He reached up and placed a palm over her hand, stilling it. With a sad smile, she stepped out of Grant’s embrace and headed toward the hallway.
“Me, too.” His head started aching as he heard her bedroom door shut.
…
Grant stumbled out of bed and made his way down the hall, squinting to shield his eyes from the early afternoon sunlight. Pushing the door to his bathroom open, he found Niki at the sink with one foot propped up on the counter, wearing only a skimpy pair of black panties with a matching tank top.
Her back was to him, and she didn’t seem to be aware that he’d come into the room.
Even though he was still half asleep, certain parts of his anatomy roared to life as he stood there staring. Maybe this was a continuation of the dream he’d had about her. He took a few moments to study the long lines of her legs, the delicate curve of her hips, the way her hair fell forward over her neck. Until he realized that he was acting like a damn voyeur, so he cleared his throat.
She startled and glanced over her shoulder at him. “God, you scared me.” She put her leg down and pointed to a bandage on her upper thigh. “I cut myself shaving and couldn’t find a Band-Aid in my bathroom. I hope you don’t mind.”
“’Course not.” As if he’d mind seeing her half naked. “I thought you’d be at work.”
“I texted Tristan and told him I’d be late, since I worked, like, thirteen hours yesterday. Yikes, I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Nope.” When he glanced at her leg again, he noticed a drop of blood seeping under the bandage. He tipped his chin toward the vanity stool. “Have a seat. Let’s take a look at that.”
Niki waved off his concern. “It’s fine.” But when she saw the blood, she quickly complied and grew a little pale.
“You okay?” He removed the Band-Aid. The cut was more than an inch long and still bleeding. “Shaving, huh? With what, a butter knife?”
She fanned herself. “I don’t like the sight of blood. Guess I need to replace my razor.”
“I think so. Always apply pressure to stop the bleeding.” He got his first aid kit out of the cabinet, kneeled in front of her, and put a gauze pad on the wound. “Like this.” He demonstrated the technique.
“Problem is, I can’t look at it.”
“You don’t have to. Just press it.” Taking her hand, he settled it on top of the pad then he fetched a roll of adhesive tape to secure the dressing. “This is overkill, but you get the idea, right?”
Still white as paper, she nodded.
Just above the bandage, he saw a small, strawberry-shaped birthmark. He ran his fingers over the mark and remembered how he’d kissed his way up her legs, along her belly, and everywhere else on her beautiful body after Dex and Lucy’s wedding.
When he kept his hand on the spot, her eyes widened, and her throat jumped with a swallow. The color returned to her cheeks. Instead of pale, her face was now bright pink.
He smiled and cupped her cheek, which was warm. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
For a moment, she leaned into his touch, but too quickly, she practically jumped off the stool and raced from the room with a croaked, “It’s fine.”
Damn it. He shouldn’t have gone there. She’d made it clear last night that she wasn’t interested in rekindling what they’d started the night of the wedding. And he’d agreed with her. Aw, hell. Wasn’t like he didn’t know better. Taking things to a physical level between them was a bad idea all around. They were roommates, for God’s sake, and he’d promised Dex that he’d watch out for her, make sure she didn’t get involved in anything that could leave more scar tissue on her heart than she already had.
When he got back to his room, his cell was buzzing on his night table. His mother’s name showed on the display. Weird for her to phone at this hour. Maybe she was finally listening to him that calls didn’t cost extra during the day anymore.
Pushing away thoughts of Niki, he answered. “Hey, Mom. Everything okay?”
“Hi. Yeah, fine. How are you?” Something sounded off in her voice.
“I’m good. What’s up?”
“I decided I’m going to throw Grandma and Grandpa a sixtieth anniversary party the weekend after next. Do you think you’d be able to come?”
He thought about his work schedule. “I’m off. If I can get a flight, I will.”
“Great.”
Why didn’t she sound more excited?
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
She sighed. “Well, I don’t want to trouble you, but I was hoping you’d speak to your dad while you’re home.”
“About what?”
“His sciatica’s been bothering him again—not that he’d admit that—but I could tell. So I made him an appointment with Dr. Preble. ’Course the doctor told him he needs to slow down, quit doing so much bending and lifting.”
“Doesn’t Ben still help out?”
“Your brother comes by when he can, but with a new baby and his job at the store, he doesn’t have as much time as he used to.”
Her sigh tugged at Grant’s emotions. He remembered all too well how much work there was to do on the farm, and his parents weren’t getting any younger. Part of him wanted his house to just hurry up and sell so he could go help them, but the other part…
Glancing out the window, he saw Niki get into her car and back out of the driveway.
Best to just forget the other part.
“Will you talk to him, Grant?” his mother asked again.
“Sure, Mom.” He’d do more than that.
His real estate agent had suggested a price reduction on his house, something Grant had resisted. But maybe she’d been right.
The writing was on the wall. The sooner he sold his house and was able to move back north, the more help he could be to his folks. And he wouldn’t have to see Niki almost every day and be reminded how much he craved a woman he shouldn’t touch. As if there weren’t enough standing between them, he was destined to take over the farm, and she’d been quite clear that she, like Carrie before her, wanted an upscale city lifestyle.
Losing some money on the house would be well worth not losing his mind over Niki.
…
A few days later, Niki locked the front door as she left Grant’s house then strode toward the driveway. A silver Mercedes parked next to Niki’s car.
A pretty blonde wearing an expensive pantsuit and carrying an oversized purse got out and took a few steps toward the porch then seemed to notice Niki for the first time. “Is Grant here?”
Could Grant be dating her? Would he have told Niki if he was? She had seen his computer opened to FarmersOnly.com the other day. What if the blonde was indicative of the kind of person who went on that site looking for love—and chickens? Her heartbeat quickened, and the egg she’d had for breakfast half an hour earlier started churning in her belly. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
The woman waved and walked over to Niki, offering her hand. “Andrea Clemson, Clemson Properties. You must be his girlfriend?” Andrea shook Niki’s hand.
Niki ignored the sense of relief flooding through her at the revelation that Andrea wasn’t one of Grant’s dating prospects. Rather than dispute the blonde’s assumption, some perverse part of her felt compelled to keep her mouth shut. She told herself she was doing Grant a favor. He was moving, and Andrea was obviously tied to Miami, so why even stoke the blonde’s interest? Which Grant’s rugged-outdoor-model good looks would be sure to do.
“Is he home?”
Niki shook her head. “He’s at work.”
The real estate agent took a manila folder out of her purse. “I need him to sign for the price reduction he asked for.”
“I can leave it inside,” Niki offered.
Andrea shook her head at Niki’s offer. “I’m showing the house to a couple in a little while, so I’ll do it then. It seems the lower price has done what Grant hoped.”
“Yeah?” What lower price?
Andrea smiled. “He wants t
o speed up the sale. Knocking $8,000 off the asking price ought to do the trick. We have one showing today and two tomorrow. I hope we’ll have an offer soon. But don’t worry,” she said quickly, reacting to Niki’s apparent look of panic. “You’ll have at least a month before closing, maybe even longer.”
Well, that was a relief. If her promotion to London came through, it should happen by then. But why was Grant suddenly in such a hurry to leave? Niki leaned on the hood of her car to steady herself. “Well…I hope you get that offer.” Her voice came out as cheap as tin. She couldn’t get into her car fast enough.
As she backed out of the driveway, she imagined saying good-bye to Grant. Despite the fact they’d known each other such a short time, she already felt close to him. Losing him was going to hurt.
Then she had a thought so ridiculous she could almost imagine a cartoon devil version of herself whispering it into her ear. Would giving in to their desire be so terrible, considering they were both leaving? Her thoughts drifted back to that one night they’d shared, the best sex of her life.
All that pent-up sexual energy she’d tried to keep under wraps the past few weeks simmered inside her. She turned up her air conditioner.
Stupid cartoon devil.
Giving in to their passion might make it a lot more difficult to part ways. Grant was obviously ready to leave, or he wouldn’t have reduced the price of his house.
Perhaps a clean break was best. Things happened for a reason. This might be the universe telling her she was supposed to be with someone else.
Speaking of, it was time to go feed Melanie, Tristan’s turtle. Who would probably make a better companion than her owner, even if he did have a yummy accent and looked fairly nice in his designer suits. Then again, a Tom Ford could probably make a plank look fairly nice.
She followed the directions on her phone to her boss’s neighborhood. The security gate at the entrance to the community was open, so she didn’t have to deal with punching in the security code. When she parked in front of a Mediterranean-style home with a large fountain in the middle of the circular drive, she checked the address.
“Holy cow.” Tristan was a lot better off than she’d realized. Which made her wonder why her salary was so low as his assistant manager. If she’d made even half of what he must be pulling in, she could have afforded a short-term rental in a trendy neighborhood close to Heatwave, instead of sponging off of Grant’s kindness. Or Dex and Lucy’s, given that they were the ones paying him rent for her and for Dex’s files.
She grabbed the key Tristan had given her out of her purse and strode toward the entrance. Passing the fountain, she couldn’t help but ogle the elaborate design featuring a mermaid perched on a rock. When she leaned in to get a better look, she heard something ping.
She glanced at the ground in time to see his house key slip out of her hand, bounce off a metal grate, and fall through a drainage hole.
“No!” How had she dropped it? The mermaid fountain wasn’t that interesting. She got on her hands and knees to try to get it, but the damn key was just out of reach. If she could move it a little to the left, where there was a slightly larger opening, maybe she could grab it. Then she remembered that she had one of those multi-function gadgets in her glove compartment with a nail file and a pocket knife. Surely one of the tools would work.
A minute later, she returned to the spot and opened the knife, the longest implement in the set, and tried to slide the key over. She managed to touch it with the point of the knife, just barely.
Frustration made her hand shake, and she pushed the point of the knife farther than she intended.
“Shit, shit, shit.” She watched as the rushing water under the grate bubbled and frothed over the key, obscuring it from sight. How was she going to get into the house to feed Melanie now?
If she called Tristan and admitted what had happened, he’d be so disappointed. She could practically hear his exasperated sigh, see him shake his head and tell her how she’d let him down.
Her London promotion had washed down the drain with that key.
No, she didn’t want to be that person. She had to improvise, find a way to get the job done. Women had to put up with crap all the time from male bosses when they were just starting out, from what she’d heard from just about every working woman in her life. She, like countless women before her, would just have to tough it out and use it as a stepping stone to something better.
Maybe Tristan had left a window unlocked. She shoved the tool into her back pocket, crossed her fingers, and headed around the side of the house, hoping to avoid being seen by any nosy neighbors. The back door was locked, and every set of windows on the ground floor was inaccessible thanks to the lush landscaping. But there were two second-floor balconies with French doors. If only she had a ladder.
“Grant!” she said aloud. Although she hated to call him at work, she had no doubt that he’d come to her rescue, if he wasn’t already busy rescuing someone else. Yikes, had she remembered to charge her phone? When she checked it, she had enough power left to call him, thankfully.
Forty-five minutes later, Grant turned his pickup truck into the drive.
Niki got up from where she’d been sitting on the side of the fountain and ran over to give him a hug. Guilt niggled at her insides when she noticed his gray work T-shirt. “I’m so sorry to drag you away from work. Thank you for coming.”
“I still don’t understand why you couldn’t call your boss and ask him if he had an extra key hidden somewhere.” Grant lifted a small ladder out of the bed of his truck. “He’s kind of a dick, Niki.”
She sighed. “I know, but he has my whole future in his hands. All I have to do is put up with him for a little while longer, and then I get what I want. It’s a win-win.”
“He’s winning a little too much right now for my taste.”
Rather than explaining herself further, she clasped her hands together and held them in front of her, silently begging him to help her. She widened her eyes, all the better to show off her best feature. If she was going to play damsel in distress, she might as well throw her dignity to the wind and pull out all the stops.
He shook his head with a laugh. “Okay, fine. Where to?”
She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “There’s a window around back that’ll be easiest to access. I just hope we can get it open.”
“Are you sure the grate where you dropped the key doesn’t come off?” He glanced toward the fountain.
“I checked. It’s cemented in.”
Frowning, he repositioned the ladder under his arm. “Then lead on.”
Wasting no time, she took him to the pool deck and pointed to a balcony about seven feet up. “I’ll go.”
“He set the ladder against the wrought iron railing with a clank. “No, you won’t. I’m not taking a chance that you’ll get hurt.”
“Thank you, Captain Save-the-World,” she sing-songed dutifully.
With a mock-exasperated grunt, he started climbing to the balcony. She studied the way his shoulder muscles worked, how terrific his backside and legs looked in his navy blue work pants.
A wave of heat—that had nothing to do with the mid-day Miami temperature—started deep inside her. In an instant, Grant was up and over the railing like some medieval prince on a mission to rescue the captured maiden.
Niki shielded her eyes with her hand as she watched him. “I think you’ve done this ladder-climbing thing before,” she called up.
“Once or twice, yeah.” He tried the door. “It’s locked.”
“Nuts.” She paced the deck.
Grant took a card out of his wallet then kneeled on the balcony and monkeyed with the handle. Suddenly, the doors opened.
Niki cheered. “Oh my God! How’d you do that?”
Grinning down at her, he returned his wallet to his back pocket. “Gold card.”
“Awesome.” She started up the ladder until Grant yelled for her to stop.
“Oh no, you don’t. Not in
high heels and a pencil skirt. I’ll let you in the front door.”
With a glance at her outfit, she conceded defeat. “I’ll meet you there.”
A minute later, he opened the front door for her. “We’d better find a garage door opener or another way so you can get in next time.”
“Good thinking.” Following him through the house, she resisted gawking at the huge rooms and the designer furnishings.
“Nice digs,” Grant said. “If you go for the Pretentious Asshole School of Decorating. Isn’t there one of those HGTV shows you like on that?”
“Ha. Ha.” She ignored his assessment as they entered the master bedroom. A giant all-white canopy bed dominated the room. The floor was a cream-colored marble, the same stone that surrounded the fireplace.
She ran her hands along the faux fur throw on the bed, let her fingers sink into the rich softness. Closing her eyes for a moment, she imagined what it would be like to make love in a room like this. She started out picturing herself with Tristan, just as a mental experiment, but in a heartbeat, he morphed into Grant.
Standing by the fire naked, he stared down at her with unbridled need. Would they get busy on that fur rug in front of the fireplace?
Heat suffused her neck and face. She opened her eyes and cleared her throat then recognized the same burning in Grant’s gaze. His expression darkened, and she was sure he’d had a similar thought. He strode to the bed. “This isn’t bad. I could imagine…” Grasping the post, he shook his head.
Her mouth grew dry. “Imagine what?”
Their gazes locked.
Niki’s temperature spiked; her body tingled with need.
They moved closer. Closer. Until they were mere inches apart, and she could feel the heat of his body. The atmosphere between them crackled with carnal energy. Niki could hardly pull in a breath.
Grant cupped her neck, ran his callused thumb slowly, possessively over her throat.
She’d die if he didn’t kiss her. A sweet ache started low in her belly. She shut her eyes and thought back to the way Grant had kissed her that night after Lucy’s wedding. It was blistering, greedy, and full of passion—the kind of kiss that turned her into a puddle of a woman.
The Best Man's Proposal (The Hamilton Sisters) Page 8
