by Susan Arden
“Bugger. I hate migraines.”
“That’s not the only thing that sucks,” I muttered, twisting my fingers and tempted to peel the nail polish from my nails. Something my sister had nagged me about incessantly and what I did when I was super stressed.
“Bollocks. What the hell happened?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Out with it.”
I could feel my brows draw together, frantically trying to mask what I couldn’t hide. Think, I told myself. “I know it’s not my issue, but I’m supposed to be here not only as a “rush” for Graham, but also as a yoga teacher. He said his doctor suggested stress relief. Well?”
“He’s miserably stubborn. Runs in his family.” She pouted, biting the side of her mouth.
“And his health. It’s a concern. Does that also run in his family?”
“Graham doesn’t do anything but what he deems important.” She partially cupped her palm over her mouth. What was she keeping from me?
“Does he have health issues or not?” It might’ve started as a fake way to divert her attention, but there was the kernel of me wanting to find out if Graham was telling the truth. It mattered, especially after seeing him and the woman whom he wasn’t in contact with. His words.
I sat forward, waiting while Marie spat her gum into a piece of paper. “Maybe a tad high blood pressure, but nothing that’d place him at risk. Not exactly.” Her browed crinkled, and she laughed. “Nothing major. He’s as healthy as a stallion.”
The answer didn’t help. It could mean he was trying to deal with a potential problem, which fit with his way of doing things, or he didn’t really have a medical issue at all. One question begged another, and like any domino effect, I wanted to know the degree of accuracy in her read on Graham.
“How do you know?” I curled my fingers around the metal pole next to my seat on the slowing subway train, impatient for her reply.
“In case you don’t know, he has a reputation in this town. I assume this isn’t news to you, right?” She stood. “C’mon. This is our stop.”
I rose and stared back at her, hunting for a way to circle this subject back around to the real issue. His past and his present. How much of him did I share and with whom? “Specifically, how much do you know about him and me?”
Marie motioned with her hand to move. “I know you interest him. Nothing more.” She unfolded her arms, standing in front of the subway doors. “Something’s got you gutted. Just spill.”
“Do you know I’m supposed to be providing him with stress release?”
We made it to the platform before she blew up laughing. “Is that what it’s called in Miami? Whatever.”
I frowned. “I’m a yoga teacher and seriously, yes, this living arrangement is supposed to include a practice involving mats and poses. But we haven’t. Not once. I’m not much better. I’m supposed to be scoping out places in the city, and all we do is shop. Today I’m so not into looking at more stuff.”
“And you feel…what? Like you need more to do? Fuck. Let’s go do yoga. I could use some stress relief. These nicotine patches don’t work for shite.”
“You’d be willing to do a class?” I asked, my voice ripe with a challenge.
“I might not be marathon material, but sure, why not?” As if on cue, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her bag, and lit one, blowing out a thick ring of smoke.
I grimaced, swishing my hand through the air and faking a cough. Truthfully, I inhaled the whiff of the smoke, near to asking for a cigarette for myself I was so frazzled. “There’s got to be studio close by. I’m supposed to be checking them out for my sister.”
“Crikey.” Marie smiled. “I didn’t know you had a sister who had an actual say in your life. What’s she like besides bossy?”
Shaking my head, I frowned at her. “Don’t even think about it. Trolling troll who trolls for secrets. Let’s focus on finding a studio.”
“Have at it, love. Let’s see what you come up with,” she replied.
With the popularity of yoga taking the world by storm, every neighborhood had a studio. Finding one in the heart of Brooklyn was as easy as a Google search. I pulled out my cell phone. Aha. Pay day. A studio was within walking distance, and I flipped through the yoga center’s schedule, climbing the subway stairs next to a very quiet Marie.
“Now, you’re in for a treat,” I sang.
“Crap, I don’t like that secret little smile you’ve got going on. How much trouble am I officially in?” She puffed on her cigarette, wearing a worried look.
“Stop. This’ll be good for you and your smoking habit. Besides, it was your idea. So how flexible are you?” I looked at her body closely. With her body build, she should crank after a few classes.
She gave me curt shake of her head. “Not very.”
“That shouldn’t stop you. I thought you excelled in spontaneity.”
“I do, but now you’re trying to get one over on me. Aren’t you?” she snorted.
I faced her and stared back, unblinking. “Can you roll with doing something on the fly? Are you in or out?”
Marie exhaled. “I know I’m going to hate myself. I’m in.”
“Great. There’s a yoga studio a few blocks away, and they have a class today and tomorrow at ten. They sell clothing, too. If we hurry, we can make it. Finally, I get to share my world with you. We both need this.” For all my struggling against yoga, it was imbedded in my cells. Whenever I was stressed, coming back to the mat centered me. Considering what I’d seen this morning, I had to find a way to deal with it and not explode like a jealous imbecile when I met up with Graham later.
“Why am I not jumping for joy?” she muttered, straggling alongside me on the sideway.
“Give yoga a chance. It’s not something you can make a judgment about on the sly. Like cigs. Yoga grows with a person. What you put in—you get out.”
“Sweet Fanny Adams, you’re just full of hunky-dory sayings today.”
I pulled open the door to the studio, hearing the familiar trill of a flute and nodded, already craving to go inside and lose myself in motion. But I stopped and glanced back at her. “This is more than talk. You’ll see.”
* * *
Marie managed to do most of the class, looking spent and in need of a cigarette while I flexed forward on the mat, savoring the release of my spiraling thoughts and giving myself over to the feeling of being grounded. The burn of my muscles, the feel of the mat beneath me, my breath entering and exiting my lungs. By the time we returned to the townhouse, I was ready to face Graham. I didn’t know what to expect, but when he came through the bedroom doorway with a dozen roses, I pushed aside the morning and opened my arms.
“Stay there,” he said, coming into the room. His presence drew me—a visceral pull to my senses.
Yet I was nervous. Glancing down, I sat immobilized and staring at the contents of my dressing table that had gone from an assortment of cosmetics to crammed with all sorts of trinkets, makeup, and perfumes as well as a few costly pieces of jewelry. All in one week. Whatever Marie saw, she bought on the spot or had express delivered, and now I scanned the assortment, grappling to remain as centered as when I’d finished the yoga session.
“They’re beautiful,” I said when he laid the deep crimson flowers next to me, their achingly sweet scent infusing the air. I met his gaze in the mirror. “Thank you.”
“I’ve missed you.” He lifted my hair, twisting it around his hand, and I shivered, wanting to lean against him. His eyes were scorching, and his breath was equally hot on my skin, his voice and the scent of his cologne were equally compelling. “I want you naked. Let’s go.”
I gave him a nod, my heart clambering its way up my throat. His fingers drifted down my neck and he bent, placing a solitary kiss on my shoulder as his capable hands cupped and kneaded my breasts. “You’re mine, Eliza. All. Mine.”
All afternoon, I’d engaged in a stern self-talk about how this was going to play out by me not losing my cool. I
’d struggled in a push-n-pull of trying to swallow the idea of temporary. I had two choices: me being a jealous shrew or savoring the time we had together. I’d opted to enjoy being at the top of the food chain and capably swimming with the sharks.
That’s what I told myself, but then Graham touched me, and I felt the familiar firestorm in my belly ignite of only wanting him in this moment.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Seeing Eliza seated calmly in front of her dressing table, I swore Marie had gotten the story ass-backward. What the hell did I expect? When she’d called me to report what they’d done, and she said they’d stopped by the building at a little after nine, and Eliza had mysteriously felt ill. It was simple math to put two and two together. Shit. She’d seen me with Vinia.
I’d accused Eliza of being jealous without a cause, and now I scrambled. I’d blazed a trail through my workload, reeling off directives to Yolanda, my assistant, and then I dodged out of the office, silently cursing about why it mattered what Eliza thought. She was here to satisfy my hunger, nothing more.
Still with that same old song. “Tosser,” I mocked myself. It was laughable how consumed I’d become over Eliza in less than a week. At this rate, she’d fucking own me in six measly months.
My mental and emotional stumbling would play into what Vinia desired—me out of control and my entire life ruined unless it involved her coming back to live here. That day would never materialize. But what had materialized was another shade of insane as my impeccably constructed, efficient life became seamlessly unraveled by a slip of girl, barely a woman.
“You’re mine. All. Mine.” I tasted her skin, staring at Eliza, wondering what she was thinking and needing to hear her confirm I possessed her. She didn’t.
“Good day?” I asked. Christ. Could I be more original?
“Are you stopping by before disappearing into the library?” She turned and rose from the bench, curling her fingers around my arm.
How to answer that? I stared back at her and her liquid aqua eyes that had me coming undone. I loosened my tie and gripped her face between my hands. “I’m here because I want to fuck you. I want you wrapped around me while I’m deep inside you. So deep, I can feel your next heartbeat.”
“Right now?” She looked confused, a slight furrow between her brows that dissipated when I nodded.
I pulled her to me, my mouth crashed down on hers. Rough, needy, and taking whatever she was willing to give me. I don’t know if I was thankful she wasn’t handing me rash of shit or that, possibly, she hadn’t spotted me on the street. With her mouth opening to me, I was losing it and I didn’t care. Lost to her, breathing in her scent kept at bay the fucked up mess that composed my world outside this bedroom.
With her in my arms, I moved us, walking a step, and we bumped into the wall. Didn’t matter. I pushed forward, not stopping until our bodies joined together. I had to feel her, own her, taste her—but it wasn’t enough. She was mine and she wasn’t—we were temporary, and that fact incited me, made me ravenous. Ready to go ballistic with the thought of her walking away.
She began undoing my tie and unbuttoning my shirt. I let her take the lead—not my usual way in life, but it somehow felt right tonight. I decided to go with the flow like it was some challenge I had to overcome. I inhaled when she unzipped my trousers.
Our eyes connected. “I have no intention of veering from my schedule, but right now that includes getting you naked and underneath me.”
“Let’s see how we can accommodate you and that nasty little schedule of yours,” she growled in a low, sultry voice.
I hadn’t meant to stop and come back home this early. I had a stockpile of shit to get through before midnight, but everything felt wrong—work and being away from her. I needed Eliza after the board meeting from hell. My craving for her tore at me all day. She was the whisper in my head, the one I couldn’t ignore. Shit. I wasn’t going to give in to needing this woman, but that was as easy as the idea of giving up oxygen.
By the end of the year, she’d be gone. That was my sorry-ass plan. Thought-out, structured, perfect. I wanted to bash my head into the wall and keep slamming it until I didn’t feel unglued. My projection: that day wasn’t coming anytime soon.
Hadn’t she already arranged to go back to Miami each month? Her ties ran so deep she couldn’t be away for a lousy few months. I bet by the time it came for her to return, she’d bolt.
I wrapped my hand around her arm, hauled her back to me, and demanded like a prick, “Who do you belong to?”
Without a beat passing, she answered. “You.”
We gazed at each other for a millisecond before I reclaimed her mouth, roving my hands down her body, over the silk dressing gown she wore and cupping her ass cheeks. I squeezed each firm curve, starved to do more than touch her. She came willingly, allowing me to manhandle her body and grind into her, looking for a soft spot. Anything I could find to hear her breath catch, maybe cry out, thereby convincing myself she felt pain, a tiny shard of what I was experiencing.
I smacked my hand against her ass. The sting reverberated across my palm. Totally another prick move. This wasn’t a lesson—not one to teach her anything except I was fucked in my head.
Eliza exhaled sharply, but she didn’t pull away from me. If anything she pushed her body closer to mine. She was breathtaking and breaking me, and what she delivered felt cataclysmic—both painful and mind-blowing. The flawless high. I wanted more.
“I know this week has been out of control,” I growled, palming her tit and tracking my finger around her pointy nipple.
“Don’t worry. I’m a big girl.”
There was no way in hell I could step back, even if the house were on fire. I hauled her body against me, harder than I’d intended, fisting her hair like a silk rope to angle her neck. I sucked on the supple skin below her ear where a vein pulsed. She tasted so sweet, and I pumped my hips against her, looking for relief from the incessant craving in my blood. She was a hurricane to my senses. The punch to my chest that kept hammering. The kick to my gut I can’t ignore. Infiltrating my every thought—the elusive temptress appearing in my dreams.
Trailing my mouth to the point where her neck curved into one beautiful shoulder, I bit down. She gasped, and I sucked her skin harder. I had to hear her moan. Beg. Tell me…what? I clawed at the material of her gown, needing to touch her skin, separate her legs, and find her heat. Possess her in the only way I knew how.
Was that what I wanted to hear at the moment? She didn’t dish out recriminations, and I had no need of excuses. She was perfect…or she knew how to play me. She moved, recapturing my mouth with hers, and I dropped the thought.
Her pliable body in my hands made me put aside everything that plagued me. Nothing entered my mind except this buzz of being with her. She pulled my lower lip into her mouth and nipped me while her hand found my dick, and squeezed. Tugged. Together, we were coming undone, ready to splinter apart. I needed her naked. Now. But the damn nightgown she wore was long, without end, and I groaned.
I moved us to the bed. My hands traced up her supple waist to her shoulders. I took the straps of her gown and fingered the silky material, then moved my hands to the neckline, skimming the top of her tits. She stopped kissing me and pulled back a few inches without speaking.
Our breaths were jagged and I spread my fingers over her face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. But what are you thinking?” she asked.
“Fuck,” I groaned, staring at her nipples darting the material—two points that had my dick straining in my pants. God, I wanted to suck her breasts and fuck them. I lowered my head and bit her nipple, sucking her tip into my mouth, tonguing her tit through the thin silk material. She threaded her fingers in my hair and yanked not once but several times. Each tug released an electric jolt of excitement across my body.
I hungered for her and once more fought the thought. Craving Eliza was a losing battle since all I wanted to do was drive my cock into her over and ov
er. A small voice urged me to let her go and let her leave, send her packing back to Miami. I’d be safe. But no, I ignored the warning bells. The mere thought of her not with me had me clenching my jaw.
I ran my hands down her body, cupped her ass, and separated her cheeks through the gown. We both shivered simultaneously.
“Graham,” she moaned, curling her fingers around my cock. I lifted my head and stared at the wet spots on her gown, showcasing her tits.
This flimsy piece of material separated me from what I craved. I gathered the silk in my hands and ripped the front of her gown from neckline to hem with one savage yank. Pushing the gown off her shoulders, I picked her up, and tossed her onto the bed. I undressed, letting my clothes hit the ground until I was naked with nothing to hold me back.
“Open your legs,” I said, coming up to the bed, rolling on a condom, and climbing next to her. What I needed was structure and boundaries, and then I’d have my life back in control. I grabbed my hard-on and positioned myself at her warm and wet entrance. Without waiting, I drove myself into her in one powerful thrust.
God. Fucking. Damn. My head couldn’t wrap around the intense feeling of being squeezed by her pussy. Incredible. I started to slam my hips against her, driving my dick as far and as hard as possible to prove who ran this show. Each thrust felt better than the last, and her scent, sounds, and movements gripped me. I wasn’t escaping from Eliza. I was falling. Fast.
I sped up, slamming into her pussy as my balls smacked against her, and I hooked my hands over her shoulder, ramming myself into her. Deeper. “Can you take this?”
“Yes and much more,” she assured me as our gazed fused.
“Baby. Fuck!” Grunting, I slammed my cock into Eliza’s pussy, exorcising my need to show her I was master of this course I’d set us on. With each savage stroke, it didn’t seem to matter—only me being inside her and touching every inch of her body as I ran my hands over her skin made sense.
Our bodies were covered with perspiration, our breaths uneven. I noticed her eyes were closed, and I snarled, stopping in mid-stroke. “Open your eyes, beautiful.”
