Grant’s small grin was proving something quite to the opposite, but I ignored it and barreled on. “He didn’t heed the advice. He didn’t seek love. He didn’t learn how to smile. And so he eventually became obsolete, forced to stay here in the tomb, because of a lack of bidders.”
“The poor CEO who never got sold,” Grant said. “That makes for a beautiful title of a children’s book.”
“It would be an instant bestseller.” I reached for the bottle.
“With a movie adaption in the immediate works.”
“You’d be played by Brad Pitt.”
“Isn’t he what, twenty-five years older than me?”
“But still Brad Pitt,” I shrugged. “Sorry.”
“You’re nothing like your father, you know?”
I jumped up on one of the large wooden crates, letting my legs dangle. “Yes. And doesn’t he know it.”
“You’ve been an asset since you joined, you know.”
I shook my head at him. “You’re thinking again.”
Grant came closer, stopping a pace away. He reached for the champagne bottle but didn’t take it, our hands touching against the cool glass.
“I can’t stop it,” he said softly. “It’s what I do.”
“Then analyze my story a little deeper,” I said. My heart was beating fast, faster than the situation warranted. But I’d never had all of his attention like that - and all the attention of a man like Grant Wood was a lot for one woman to handle.
The side of his mouth curved up slightly as his gaze burned into mine. Wherever it touched, I burned; my cheeks, my nose, my lips. I felt just as hungry. I watched the rise of his cheekbones and the hazel of his eyes as if trying to memorize him. I'd never been able to study him this close before.
“Look,” he said. “I’m smiling.”
I gave a small, breathy laugh. "Wow. Alert the press."
He tugged the bottle from my hand and put it aside without our gaze breaking. My knees brushed against his thighs as he came closer, naturally spreading to allow him space. The wool of his suit was soft against the silk and skin.
He seemed to hover on the precipice, wanting and willing and undecided. His eyes flicked back to my lips. God, but I didn’t think I had ever anticipated a kiss this much.
“I’m not a precious artifact,” I whispered. “You can both look and touch.”
I heard the ragged intake of his breath. Grant’s hands found my waist, holding me like I was the Ming vase from the story before. Precious and ancient and magical.
And then he touched his lips to mine. He kissed me like it was all he'd ever wanted, ever needed, as if I was water and he was dying of thirst and I knew that this was all I'd ever wanted.
I could feel the fight within him, as if he was restraining himself still, so I clawed at his dinner jacket and tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s as soft as I’d imagined, and he groaned into my mouth.
I wanted him to let go, to lose himself in me like I’m losing myself in him. And he did. Grant’s tongue met mine, demanding and hesitant all at once. I’d never been kissed like this before and I pushed him away just enough to tell him so decisively.
“Off,” I said. He smiled and tugged off his dinner jacket in one quick move, returning to my arms the next. My legs wrapped around his waist of their own volition, and I twined myself around him like a vine to a tree, arms around necks and hands inside shirts.
Grant kissed my cheek, my throat, desire coursing up my body like flames with his every touch. I pulled his shirt up from his pants, eager to find the hot skin of his abdomen, of his back, seeking anything that might fuse us closer together.
His hands trace the back of my thighs and I inch closer, eager for any friction. “So beautiful,” he murmured against my lips.
We kissed as the silk fabric of my dress slowly rose higher, encouraged by both of our movements.
There was no thinking, no planning, only this; instinct and heat. His hands brushed up over my inner thighs and I sighed into his mouth. Higher they reached, smoothing over soft skin until one knuckle stroked against my clit.
Grant smiled against my mouth at the reaction he elicited, touching me masterfully through the thin lace of my underwear.
His tongue traced my bottom lip and I moaned, twisted my hands in his hair and let all my desire and frustration pour into his kisses. Grant slid my panties to the side and then he was touching me, parting folds, stroking and playing and I knew I was going to die here of desire, of want. No woman could handle being the object of his intense focus and determination.
"Beautiful," he repeated, and then his lips left mine. I growled in frustration only to see him drop softly to his knees and flick my silken dress up entirely, so that I'm bared to his gaze.
"Grant?"
"Ada," he murmured and bent his head between my legs. I couldn't help the moans of pleasure that echoed through the storage room. Grant's tongue is precise and effective, loving me like I'm all he’s ever wanted to taste.
It had never been like this before.
“No one can hear you but me,” he said, and I felt the warm breath of his voice against sensitive skin. “I want to hear you scream.”
And I did. His hands and mouth wouldn't allow for any other reaction, splayed out before him on a crate with my arm thrown over my face. I'd never felt so vulnerable but also so perfectly desired before. Entirely wanted.
My orgasm built steadily, vaulted and crested until I shattered under his hands, broke apart in that empty vault. An instrument played expertly by his skill - a master at work.
“God,” I murmured, fingers idly sliding through his hair. “God. What was that?”
He gently slid my underwear back into place, the soft movement brushing against sensitive flesh. I winced. Grant grinned as he rose before me. Soft hands smoothed my silken skirt back down over my legs.
I grasped his shoulders and pulled him to me. The fire in me was temporarily sated but being close to him was more than enough to make me burn again.
“Ada,” he murmured against my clavicle. My hands were hunting, searching for him, for the buckle of his belt. He felt so hard against my hand that it must be painful and my insides clenched at the idea of having him inside.
Grant caught my wrists and I could hear him swallow. “No,” he said. “We can’t. Not here.”
The refusal seemed almost comical. What we’d just done… that was acceptable here? I nipped at his lower lip. “Why?”
“I didn’t exactly bring protection with me,” he said, leaning his head against my shoulder again.
“Oh.” Of course. And while it seemed I could make Grant lose control for a while, it was probably not all the time. “Poor little CEO indeed.”
He laughed silently against my skin, and slowly, both of our breaths returned to normal.
He straightened with a sigh. “Come, angel. They’ll be looking for us.” Grant lifted me up and down from the crate. My grey dress fell in a waterfall around my legs, hiding all evidence of our liaison. The endearment fell easily from his lips and I couldn’t help but smile.
“That was probably the best story ever told down here,” I told him. My cheeks felt flushed, too heated, and I couldn’t quite look at him but I couldn’t really look away, either.
Grant gave me a crooked smile as I reached up to pat his mussed hair down. He bent to give me better access and I smoothed it back, presentable once more.
“My bad,” I murmured.
“It’s one of the risks you take.” He shrugged slightly before grabbing the bottle of champagne and my hand.
The elevator ride up was one of action and nerves. I fixed my hair and tried to pat some of the frantic, flushed heat from my cheeks away with the cool champagne bottle.
Grant tucked his shirt back into his pants and turned once more into the tall, imposing man beside me, his face indecipherable.
“And so the show goes on,” I murmured, pulling at the hem of my dress.
G
rant kissed the back of my hand with featherlight lips just as the elevator slid to a smooth halt. “It always does.”
12
Grant
Damn.
Everything had been going just great. We’d found a wary middle-ground, one where she didn’t push me too far and I’d manage to mostly forget that she was interning here. And then she had gone and flashed me that large, brilliant smile and flicked her hair and asked if I wanted to see something cool and I'd followed her like an overgrown puppy.
If only it hadn’t been for that dress. The way the silk had wrapped around her slender form, reflecting shimmery in the low light. And the sheer nerve, of grabbing a bottle from behind the bar.
Like she hadn’t given a damn. Like she had as little interest in the people there as I did.
Like I was the only one she was interested in talking to.
This was spinning out of control, and it was doing so fast. I couldn't have an employee - an intern - that I didn't know how to handle in the office. And I damn well couldn't complicate things with Arthur's daughter, his only remaining child. The man deserved better than to have her happiness tarnished with. And I would tarnish it eventually, one way or another, if we continued down this path.
Women never stayed with me and I never invited them to do so. It was always transactional in nature, a polite dance that ended in mutual satisfaction and eventual polite disengagement. Well-bred, interesting women who enjoyed my company and the things my money could buy. Not one had made jokes about me the way Ada had.
The poor CEO who didn’t get sold.
This would only end one way if I didn’t find some way to temper both of our expectations right now.
It was easy to spot her, a golden and grey flame at the far end of the room Hathaway’s had rented for the event. Her head was thrust back in a laugh, talking to two of the division heads for the company. As if she hadn’t just had my head between her thighs. As if I hadn’t just given her the best goddamn orgasm of her life.
As if I hadn’t had the best sexual encounter of my life.
Desire and frustration coursed through me, darkening my voice and countenance. We needed to talk and not here. Not with all these people. Did she really enjoy those two fools anyway?
I shook my head to clear it and reached for another glass of champagne. I’d hired both of them myself; they were great experts in their respective fields. I refused to be jealous of them.
So I found a table next to them instead, watching her in my peripheral. A moment would come when I might be able to set us straight. Make things clear… or clearer, at least.
“Mr. Wood. A splendid occasion.”
I glanced down at Marc in surprise. I hadn’t known he would be here. He’d been Arthur’s hire, but the man was worth his weight in gold.
“Yes,” I agreed.
“Might I pick your mind about something?”
“Of course,” I said. If you must.
“Have you heard about Jack and Thorn’s new CEO?”
“Naturally. They changed leadership just a week ago.”
“He’s young.”
I glanced sideways to Ada; a few of the other interns from other divisions had joined her. Both young women and men crowded around her, eager to share in some of the star power. I saw both looks of admiration and envy. Of course; they’d gained their positions through our regular recruitment system.
“He is. But he’s been working in the company for many years,” I said. “We’ll have to keep an eye out for Jack and Thorn’s potential changes in operating practices, of course.”
"Yes. I'll make sure that we pay a careful eye to how their marketing evolves under his leadership."
“Good.” If Ben Harris was going to try to steal our significant market share - I had no doubt that was his aim - he’d have to wrest it from my cold, dead hands. Hathaway’s would not fade under my control.
Snippets from nearby conversation drifted over to us. As a postgraduate degree is a requirement for most departments, it'd be fun to hear what you studied as for your masters? I heard a nasal voice say, and then Ada’s smooth response; I have an an undergraduate degree in art history from Yale.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said to Marc. “We’ll continue this conversation in the office.”
The interns fell quiet as I approached; the divisions selected them in combination with HR, and while I recognized most of them I’d only ever spoken with one or two. Ada looked up at me, her blue eyes guarded.
“Ladies and gentlemen. I hope you’re enjoying the festivities.”
“We are, Mr. Wood,” a gangly boy said. “Thank you very much.”
“I’m not the one to thank. It is company policy that all employees, including interns, attend company events. I’m glad to see you all here. Ada, I need your input for the Smith auction on Monday.”
"Of course." She grabbed her purse and hurried to my side in a flurry of grey silk. For an insane moment, I felt the urge to reach for her hand, to see what it would be like if we attended these things together. If we went everywhere as an us. I choked down the insane impulse.
We weaved through the crowd silently, knowing that we had the eyes of the interns on us.
“Do you often get that?”
She sighed. “So you heard?”
“Only parts.”
Ada was silent as we approached the terrace. “Sometimes. It’s only natural, I suppose, and it doesn’t bother me.”
It bothered me. It was true that I had resented her intrusion into the executive branch, the unconventional way she’d been shoe-horned into this, but there was no denying that she was doing an excellent job. Not even I could so much of an ass as to not notice.
“If anything gets worse, you come to me,” I said and leaned over the railing. The New York air was cold and I could see goosebumps on her bare arms. She didn’t complain. I swallowed against the impulse to give her my suit jacket. I was here to set things straight - not to act the gentleman. It would not be fair to encourage her to think that way of me.
“Alright.” She leaned back against the railing and looked at me with a cocked eyebrow. “Did you really bring me out here to talk about the Smith auction? Or to finish what we started?”
Damn her for being so incredibly alluring. The iron railing was smooth and worn under my painfully tight grip. “To talk. But not about auctions.”
“Good. I don’t think I could handle a business lecture now.”
“I wanted to apologize for earlier.”
Her look of blunt surprise made the whole thing about ten times better - I’d have done it for that look alone. “You’re apologizing to me?”
“Yes,” I said calmly. “You are my intern. It was unprofessional.”
She leaned against the railing with a crooked smile. The light pink of her lipstick was far less noticeable now; knowing that I was the one who had kissed it off made standing this close to her an exercise in willpower.
“Entirely,” she offered. “But I don’t think either of us truly minded.”
I snorted. “Perhaps not. The physical aspect is clearly… there. But it’s not something we can indulge in.”
“Wow. Not even an hour later, and you’re already coming with the ‘don’t get too attached’ spiel. Are you this charming to the women you actually date?”
I slid my gaze to hers in frustration. Mirth played across her features, and she was clearly mocking me. Very well then. I could play along.
“No, I normally just flash my credit card. You’re getting the VIP treatment.”
She laughed, the sound like a pattering of rain and sunshine, and not for the first time I thought of how much easier my life would have been if her father hadn’t engineered her internship.
“What a catch you are, Grant.”
I snorted - I certainly wasn’t. I should be happy that she had realized that. “What happened can’t happen again, Ada.”
“Despite us both being mature, consenting adults about it?” He
r hand trailed the iron railing, stopping perilously close to mine.
“Despite that. It won’t lead anywhere, it’s unprofessional, and it’s beneath both of us to engage in such behavior. Come on. You don’t even like me.”
She gave a thoughtful nod. “That’s true. We’ve never been friends. My final offer, sir - I’ll honor your terms if you honor mine. We try being friends.”
She reached out her hand to me, slender and soft, with long fingers that had only an hour ago been threaded through my hair. On my chest. Inching their way downwards.
I gave a gruff nod. "Fine," I said and shook her hand.
Friends.
We were playing with fire, and we both knew it.
13
Ada
Grant’s refusal made perfect sense. In fact, there was nothing between us anyway apart from an interest in the well-being of the company and the internship. He’d always made it clear that success and Hathaway’s came first, not to mention the fact that I’d never seen him in any long-term relationships.
Besides, I knew I was a mess. And I couldn't be with someone who would inevitably leave me. There was only so much pain a person could handle, and somehow, I knew that my share was full.
And yet, for thirty minutes, the world had narrowed. It had just been us two in that storage room, Grant and Ada, no last names or positions or jockeying. Only heat and lust and a desire to fuse - a desire that refused to leave me.
I was explaining all of this to Minna, who was sprawled on her back in my living room with a heavy book across her chest.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” she said. “Your couple name would either have been Grada or Ant, and both suck.”
I burst out laughing. Trust unique, crazy Minna to give me the real truth.
"And you've regularly told me how hard he's been on you since you started working there, not to mention that he's your father's busboy. Don't you want to get out from under his thumb?"
Everything she was saying was technically correct, based on the information I’d given her.
Look But Don't Touch: Enemies to Lovers Page 8
