“It’s just a lot of tissue and packing materials. After we eat, we can put everything into your luggage.” I eyed her backpack again. “Did you pack shoes? I know you’re in a committed relationship with your slippers right now, but I would prefer you not wear them all weekend.” I couldn’t even picture how much attention she would receive—and none of it good—if she shuffled around the Hamptons in slippers.
“I brought one pair of ballet flats.”
I eyed her ankle as I closed my door and kicked off my sandals. “How is your sprain?” I could make a phone call and get her some heels for the actual anniversary party. It had been ten days and I didn’t want her to reinjure herself, but we needed a slipper alternative.
“It’s fine.”
I didn’t believe her. She looked like she was trying to say what I wanted to hear. I decided I would get some sneakers and she could go for a very cool and young Rihanna kind of look, with a sexy dress and Kicks. I set her backpack down on my sofa.
“Are you hungry now?” I asked as I went and poured her a glass of sangria. It wasn’t my best work, but it was short notice sangria. I handed it to her.
Leah took a sip and said, “I’m starving. Let’s do this thing. How can I help? Though I have to warn you I never cook. You saw my kitchen. We pretty much have an Easy Bake oven.”
“I’m not a great cook either but this is just vegetables in a wok. We can’t screw it up.”
“You underestimate my ability to screw things up.” Leah gave me a grin. She sipped her sangria.
I made myself a Sazerac because that’s what I had said in my text. I had a decent at-home bar because while I don’t usually have more than one drink, I wanted the option of being able to make whatever I was in the mood for.
“This is a nice apartment,” Leah said. “Your kitchen is amazing.”
“Thanks. I’ve been happy with it. It’s the open concept I like.”
Leah leaned on the island and watched me. “What is that?”
“A Sazerac.”
Understanding dawned on her. “Of course. What’s in it?” She reached for one of the bottles I had set down.
“Rye. Bitters. Sugar. Lemon. Absinthe on the rim if you have it, which I don’t.”
“Can I taste it?”
“As my fake girlfriend, whatever’s mine is yours.”
“I think that applies to spouses only.”
I handed her my mixed drink. “Maybe we’ll have to upgrade our status.” That would get my parents off my ass for years. In the meantime, I could take measures to secure my position at the company and make sure my father’s stipulations were null and void.
Leah choked on the Sazerac. “Are you serious? Grant. Marriage isn’t something to joke about or fake. It’s a serious commitment.”
I shrugged. “Not to my parents. They’ve made their own rules up as they went.”
She studied me. “That doesn’t mean you have to behave the same way as them.”
“I haven’t. That’s why I’m not married. I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” I was a lot of things—workaholic, aggressive, confident—but I wasn’t dishonest.
Leah nodded, slowly, like she wasn’t sure of what to make of my response. “If you’re going to fake propose to me, just give me a warning.” She handed me the drink back. “Now let’s get cooking. I’m starving.”
She came around the other side of the island to join me at the stove. I realized I had never had a woman in my kitchen with me. The rye was sliding smoothly down my throat and I suddenly felt tense, aware. All these questions, all these moments with Leah, had been fun, flirtatious. She amused me and turned me on.
But the way she had looked at me just now—like she didn’t approve of me—didn’t sit well. I wanted her to like me.
Holy fuck. I wanted her to like me because I liked her.
Emotions were rising to the surface that surprised me and it wasn’t a comfortable feeling. It was like being out sailing and a sudden storm pops up and shoves you off course. And tosses icy ocean water all over your face.
So I did what I’d been doing since I was a kid. Ignore the fuck out of them.
I picked up a water chestnut and held it up to Leah. “Sure you don’t want to try one of these beauties? They’re good plain. Amazing soaked in soy sauce.”
“Get that away from me.” Leah grabbed my wrist and moved my arm out of range of her mouth.
“You should try new things.”
“I’ve tried them. It’s like biting into frozen grass. That sound.” She shuddered. “It’s a nightmare.”
I popped it into my mouth and ate it. “I don’t hear anything.”
“I’ll have a pepper.” She picked a slice off the cutting board and lifted it to her lips.
Then she flicked her tongue over it. “Mmm. Red peppers are delicious.”
She might be fucking with me, but she was damn sexy doing it. I took another sip of my drink. “You seem to be passionate about them.”
“I am.” She sucked the pepper slice. “So much flavor. Do you want to taste?”
She may be talking about vegetables but I had different ideas in mind. The stir-fry could wait. “I’d love a taste.”
Leah held up the pepper.
I bit the end off. Then I drew her fingertip into my mouth and sucked.
Her eyes darkened.
“What vegetable are you passionate about?” she asked, her voice low, gaze drifting to watch me suck her finger before I bit the tip gently and let her go.
“I save my passions for my bedroom.”
“Just your bedroom?” she asked, reaching for another slice of pepper.
I took the cutting board and shifted it to my stovetop, though she did manage to snag one more pepper piece. I took both of our glasses and moved them off of the island to the expanse of countertop next to the stove. Turning back to her, I put my hands on her waist and set her ass down on the marble.
“No. My passions are on full display anywhere I’m with you.”
Then I kissed her, hand slipping under her sweatshirt to discover that she had on no bra. I palmed her nipple and dipped my tongue inside her mouth, wanting her. Now. It had been ten days and every night I’d gone to sleep thinking about how she had tasted.
I stepped back and pulled her sweatshirt off over her head.
“I thought we were eating first,” she said, leaning back on the palms of her hands so that tits thrust forward in open, mouthwatering invitation. “Sazerac, stir-fry, sex. That’s what you said.”
“That wasn’t indicative of order, just desire and intent.” I shifted my hand down into her leggings and teased over her clit. “It wasn’t legal and binding.”
“Don’t corporate talk me,” Leah said.
Damn. I undid my pants. “How about I just fuck you?”
“I wouldn’t hate that,” she said.
Chapter 8
So obviously, I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to come over to Grant’s. Or rather, what was getting into me.
But Grant was so different from the other men I had been with and in the best way possible. He purposely dropped lines he knew would catch me off guard. I wondered if we were together, together, in the way that Savannah had thought I was saying, how far he would go with the alpha aggression.
Way further than now, because there would be trust.
And I would love it.
But we wouldn’t be together, together, so I was just going to enjoy every minute he was touching me.
Right then he was stroking me to full and complete arousal while kissing me like we were on a plane that was going down. Desperate. Passionate. With everything. I’d never been kissed the way Grant did. It was all his usual control shattered when our lips touched and he unleashed the darkest most reckless parts of himself onto me.
Our passion was like wildfire. It sparked, grew, then ran wild across the landscape, leaving everything in its path searing hot.
It was overwhelming in the best way poss
ible. I gripped his shoulders and spread my knees further as he nudged between my legs, into my space. My feet went slack and my slippers dropped to the floor from gravity.
“Lie down,” he said, pulling his hand out of my leggings, leaving me aching with desire.
“What?” I couldn’t even picture how that would work. But I obeyed and instantly regretted it. “Yikes, that’s cold.” Even though my skin was flushed with desire, it was a brutal shock.
I was about to shoot back off but Grant was yanking my legging off. Before I could even process what was happening, he had me off the cold stone and in his arms. I grabbed his biceps, needing somewhere to hold on. Grant turned us both and pushed me against the nearest wall. Wanting to feel his skin on mine, I yanked up the bottom of his T-shirt.
With a skill reminiscent of Houdini, he had a condom out of his pocket, his pants down, and all that gorgeous hot cock covered in latex. It was a thing of wonder and delight. Both the movement and his cock. In the ten days since we’d had sex, I’d convinced myself I had exaggerated the length. The girth. The skill.
That after my Halloween debacle of the year before, I’d been so hungry to believe in the existence of good sex, I had turned Grant into a savant when maybe he wasn’t.
All of that was wrong.
I hadn’t exaggerated a damn thing and he was a savant.
He was a sexual unicorn in my world.
Something I had always hoped existed but had thought was most likely a fantasy.
He might not sparkle but he fucked like a rock star.
I was holding on, head thrown back, making sounds I hadn’t even known I was capable of, as he held me like I weighed nothing and thrust up inside me. Grant kissed me again, and the warm wet tease of his tongue over mine mimicked the deep slide of his cock into me. My orgasm showed up without warning and for a split second I couldn’t breathe. Or think. Or move.
I just locked eyes with Grant and felt the most intense pleasure I’d experienced in years. Maybe ever.
It was deep and powerful and desperate.
Grant’s grip on my ass was firm, and after I murmured, “Oh, God,” my orgasm finally fading, he yanked me up higher.
I had been slipping and hadn’t realized it.
“You feel so fucking amazing,” he said.
I was starting to wonder if it was an “us” thing because for a man who had most likely been around the block a few, or ten thousand times, was either by nature over-the-top complimentary (doubtful) or we had chemistry.
Just good old-fashioned, no-explanation-for-it, sexual chemistry.
Grant came with a low growl, his forehead pressed against mine.
He pulled back and shook his head a little. “Damn, you make me lose control.”
“That’s kind of the point,” I told him, easing my grip on his arms. “Isn’t it?”
“I’ve never thought about it that way. I thought the point was pleasure.” Grant eased out of me and set me carefully down on the floor. He rubbed his beard, a gesture I’d noticed he took to when he was contemplative.
I was totally naked while he was mostly dressed but it didn’t bother me. I was comfortable in my skin and didn’t feel any need to hide. I took the few steps to where my sangria was and took a sip. “Where’s your bathroom?”
“First door down on the right.” He pointed to the hallway as he removed the condom and tossed it under the sink. He started washing his hands. “Unless you want to take a shower. Then you can go to my bedroom at the end of the hall.”
“No. I’m starving.” I just wanted to pee. I bent over and scooped up my pile of clothes he’d discarded.
Grant made a sound and I sensed him moving toward me. I laughed and darted out of his reach. “No! No seconds right now.”
He groaned. “You’re cruel.”
To which I stopped, turned, and gave him a faux scathing look. “Grant. Twice now I’ve had sex with you within ten minutes of us being in a private place. If that’s cruel, I can’t even fathom what kind is.”
Grant smiled. “I can’t argue with that. But you can’t blame me for wanting more. We have great chemistry.”
Confirmation of my thoughts. He knew it just as clearly as I did. “We do.” I pointed to the stove. “Now cook us a meal and we’ll see what happens afterwards. We have all night.”
Our only night. We weren’t having sex at his parents’ house, something we both felt strongly about for different reasons. We had to make this night count.
His powder room was what I would have expected. Modern, shiny finishes. Very clean, tidy. I was sure he had a cleaning lady because the image of Grant with a toilet brush in his hand was too hilarious for words. I wasn’t wowed by expensive possessions but at the same time I couldn’t help but run my hands over the walnut vanity and take extra time drying my hands off on towels so plush they might have been a comforter. I redid my topknot as I glanced around, trying to see if I could learn anything about Grant. But it was just a guest powder room and it appeared sterile.
I put my panties and sweatshirt on but skipped the leggings. Getting in and out of them was like filling a piping bag. You just kept cramming until suddenly they were filled. How they could be so comfortable once on your body and yet such a bitch to get into was one of the wonders of the world. Given that I was intending for Grant to want them off again (and likewise) I decided to save him the trouble. I did want my slippers back on though.
When I returned to the kitchen and bent over to pick up my slippers and slide them onto my feet, Grant was stirring the vegetables in the wok.
“You forgot your pants,” he said.
“I’m taking a shortcut. Saving you some trouble later.”
“That’s very thoughtful.”
“I’m just drawn that way.” I padded over to him. “What’s going on here? How can I help?”
“I think I’ve got it.” Grant turned and pulled me against his chest. He had a bemused expression on his face.
He looked relaxed. Not so intense. Not so controlled. Just in his element. Content.
I was feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling. Curiosity. Tenderness. Attraction that included lust but also went beyond it. I wrapped my arms around his waist and studied him.
“What?” he asked. “Are you wondering how it’s possible I’m this good looking?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m trying to picture you without a beard.”
“I look like a naked mole rat.”
That made me laugh. “Good visual. Pink skin. I’m properly horrified.”
“We can’t have that.” Grant bent down and cupped my cheeks. He kissed with the same fervor as before, as if he couldn’t get enough.
It took me right back to desperate need and we moved our bodies closer, tongues teasing at each other. Grant’s hand shifted to my ass and he rocked me forward in a soft rhythm that had me brushing against him. My head drifted back and he kissed my neck, his beard scratching my tender flesh.
Then I realized that the vegetables were burning. Smoke was rising behind his head and the distinct odor hit my nostrils. “Grant, dinner is burning.” I patted his arm to get him to release me.
He didn’t react as quickly as I would have expected. He looked back and just slowly turned the burner off. He waved his hand half-heartedly in the air.
I had a thought. “Turn your fan on. The clothes you got me are going to smell like burned oil.” The boxes were fifteen feet away but I could already see the smoke was rising and circling around his ceiling.
“Shit.” That lit a fire under his butt. He turned the fan on and quickly walked over to his living room windows. “These only open about six inches for safety reasons but it should help.”
I looked around for a blanket. I felt like I needed to save the clothes. Cover them from stinky smoke. I didn’t see anything I could use to save the Chanel. “If I had a window, which I don’t, there would be no safety restrictions. My roommates’ windows lift like four feet and Javier’s has a fire escape he uses
to climb out onto and smoke weed.”
“Javier? Your roommate is a guy?” Grant was waving his arms like somehow he could draw the smoke to the windows.
“Yes.” I took the wok by the handle and dumped the still smoking vegetables into the stainless steel can in the corner of the kitchen. It had a foot pedal and the lid slammed shut tightly, sealing it off. “I think we’re clear.” The smoke seemed to be dissipating.
“Does your roommate have a girlfriend? Boyfriend?” he asked, clearly fishing for information.
“No.” I wasn’t going to give him any further information than that. Javier and I were strictly platonic friends and if he specifically wanted to know that, he could just ask. Though it did give me a warm sensation in inappropriate places that he looked put out by potential competition. “I guess we need to order food. Have I mentioned I’m starving?”
“This is the third time so I guess I need to take you seriously. What kind of food do you want?”
“Somewhere we can get guacamole. I’m even more passionate about guac than I am peppers.” I dropped the wok in Grant’s sink and tried to figure out how to turn the faucet on. I didn’t see any handles or knobs. “Um, how does this work?”
“Wave your hands under it or tap the side.”
I did and water hit the wok. It made me feel like I was in a public restroom but I suppose it was more sanitary than faucets. “Order food and I’ll start packing while we’re waiting.”
“That’s a good plan.” Grant was on his phone, scrolling.
I washed my hands so they would be clean for the very expensive clothes and went into the living room. I set a suitcase on its side and opened it. Not surprisingly, it was the highest quality suitcase I’d ever seen. I opened several boxes inside bags and various garments were wrapped in tissue. Some were items I didn’t even recognize, like a pair of jeans and a chunky sweater. I found delicate earrings and statement necklaces. One necklace was so elaborate and gorgeous, an emerald and gold piece of artwork that I had to try it on. I clasped it around my neck and found a mirror above a console table by the entryway.
Weekend Wife: A Fake Fiancée Romantic Comedy Standalone Page 11
