her membership card at the desk and heading to the locker room. She hung the heavy garment bag containing her suit, shoes and makeup in one of the lockers and headed out to the main area.
Grace had selected a women-only gym. It was a little smaller than the larger coed gyms, but the bigger gyms offered features that she’d never take advantage of while her focus was on Pilates and yoga. And there were multiple classes every day that were easy to fit around her work schedule.
She laid her mat down on the wood floor in the glassed-in classroom and settled herself on top of it. They always started by finding a neutral spine position before moving into any of the exercises. Grace felt her entire body relax as she allowed her muscles to soften and shift to the natural position.
“Grace?”
She blinked and turned her head and saw Mallory with a rubber mat in a tight roll slung over her shoulder. “Mallory. I didn’t know you were a member here.” Grace pushed herself to a sitting position and reminded herself that Mallory didn’t know about her aborted make-out session with Owen last night so there was no reason to feel embarrassed. But that didn’t stop her from straightening the cuffs of her workout pants.
“I don’t usually take the early class.” It wasn’t quite seven in the morning. Mallory unrolled her mat on the floor beside Grace. “I take the eight and then head into work, but I have a meeting first thing, so here I am.” She lowered herself to the mat, looking graceful and effortless, but her gym clothes looked loose, as though she’d bought them when she was ten pounds heavier. “Great party last night.”
Grace willed herself not to flush, not to give anything away. Nobody knew except her and Owen and Hayley. And two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. She swallowed and shoved the worrisome thought away. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“I don’t think I was the only one.”
Grace felt her eyes cut toward Mallory, just a little too fast, a little too sharp. “Oh?” She went for fluffy and light in tone, but that whole darting-eye thing had probably given her away. Definitely if the smile curling the edges of Mallory’s lips held any hint of truth.
“I think Owen enjoyed it, too.” She didn’t say any more. But she didn’t need to.
Grace sucked in a breath. It felt as though a weight had been lowered onto her chest. “About that—”
Mallory cut her off with a wave of her hand. “I know Owen didn’t want to be the point person for the party at first, but it’s clear you won him over. He didn’t give you a hard time, did he?”
“No.” Grace breathed again and this time it came a bit easier. The attraction between them still wasn’t something she was planning on pursuing. She couldn’t. Except in the privacy of her fantasies. But it seemed clear that Mallory had no knowledge of anything that had gone on behind closed, if not locked, doors.
“He’s single, you know.” Mallory twirled the end of her long ponytail around her fingers.
Grace murmured that she did indeed know and busied herself with the cuffs of her pants again. They were still perfectly straight.
“And I see I’ve made you uncomfortable.” Mallory cleared her throat. “Not my intention. I thought...I don’t know. Maybe it was the situation. The engagement party, love on the brain, but you seemed to like each other. You look good together.” Grace’s head shot up in time to see Mallory shrug. “But if you’re not interested.”
No, no, Grace was interested, which was the heart of the problem. If she was going to meet her future husband, she couldn’t be distracted by men who didn’t have potential. “He’s a client,” she said, which didn’t address her interest level at all.
Mallory stared at her. “He likes you. I can tell.”
Grace told herself that didn’t matter, that she wasn’t going to ask. “What makes you say that?” Oops.
“The way he looks at you. The way he smiles when someone says your name.” Mallory stretched her legs out and leaned back.
Grace mirrored her, warming up the muscles before the class actually started. “What are you saying, Mallory?”
“Mal.” Her grin flashed. “My friends call me Mal.”
Grace felt a little rush of pleasure at the implicit invitation to be friends. Since she spent so much time at the office, she didn’t really have friends. A few acquaintances, generally those in the business that she met once in a while for an after-work drink or a lunch to discuss a client referral, but for the most part it was just her and the office and the gym.
“And I’m not saying anything.” But Mal was smirking up a storm. “Just making an observance.”
“Because?” Grace couldn’t imagine that Mal was so interested in her brother’s love life that she felt the need to meddle in it.
“Because you seem like a nice person and Owen is a nice guy.”
“Does he know you’re playing matchmaker?” Another thought occurred to her. “Did he send you here to do this?”
“No.” Mal laughed. “He’d be highly offended if he knew I said anything. Claim that I’m cramping his style or making it seem like he can’t meet a woman on his own.”
“Well...” Grace let the thought trail off.
Mal laughed again. “I guess it does seem that way. Let me assure you, Owen has no trouble meeting women.” She frowned. “That sounds wrong, too.” But she didn’t get a chance to finish the thought because the instructor walked in, greeted them and started them on their warm-ups while she set up her own mat and went around the room repositioning them as necessary.
Grace sweated through the movements, her muscles spasming and clutching as she pushed through each exercise, but she barely noticed. Her mind was stuck on Owen. Again.
She and Mal walked to the locker room together after class, but the topic of Owen didn’t come up again. Grace wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Part of her was glad. She should just put the whole thing behind her, which was the smart thing to do. But another rebellious part of her refused, kept wanting to relive the feel of his lips on hers, his hands on her body, hers on his.
She felt more like herself after a cool shower. She put on a sleek gray pencil skirt and pale pink blouse and pulled her hair into a low knot. Her suede heels had a hidden platform that not only made her appear taller than her doctor-listed five foot eight, but also made walking surprisingly comfortable as she stepped out of the gym into a bright, warm day.
Mal had headed off a few minutes earlier, on her way to the meeting, but with a promise that next time they’d go for coffee after class, and Grace found herself looking forward to it. The fact that her life consisted of work and working out was just sad. Perhaps it was time she did something about that.
Oh, she wasn’t going to go buck wild and change her entire life over a comment, but taking a night or even an entire day to do something for herself—a spa date, going to the theater, meeting people for brunch—was something she could start doing now and still complete her five-year plan on time.
She reached her office, only two blocks from the gym, in just a few minutes and stowed her leather gym bag in the small office cupboard that had been purchased for just this use.
The cupboard door closed with a quiet click. Just the way she liked her life. Discreet and tidy. She made an appointment to get her nail
s done tomorrow after work and settled into her morning routine at the office. A small black coffee then water for the rest of the day. A banana and a bran muffin at nine-thirty. She called and preordered lunch for pickup so as not to waste time standing in a line. Lunch, a garden salad with some legumes thrown in for protein from the café down the street, would be ready at quarter to one.
Satisfied that she was, if not completely back on track, at least in the train station, Grace settled into the daily activities of answering any emails, booking appointments with clients and contacting vendors.
She heard the low murmur of her team as they stowed the items from last night’s party and she left her office to say hello. No one looked at her strangely or hid a smile, so she trusted that Hayley had kept her word. Her already good opinion of the young woman rose. It would have been easy to spill what she’d seen, to share the inside scoop, but she hadn’t.
Grace was almost feeling as though she might actually get through the entire incident wholly unscathed when her direct line rang. “Good morning, Grace Monroe speaking.”
“Grace. It’s Julia Laurent.”
Grace felt her heart stutter. First Mal and now Julia? “Good morning.” She prayed her voice sounded calmer than her stomach felt. That muffin was feeling none too fluffy at the moment. More like a lead ball.
“I just wanted to call and thank you again for last night. It was exactly the kind of look I’d have chosen myself.” The soon-to-be bride’s enthusiasm buzzed through the line. When there was no follow-up mention of Owen, Grace felt some of her tension begin to roll away.
“Wonderful.” A post-party phone call wasn’t unusual, after all. She enjoyed hearing from her clients whether their comments were good or bad, as it helped her continue or correct as appropriate.
One More Night Page 9
