by Shannyn Leah
“Limos and elevators,” he said. “There’s always a limo or elevator nearby. Quick, and easy. No attachments. No ideas there might be more to what I’m offering.”
Emma moved closer to him, resting her folded legs against the side of his. “Am I here because there’s no limo and the elevator ride is too short?” She had to know.
Grayson’s hand found the side of her face and his face hardened when he answered. “No.”
“I want to ask why.”
He leaned his forehead against hers. “I know you do.” His warm breath kissed her face. “Because you outline and plan everything, but I have no plan here. It’s hard to explain, but I am just going with how I feel. You, here, in my cabin, in my bed, in my space, and I’m not threatened.” He kissed her lips. “It’s the only answer I have for you.”
“When you need me to go, just tell me.” Had she already overstayed her welcome? It had to be close to three in the morning and she’d found him on the main level, working.
“Stay the night.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “You make it hard for a girl to think this is only sex.”
“Friends, remember? We’re friends first, Emma, that’s the difference.” He kissed her softly again. “Come to bed. My bed.”
The mood for whatever the plan had been on the way up was gone, but Emma couldn’t help but enjoy this more. Curled against him, knowing she was the only woman who had ever slept in his arms.
GRAYSON WOKE IN A PANIC. Something was wrong. Something had changed. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Wait, yes, he could, but he didn’t dare. Just because he liked having Emma curled up beside him, didn’t mean there was room in his life for her.
He’d not only let her sleep in his bed, for the entire night, but he’d also told her about why another woman had never resided in his bed.
Grayson froze, but his eyes looked at where she lay.
Emma’s hair splayed across his skin, her head against his chest, her breath hot against him. Her legs were entangled with his under the sheets and her arm curled against his side. She felt perfect.
Grayson felt numb.
This felt good...perfect...too good to be true.
He didn’t want to move.
He had to move.
The sun was beginning to rise. There was one week left on this cruise. Only one week left with her.
His stomach felt sick, and his body empty. And empty like he’d never known before. A future without Emma’s laughter or touch was empty. Empty.
He needed to stand up, kick her out, shut the door, have a shower, and ignore everything he was feeling...or...he could stay and enjoy it.
Grayson slipped out from under Emma and covered her with the sheets.
Friends with benefits. Friends with benefits.
He shut the bathroom door behind him and splashed water on his face.
Was he having a panic attack? It felt like he was having a panic attack. He needed to run.
Grayson grabbed his gym bag. He stopped in the bedroom, his eyes falling on the gorgeous woman sprawled out on his bed. He could go lay with her, hold her, love−
Grayson flew down the stairs, and continually jammed the elevator button with his thumb until it opened.
Love? Love!
He ran on the treadmill as fast as he could, for a solid hour. When he stepped off, his legs shook, his heart was going wild, and his breathing was out of control. He was out of control.
These were the moments when he longed for his mother. She’d been gentle, always listening and always encouraging him to talk. Except that night. The night she’d died, she’d had no room left for talking after spending hours yelling at Brock. When she demanded Grayson get in the vehicle, he’d never expected, when he’d said no, that she wouldn’t come home. He’d never anticipated the guilt he felt after denying his mother, what became her last dying wish. His father had broken her heart that night and Grayson had done the same thing hours later.
He vowed not to hurt a woman the way his father had, but as his friendship with Emma progressed, Grayson realized he was falling for her. Her feelings had grown for him, too, he could tell. There was only one way he could fix this before it spiraled out of control: he needed to reinforce their deal.
When Grayson stepped inside his cabin, prepared to do just that, he smelled her sweet scent, and realized he didn’t want to give Emma up. He wanted to have the courage to listen to his aunt and open his heart to the possibility of holding onto Emma. But Emma’s feelings took precedence and trumped his want. He wouldn’t put her in Susan’s shoes. He wouldn’t set her up to tear her down. It wasn’t a risk he was willing to take.
Emma was still sleeping. Having showered in the gym, he shed all his clothes, and with a solemn heart, climbed under the sheets, pulling her against his chest. She stirred, before settling back against him. This would be the last time. After they awoke, he would keep it light between them. No more heartfelt talks, and he would reduce their hours together. Then, when it was time to part, they could do it without hearts being involved. He would do it to save her, to protect her. He hadn’t been able to protect his mother from the betrayal of his father, but he could save Emma. He would save Emma. That was his goal.
Chapter Twenty-One
THE NEXT MORNING, Emma showered alone.
Alone.
Grayson had hit the shower at the gym and didn’t need one.
Didn’t need one. His exact words.
It wasn’t about needing a shower, it was about wanting each other...or needing each other.
Emma dressed back into her dirty clothes, wondering why she’d showered at all. The answer was easy, she’d assumed he was climbing in with her.
In the kitchen, she found Grayson engrossed in his laptop. He didn’t even look up, shift his attention to her, nothing.
Emma felt like she was about to do the walk of shame.
Should she make herself a coffee? If she had to ask, she knew the answer. The feeling of comfort was gone. Yesterday, she would have bounded to the coffee maker, only to have Grayson pull her into his arms, but now he was ignoring her and the coffee machine quickly turned into her enemy.
Don’t be a sissy. You knew what this was.
Bracing herself, Emma walked over to the desk. “I’m going to pop into my cabin and change into some fresh clothes,” she said.
Grayson glanced up and looked at her, but stared past her. “Sure,” he said. He didn’t reach to pull her onto his lap, or try to hug her, or even attempt to touch her. She barely got a smile.
“Are we doing breakfast?” They did breakfast every morning, was it even a question? But this morning seemed different.
“I have some work to catch up on. Maybe I’ll see you later.”
Maybe? Later? Work?
The term “fling” finally made its way through her and the feel of her dirty clothes over her clean body was no comparison to how dirty she felt on the inside.
“Sure,” she said.
Did she just leave? Was he going to make a move of affection?
“Good.” He looked back down at his laptop.
“Good,” she repeated.
Just friggin’ great.
She left and returned to her cabin...alone. She ended up spending the entire day alone. That term had never sounded or felt more miserable than it did today. She was used to being alone. She liked being alone. But not today. Watching couples chase each other around the sun deck only made her think of Grayson. When naughty words popped into her head, he was the first person she wanted to share them with.
She was pathetic and hurt. She’d promised him she wouldn’t get hurt, but she’d let a bomb explode inside her.
Dressed for supper, Emma considered the possibility she was wrong about Grayson. He’d told her he worked a lot, and the thought allowed her hopes to rise, maybe his sudden attitude change had been solely about work.
When she stepped into the hall, she thought about knock
ing on his door. The girls were missing and she didn’t want to enter the dining hall alone. There was a term for a woman who couldn’t take a hint, thought, and this morning had been his hint that their fling was over, she didn’t want to appear needy.
Emma walked to the elevator alone. Alone. What a new and annoying little word.
Waiting for it to open, she smelled him first, and saw him second.
Grayson smiled at her. Dressed in a gorgeous charcoal tux and striped shirt, he caused her stomach to fill with desire and butterflies, the perfect blend of comfort and reassurance.
“Evening,” he said.
Had she read into his coolness this morning?
She wanted to wrap her arms around him, but didn’t dare.
The empty elevator opened and he touched the small of her back, like he’d done a hundred times, and they stepped inside.
She wanted to ask how he was, first and foremost, then wanted to gently touch him.
Grayson hit the emergency button on the elevator and reached up, covering the lens of the camera with what appeared to be a square of tape.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He swaggered over to her slowly. “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”
His lips crashed against hers and his body pinned her to the wall. She’d liked this position every single time he’d done it before. His strength was incredible, his desire fueling her own, but today, it felt...cheap. His mouth slid down her throat. His hands were hiking up her dress.
Last night’s conversation haunted her desire for him. Elevators and limos. Flings, not friends with benefits. Space.
Emma knew she wasn’t supposed to think when they were having a fling, but screw him. He couldn’t just treat her with gentle affection for a week then turn around and decide he would just pin her to an elevator wall whenever he pleased.
“Grayson, what’s gotten into you?” Emma grasped his chin and pulled his face up.
“Hey darlin’, what’s gotten into you?” He sucked one of her fingers into his mouth. The action was cold, lacking affection, desire, lacking what made them...them. “We don’t have a lot of time−”
His hands moved to his pants and she heard his zipper.
“Then take me to your cabin,” she said.
His smirk dropped into a scowl. “That’s not my invitation.”
That’s what she’d assumed was going on. “Then I’m not interested.” She pulled her dress down.
He pinned a death look on her. “This is what you wanted,” he growled. “You wanted to screw, and that’s what we’re doing, darlin’.”
She drove her finger into his chest. “Don’t you call me darlin’ like that again. Don’t you dare try to make me feel like less because you’re scared.”
“Are we doing this or not?”
“Take me to your cabin. To your bed.” Those were her terms.
“When did you suddenly get put in charge of all the rules?”
“Since you’re hiding, exactly what you Cohens do best.”
“See, you can’t do it. You can’t just screw and leave out the drama.” Grayson pushed off her and hit the emergency button, assuming their conversation was finished.
Running.
Hiding.
“It’s not drama, you idiot, it’s life.” Emma hit the button again and halted the elevator. “And everything from the moment we stepped onto this boat has contributed to what is going on between us right now. You think sex is everything? That sex is what makes us who we are together? Or are you terrified because last night you shared more than you’d meant to?”
He said nothing and his tight features only gave away how angry this conversation was making him.
“Everything we’ve done, last night, the arcade, the library and all the times in between, has opened parts of you I didn’t know about. Don’t deny that you don’t feel it when you touch me, or look at me. This, right now, is you trying to make me just another woman. After spending the week telling me I’m not, here you are, trying to convince yourself that I am. Well, I’m not, and you know why?”
Grayson hit the button.
She hit it right after.
“Chicken,” she accused. “You like me. Say it.”
“Damn you, woman,” he growled, hitting the button. Her hand followed and she stepped in front of it.
“Damn you, Grayson. It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared. You’re a womanizer. You like women, and how do I know I will be the only one? I don’t, but I know how I feel about you and I can feel how you feel about me, even if you won’t say it.”
“Emma, you’re mixing up lust for−”
He stopped short.
“Say it,” she dared.
His jaw ground together.
“Love, Grayson. It’s called love.”
He snarled. He growled something deep in his chest and stayed, feet planted away from her, glaring, jaw tight, eyes burning.
“I screw,” he finally said.
Emma hiked her dress up. “Fine. Here. If this is all you want, take it. If you have no feelings for me and you just want sex, here I am for your last hoorah.”
Tears burned the back of her eyes.
Stop hiding, Grayson.
He stepped toward her and took the dress out of her hand, letting it slip down her legs. “Stop,” he whispered. “You’re better than this. Don’t resort to this, not for me.”
He reached around her and when she thought he might hug her, she felt the elevator roar to life.
“Walk away from me,” he said. “Do it for yourself and find the man who says I love you back...and means it.”
Emma turned away from him as her heart broke into a million pieces.
Chapter Twenty-Two
DAYS GRAYSON HAD thought he would be spending with Emma had gone by alone. Now darkness stole the night and he sat in solitude on his balcony.
Was he waiting for her? Maybe, but even if he heard her, he would do what he’d done since that day in the elevator: ignore the urge to talk to her. He was keeping his distance and he was doing a good job of it. Which basically meant he was hiding.
Find someone who will say I love you back.
He wished he was that someone. She had no idea how much he wanted to be the man who could say and mean the words. To be the man to hold her, protect her and love her for the rest of their lives.
Unable to stay holed up in his cabin any longer, he changed clothes and headed to the piazza. What day was it? What was on the schedule? It didn’t matter, he simply wanted to find a bar. The closest one would work.
Of course, he picked the bar that Emma now occupied, too. He almost turned around and stalked out in search of another bar.
A bar.
That thought was disconcerting. Not a woman, he was searching out a bar to forget the woman who plagued him. When difficult circumstances, situations...life...got to him, he usually went in search of a woman to make him forget. The alcohol generally came with the territory, but generally, the drinks were the talent before the main event. Not tonight.
He didn’t leave. He couldn’t drag his eyes off her, so he found an empty booth and watched her from across the room. Watching her. Protecting her. Thinking about her...damn it. He was doing what was best for her. Had Brock done what was best for his mother, she might still be alive. If he had been brave enough to admit to himself he was a womanizer, he would have realized marriage wasn’t in the cards.
Grayson was the idiot now, thinking a fling would be sufficient for Emma. He’d been foolish enough to believe it, or foolish enough to want to believe it in order to steal intimate time with her time he saw no other way of getting.
Selfish.
He needed a drink. He headed to the bar, watching her as he moved. She appeared to be having a good time, maybe a little too much of a good time. He couldn’t hear her laughter, but he could see it. She was wearing the red dress from the first night. He’d seen her closet, the quanti
ty of dresses inside made it unnecessary to wear one double, unless she wanted to be noticed.
That was a disconcerting thought, too.
He scraped it, ordered a drink at the bar and, instead of looking back at her, mindlessly read the labels on the bottles behind the bartender.
Gin. Rum. Bourbon. Tequila.
They would be more useful whacking off his head than sitting idly there on the shelf.
“Hey...” Emma’s long opening made him cringe.
Damn it. He shouldn’t have taken his eyes off her. He wasn’t looking for a confrontation.
Taking a deep breath, he turned, and slipped off the stool.
“If it’s not my bed buddy,” Emma wrapped her arms around his neck. He could smell layers of alcohol.
She held on tight and he heard her inhale deeply. “Yummy. You smell good. You always smell good. Like cologne and soap and−” She pulled away, not hiding her hunger for him. “Raw masculinity.”
“You’re drunk.”
Emma giggled and stepped back with a sigh. “A little bit, I suppose. A little bit of bad.” She winked at him, but he didn’t find the humor in her words. “But...” It was a long exaggerated, sound but then she lowered her voice and stepped close to him again. Against him. “What do you care, if I’m not opening my legs for you. Right?”
He wished they’d survived one more week to either avoid this confrontation altogether, or be in separate towns...or to feel her legs around him again.
Emma reached her arms around his neck again. Her breasts pushed up against his chest and her arms burned his neck. Using his body like a rock-climbing wall, she pulled herself up to his ear. “I could screw right now,” she said. “You.” When her head started to reach for his mouth, he pulled her off before she did something in public that she would regret later.
She glared at him. “Chicken,” she spat.
“I’m saving you from your own humiliation.”
“Okay, sure you are. It’s all about me. That’s what you keep saying. I think it’s all a lie, Grayson. It’s all about you.” She jammed her drink holding hand into his chest, spilling brown liquid on his shirt. “Everything you do is about you. The gym where you claim to have stopped for me. Ha!” She let out laughter. “You stopped because you’d never felt the way you felt about me with another woman and you were scared.”
