“Oh. I guess that’s why the bunk room looked like a ghost town when I visited the station last week.”
Grant nodded in agreement. “So about dinner…”
Staring into her coffee cup, she smiled. “You just don’t give up, do you?”
“Not when I see something I want…”
Olivia gnawed on her bottom lip for a moment.
This is a bad idea, girl.
Yeah, she was aware of that—their chemistry was on the verge of combusting. Having dinner wasn’t necessarily the issue. Her concern was what came after. But somehow, telling him no didn’t sit right with her either.
They had fun. So what if they acted on their mutual attraction? She wasn’t going to sleep with him—she didn’t participate in casual sex. Control was her middle name.
No way was she going to lose it.
Surely she could stay in control and still have fun…
“What time?”
CHAPTER 7
Clutching a bottle of pinot noir, Olivia raised her free hand and firmly knocked on the front door. She inhaled a deep, calming breath and then slowly exhaled. She’d had reservations about tonight. Yes, it was just dinner. But she was beginning to see a pattern: every time she was around Grant she tended to lose her self-control. It was like the pleasure side of her brain overpowered the logical side.
She’d been so indecisive about tonight. Numerous times she’d dialed his number to cancel, but hesitated.
Why? Well, unfortunately that was an easy question to answer: He showed a genuine interest in getting to know her—the real her.
And the fact that his lips ignite an internal inferno had nothing to do with it?
Okay, so that probably played a role in her decision to keep their dinner plans, too. But, damn it, tonight she was going to practice some restraint. The logical side of her brain had to remain in charge because if she lost control again, she was in big trouble.
“Hey, beautiful”, he said as he answered the door, although “beautiful” couldn’t even begin to describe how amazing she looked. She wore a deep green blouse that buttoned down the front, mirroring the intensity from her emerald eyes. A pair of black jeans hugged her soft curves, daring his eyes to trace her sensual silhouette. Stepping forward, he wrapped his arms around her narrow waist, filling his lungs with the scent of her floral shampoo.
“I hope I’m not late”, she said as she gently leaned into him.
“Nope—you’re right on time.”
After their embrace, Olivia followed Grant inside. He took the bottle of wine from her grasp and moved into the kitchen to open it.
“So what are you makin’?” she asked.
“It’s a surprise”, he answered as he filled her wine glass.
“Oh?”
Walking toward her, he offered her one of the glasses. “That’s right.” His fingers tucked a strand of hair behind one of her ears and then gently tilted her chin upward. He gave her a quick peck on the lips and then pulled back to look at her. “I just have a couple of things left to do. Why don’t you take your glass of wine out on the deck and I’ll be out there in a few minutes to join you.”
Olivia eyed him suspiciously. “What are you up to, Womack?”
“I guess you’re gonna have to just trust me.”
“Trust you?” she questioned sarcastically. “You mean the same guy that tossed me in the ocean yesterday?—that guy?”
Opening the sliding glass door, Grant smiled at her. “Yeah, that’s the one.”
After the door was shut behind her, she leisurely walked to the edge of the deck and leaned her elbows along the railing. The sun had just disappeared to her right, leaving vibrant hues of pink, orange, and lavender in its wake. Up ahead, the tide was steadily rising, the brisk water devouring the soft, velvety sand with every mellow wave.
Olivia took a sip of wine and then focused her attention on the docile chocolate lab brushing against her thigh.
“Hey, Dexter!” she exclaimed as she knelt down to pet him. With his tail wagging like a pair of windshield wipers during a monsoon, he stepped closer and then lapped her cheek with his tongue.
“Should I be jealous?” Grant asked as he emerged from the kitchen.
Olivia glanced over her shoulder while she scratched along Dexter’s neck. “Perhaps you should be. This handsome devil right here would never toss a lady in the ocean. Would ya, boy?”
Dexter responded by giving her cheek another sloppy lick.
“In case you forgot, you started it”, he reminded her. “I should’ve known you were up to no good!”
Olivia revealed a mischievous grin and then stood up.
“Dexter”, he called, “go lie down!” The dog trotted to the corner of the deck, turned two complete circles, and then lowered his body onto a navy-blue cushion.
“Wow! He listens really well!”
“Yeah, he’s a good dog… Um, go ahead and have a seat. Dinner’s ready.”
Olivia settled into the chair he’d offered, her eyes focused on the lone hurricane lamp in the center of the table. Grant disappeared into the kitchen and then returned moments later carrying a large platter with several dishes balanced on top. When he placed her bowl in front of her, she quickly turned her head to meet his gaze. “Shrimp and grits…? You made me shrimp and grits?” she questioned in disbelief.
“Yeah, probably not as good as what you’d find in New Orleans, but—”
“Grant, this is my favorite! How did you know?”
After placing his bowl on the table, he took the seat beside her. “I called Kendall.”
The corners of her mouth ascended into a wide grin. “Look at you, trying to impress me.”
“Is it working?”
“Maybe…”
Conversation was fairly lighthearted during dinner. She complimented him on a job well done, explaining that if she couldn’t be in New Orleans, his rendition of shrimp and grits was the next best thing. Having heard about her famous grits, he’d asked for some pointers and she’d jokingly responded that if she shared her secret, she’d have to kill him. But when their bowls were finally empty, their con-versation veered away from playful.
“So you’ve lived in New Orleans for how long?”
“Well, I visited right after Hurricane Katrina. I spent a couple of weeks there documentin’ the clean-up efforts and then headed back to my apartment upstate for a few days. But it just didn’t feel right, ya know?”
Grant studied her for a long beat. “What do you mean?”
“Have you ever been there?” she asked. When he shook his head indicating that he hadn’t, she went on. “I don’t know. There’s this… vibe in New Orleans. I’ve traveled all over the country for my career and I’ve never felt anything like it anywhere else.”
Running the back of his fingers across the short stubble along his jaw, he pinned her with his eyes. “What does it feel like?”
“Like… like I’m alive.”
Grant reached out and placed the pads of his middle and index fingers over the pulse point on the inside of her wrist and smirked. “Well, I guess there’s no need to go back then. You feel alive to me.”
Olivia laughed and then slid her arm away from his grasp. “I’m not sure if I told you the other day, but the house is lookin’ really great.”
“Thanks—it’s been a work in-progress for a few years now.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh.” Throwing his head back, he emptied the last bit of wine from his glass and then gently placed it in front of him on the wrought-iron patio table. “My grandpa was… well he was really old. He had a hard time with the upkeep. About six years ago, before he died, I came to visit him. I did as much as I could for him during the week I was here, but…”
His brows furrowed, revealing a glimpse of the overwhelming pain and regret he’d kept hidden so well. He was denied a relationship with his grandpa over a dispute his parents had had with Mr. Gibson when he was just a boy. He’d attempted to
bridge that gap six years ago and had managed to build a very special bond with his grandpa in a limited amount of time, yet still held himself partly responsible for not having known him better. Olivia covered his hand with hers and gave it a firm squeeze. “I think your grandpa would be really proud of what you’ve done with the place.”
Grant looked at their joined hands and then focused his attention on the gorgeous woman sitting next to him. He was almost speechless—she never ceased to amaze him. He hadn’t meant to unveil his remorse. She made him open up about things he’d never shared with anyone—made him feel things he’d never felt before. “You’re almost too good to be real”, he uttered softly.
“You wanna check my pulse again? I can assure you I’m quite real!”
A powerful gust of wind washed over them, but neither seemed to notice. His eye’s bored into hers, searching. Searching for clues; some sort of sign that indicated she was feeling the same way he was. His attention was temporarily diverted to her mouth as she raked her teeth across the surface of her pouty bottom lip. She was completely unaware how erotic that simple action was, but he certainly wasn’t.
Something was definitely happening here, she acknowledged. Their bodies were communicating—sending and receiving messages—longing for the opportunity to take action.
Stay in control!
She needed to intercept these messages; needed to keep things light and easy. She closed the distance between them; could see him lick his lips in anticipation. When she was mere inches from his mouth his lips parted, inviting her to lose herself in his testosterone-laced kiss.
Not so fast, Womack.
At the last moment, she turned her head slightly and pressed her lips against the side of his cheek.
Yes, this kind of made her a bit of a tease. But she desperately needed to stand her ground. She needed to set boundaries. Flirting was fun and playful and an occasional kiss here and there was fine. But that was as far as this “thing” between them could go.
“Thank you for dinner. It was delicious”, she whispered. She started to pull away, but one of his hands reached up and cupped the back of her neck, preventing her from fleeing. He aligned their mouths, regaining control and stealing what small amount of will power she had left. She could feel his warm breath against her lips and inhaled the intoxicating spice. And just as she felt the first hint of his eager lips brush against hers, she felt something else—
Raindrops.
Several oversized drops collided against her skin, landing on her cheek with a heavy thud; warning that there was an army of raindrops prepared to plummet after. She felt Grant smile against her mouth as the quantity of drops increased and when it became clear that the intensity would only continue to grow, they both leapt from their seats, laughing as they collected their empty bowls.
They managed to open the sliding glass door, seeking shelter inside just as the sky released a blanket of water from the saturated clouds hovering above. Once inside, Dexter vigorously shook his body, ridding his chocolate coat of excess water, inadvertently dousing the two of them.
“Where in the hell did all that come from?” he asked as he swept his hand through the air, gesturing toward the wall of water assaulting the patio.
“I don’t know!”
Grant took her empty bowl and walked toward the sink.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought you were trying to get me wet again—”
Holy shit!
Grant lost his grip. The dishes tumbled, clashing together like an intricate harmony of percussion instruments before finally coming to rest in the sink. He lowered his head and gripped the edge of the countertop with his strong hands, struggling to regain his equilibrium. “You drive me crazy”, he mumbled, his low, rough voice nearly unrecognizable.
Olivia leaned against the kitchen island behind her. His back was turned, but if she reached out he’d be close enough to touch. His knuckles were turning white as his fingers dug into the gray countertop. His red t-shirt was stretched across his muscular back, emphasizing every deep breath he inhaled. Clearly, his body and mind were feuding; battling over what he should and should not do. She recognized the signs, because at that moment her body was waging a similar war.
“Strait jacket crazy or you-get-on-my-nerves crazy?” She asked curiously.
Grant chuckled softly, turning around to face her. He leaned his backside against the edge of the sink and reached for her. Hooking his finger in her belt loop he gave a firm tug, forcing her to move closer.
Suddenly her body was pressed against his. She could feel his powerful leg muscles against her thighs, could feel the swell of his sex against her belly. Her hands gently roamed over the ripples of his defined torso; up the wall of his solid chest.
God she felt good pressed against him. Her body was trim and lean, although she had mouth-watering womanly curves. She was the epitome of the perfect woman and he wanted her.
God, did he want her.
“Neither”, he replied. Lifting her chin, he inched his mouth closer. “You drive me good-crazy, although the strait jacket might come in handy.”
Olivia raked her teeth against her bottom lip, stifling a groan from Grant. “Why’s that?” she asked breathlessly.
Grant lightly brushed his lips against hers as he spoke. “Because I have a hard time keeping my hands to myself when I’m around you.”
He could feel her smile against his mouth. Unable to contain the mounting ball of lust in the pit of his gut any longer, he pressed his lips against hers and felt a surge of electricity arc between them. Her lips parted, urging him to taste. His tongue surged into her mouth with determination, the taste of her sinfully sweet tongue intoxicating his body with a potent mixture of desire and euphoria.
Rising onto her toes, Olivia wrapped her arms around his neck, desperately clinging to his steady body as her world was spinning.
A rough groan escaped from the back of his throat—she’d practically climbed his body in order to get closer. Gripping her waist, he pushed away from the counter and without interrupting their mating mouths, he backed her up into the living room. When the back of her legs collided against the tan sofa, he cupped her firm, curvaceous ass with his strong, eager hands and lifted until her feet left the sturdy floor beneath her.
Suspended in the air, she anchored her legs around his waist as he pivoted. His body collapsed onto the cushions, evoking a surprised gasp from Olivia, followed by a soft giggle as she landed in his lap.
Grant tore his mouth away from her lips, exploring the soft fragrant skin along her throat. She whipped her head back, giving him better access; encouraging him to continue. She could feel his fingertips brush against her chest as he slowly unbuttoned her blouse. She couldn’t piece together a coherent thought. Her brain was temporarily out of order; her focus solely on the sensation of his open-mouth kisses along her throat.
Once her blouse was open he leaned his head back against the sofa and gawked at her body through hooded eyes. “God, Livvy, you’re so beautiful”, he groaned as his thumb brushed against the cup of her black lace bra.
Something about the way he looked at her—like he wanted nothing more in life than to feast on her body—turned her on. And when his thumb grazed the delicate lace of her bra, sweeping across her sensitive nipple, she arched her body toward his touch. Her head fell back again, followed by a gasp, and then an, “Oh my God”, when he tugged on the lace and covered one of her nipples with his mouth.
Damn, she was so fucking hot! He’d never seen a woman so responsive. And that’s when he began to wonder: if she was this responsive and turned on with practically all of her clothes on, how would she be lying beneath him while he was buried inside her…?
Taking her nipple into his mouth, he sucked and then gently raked his teeth against the hard pebble as he withdrew.
Another loud gasp.
And then…
Her hips rocked gently, grinding her sex against the hot length of his rigid cock.
Suddenly he felt like a teenager again, getting-off on the slightest touch. But he wasn’t sixteen—he was thirty-three. Old enough to hold back, although the woman currently straddling his lap had tested his self-control on more than one occasion.
Flicking his tongue against her, he watched as her chest moved with every quick, shallow breath. And when his mouth eased away from her nipple again, he pursed his lips together and blew softly.
A soft needy moan escaped her lips as she ran her fingers through his light-brown hair.
“You like that?” he asked in a rough, gravelly tone.
“Yeah”, she whispered.
She was drowning in a pool of lust. Desire slamming into her for the first time in over a year; rushing over her like a raging current, carrying her to a destination full of promised pleasure.
Placing one of his hands on her delectable backside, he wrapped his free arm around her back and in one swift motion, turned her.
Suddenly she was lying on her back, looking up as Grant reached over his shoulder and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. Pulling the material over his head, the weight of his bare-chested body enveloped her. His mouth came over hers with urgency, their tongues dancing to the seductive melody consisting of thudding heartbeats and heavy breaths.
After swallowing her soft, sensual whimpers, his lips migrated to her neck. Her fingernails combed over his back as he began slowly grinding his hips against her center, imitating what he so desperately wanted.
“Oh, god… Grant...”
She was breathless, repeatedly chanting his name just above a whisper. So far gone she could hardly bear it.
Hearing his name on her lips was a potent aphrodisiac. He ground the snug fly of his denim jeans against her slower. Harder. Stifling a sound from her lips that indicated she was lost in her pleasure. Tugging on the lace of her bra, he revealed her firm pink nipple again. He nibbled, sucked, and licked until her hips bucked against him.
She was close—near the point of no return.
Panting.
Picture Perfect (Butler Island) Page 7
