“Look down,” Grant instructed.
Oh, Jesus Christ. Why did I ever agree to this? Hiding from surveillance cameras now?
When they exited on Tara’s floor, the sweat that beaded at her collar trickled down to the small of her back, registering an uncomfortable stickiness that did well to remind her of the riskiness of an action she still viewed as unnecessary. All this for notes?
No one was in the mauve hallway, and Grant took her hand again and led her to the left. At a door he’d no doubt stepped toward thousands of times before, he stopped and took a deep breath. He typed in a code on the small panel, and the teeny light flicked to green.
He smiled at her. “See? Simple.”
Roxie checked both ways up and down the hallway before peering up at Grant. She wanted to take a deep breath of relief that entrance was gained, but she refused to relax until they’d returned to the innocent environment of the sidewalk outside.
Grant disappeared into the apartment, leaving the door open to Roxie in the hallway. After what felt like hours of scanning the hallway in both directions, he appeared again, a fistful of white sheets in his hand. She reached for his free hand and tugged him toward the exit sign. As they fled, dings chimed, announcing the arrival of one of the elevators.
“Excuse me, sir?”
Grant gripped her hand as he stopped, stuffed the notes behind Roxie, and then turned to face the speaker. A young man dressed in similar attire to the doorman approached them, not running, but not walking casually either. In one hand he held a radio. At his waist were the standard items of a security guard’s belt.
“Can I help you?” Grant asked, backpedaling with Roxie.
“You’re no longer cleared as a guest in this facility. I’m not sure why your code worked downstairs, but I’m afraid I need to ask you to leave.”
Grant held one hand up. “No problem. We’re just on our way out now.”
The guard narrowed his eyes as Grant and Roxie continued a retreat. “What is in your hands?”
“Nothing.” Grant tugged on Roxie, urging her into a reverse jog.
“Sir, stop. What is—”
“Run,” Grant said and urged Roxie to flee.
Thudding footsteps pounded after them, the loud rhythm competing with the thunder of blood in her head as adrenaline spurred her to flee as fast as she could. Fight or flight.
Fly, Rox, fly the fuck out of here!
Grant threw himself to the door of the stairwell, paving an opening for her to follow. Their feet jumped down, skipped steps, skidded on landings, and twisted at corners. A moment into their escape, radio static flickered and another pair of chasing feet joined in the rush. Angry and authoritarian bellows to cease running called from above and seemed nearer and nearer.
At an undeterminable floor, somewhere between Tara’s on the twenty-seventh and the ground floor, Grant gripped Roxie’s sleeve and pulled her to follow him through a door instead of continuing their descent.
In their haste for a detour, they ended up in another identically decorated hallway, lush with carpet and carefully set tables and vases. Tangerine-orange was the theme of this corridor, striking thoughts of fire and hell for Roxie as she panted and sprinted after Grant. If she’d thought he was fast before… No wonder he’d played football. He could have outrun Forrest Gump.
“Here,” Grant rasped between breaths. He forced a door open with his palm, leading them down another stairwell, this one lacking clean cream-colored walls and shiny polished step-grips. Probably an employees’ route.
They’d lowered themselves a few more floors before a door opened at a landing with a couple uniformed young men rushing in to meet them from below.
“Shit.” Roxie spun to her side and crashed into the available door at her side. They bounded into another hallway, this one a darker orange. Pumpkin floor, perhaps.
Grant took off, but they were halted at the far end of the hallway as another security guard approached.
Roxie reached out for Grant’s arm and tugged him into the space that had just slid open a few feet behind. Once inside the room, she stabbed her finger on the button to close the doors, and then resorted to a fist and slammed her hand on the red circle.
As the utilitarian metal doors glided to enclose them, she eyed the elevator’s panel for abbreviations. When she stuck her finger toward the ‘G’ for ground level, Grant moved his hand in the way and choose the ‘B’ instead.
“They’ll…” Grant said as he leaned over, his hands on his knees, catching his breath, “they’ll be waiting…for…us.”
Right. Not like they could exit the way they entered.
Faintly, Roxie gave confirmation with a half-assed laugh, clutching her stomach and bracing her back against the cold wall of what had to be the freight elevator. It was a short ride, and she gulped a deep chest full of air before she went to Grant’s side, took his free hand, and readied to run again.
Darkness surrounded them save for a few single bulbs lined overhead. The sounds of stampeding footsteps told them which way to head: away. Running through a concrete foundation of storage spaces, they fled the yells of security chasing them. Finally, light shone brighter and cigarette smoke stunk stronger as they came to an exit.
“What the—”
A startled employee, perhaps a maintenance worker in his janitorial uniform, pushed from the brick wall he was resting against just outside a single door. Racing past him, Grant pulled Roxie closer, turning them to run down the alley. Puddles dotted the pavement as they ran again, floating litter and debris dancing in the wind as their shoes pounded.
Security kept after them, even outside the building, and Roxie considered it a miracle sirens weren’t shrilling in the air yet.
Grant led her down alleyways, around building corners, and past dumpsters in the nighttime terrain of commercial downtown. Eventually, sole figures of homeless people showed in the blur as they rushed, then groups of people around businesses still open late at night.
“Your shirt,” Grant said between harsh breaths. “Take off your hoodie.”
Roxie dared a peek behind them at Grant’s bizarre order. Two security guards still followed them, about fifty yards behind. Fumbling her pumping arms mid-sprint, she unzipped her sweatshirt. Grant yanked his hoodie over his head as they rounded a corner. In their t-shirts, chill night air contrasted the excessive heat from their sweatshirts. Grant grabbed her hand as she followed, hauling her to the wall.
In a simultaneous flurry of movement, Grant tossed their shirts to the ground, behind Roxie’s legs, and he covered her. He picked her up at the waist with both hands while he slammed his body to hers, trapping her to the wall. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his. He slid his hands up her sides and she followed suit and draped her arms around his neck. In the space of their shared harsh pants for air, he plastered his lips to hers.
She gasped—for desperately needed oxygen and from the shock of what he was doing as they were running for safety.
Why? How? What? Just why? One minute they’re sprinting, escaping from security on feet she hadn’t thought could possibly run that fast, and next thing, they’re…making out against a dirty wall in an alleyway?
Was he giving up? Surrendering, but dying a happy man, being caught with her in his arms? She had no clue, no energy to comprehend the rapid change of actions from the last fifteen minutes. Pressed up against the wall, the ragged bricks scratching her back, she had no choice but to ride along with his crazy ideas.
Sandwiched between veritable, unforgivingly coarse brick wall and a wall of virile, muscular man, she could only anticipate this was a crappy attempt of disguise. To blend them into the surroundings to dupe the security personnel seeking them.
Clamping her eyes shut, she hugged him closer, her legs constricting tighter around his waist, her arms squeezing his neck. As she struggled for much needed air, she feverishly kissed him back.
Playing the role of a happily lustful woman getting some action agai
nst a wall, she put her every ounce of adrenaline-fueled energy into making it look believable. If any passerby peeked their way, there was no doubt she’d pass as a girlfriend getting it on with her boyfriend—or maybe a hooker warming up her job.
Grant grunted as he shifted closer to the wall, squashing her even tighter to his solid chest. His lips demanded her sole attention, no easy feat when she was willing her body to resist cardiac arrest from the strenuous and unexpected marathon they’d just run. He slid his tongue into her mouth and reclaimed her from her worries. Still wired from the fear of getting caught by security, she tried to put a lid on the wicked heat he was eliciting in her in the most inopportune time and location.
Footsteps sounded in the vague stretches of her surroundings, the world that still existed in mundane normalcy outside of Grant’s embrace. The guards had caught up. Grant clutched her hair, closing the gap between their faces. He must have heard and panicked too.
“Where are they?”
Sweet Jesus. It’s not as though they had an invisible cloak from Tolkien. They were right there. Too scared to gasp or react to the guards’ presence, Roxie snuggled closer to Grant, hoping the sense of protection and security he always seemed to emit would keep them undetectable.
“I dunno. That way. Straight ahead. Let’s go.”
Running footfalls streamed past them. Still Roxie refused to open her eyes. Content to remain kissing Grant, she only prayed it wouldn’t be the last time she’d get the chance.
After an eternity of Grant teasing and torturing her with kisses, she pulled back, resting her forehead against his for a deep inhale of air, and licked her abused lips.
“Are they gone?” Grant whispered.
Only then did she open her eyes. Staring at his intense blue orbs studying her, she swallowed. He lowered his lips to her chin, then her neck, smothering wet kisses, nips, and sucks on the most tender of her skin. Lost to him again, she let her lids flutter shut for a second or two. When he nosed her chin, urging her to look up, she realized he’d actually wanted her to return to her task of being the lookout.
Blinking, she quickly registered their surroundings.
In the shaded side of the alley, they were partly secluded to their right by a stack of wooden pallets about nine feet high, and to their left by a vestibule that jutted out from the building a good few feet. The light above the door to the vestibule was either burned out or turned off, and she had to admit they were tucked away in the darkness. Down the alleyway, couples loitered, some kissing and cuddling, much like she and Grant had been doing. Groups of three or four young men and women in club attire gathered in spots closer to the main street. Homeless men were squatted, maybe sleeping, in lone positions further down the opposite way.
No security guards were walking, running, or seeking out anyone. Roxie leaned into Grant, hugging his neck. She craned both directions, checking one final time that they were clear for the moment.
She relaxed back against the brick wall and sighed, Grant still issuing his ministrations on her neck. “Looks like they’re gone,” she murmured.
Grant didn’t reply in any way but to continue caressing the curve between her neck and shoulder, his mouth so hot and velvety, spreading a wake of delicate tingles. Sighing, she let her head slant back to the wall, giving him more access.
In the aftermath of running and being scared witless on the chase, she felt the tension and rush of the symptomatic responses of fight or flight ebb away. Now, as she calmed in Grant’s hold, she caught her breath, letting a weightless, mellow peace take over her senses.
Grant stopped kissing her and dropped his forehead to her temple, taking his own deep breath. He pivoted his head a slight bit and kissed the corner of her mouth.
Deescalating from the high of the frenzy of the night and basking in the envelope of his arms, Roxie slanted and met his lips full on. Although the addictive and crazy tinge of kissing him under duress had abated, now she could match his desire, his ferocity in a different manner. Slow, long, melting kisses decided the pace of their attraction now. Again they pulled each other closer, leaving no void for space between their chests, with grunts and whimpers their only primal sounds.
Adjusting his balance of her weight, Grant leaned her into the wall while he freed one hand from her ass, giving him the opportunity to slide his hand between their bodies and rip a line through her panties. Cool air tickled her as he exposed her before inserting two fingers into her. Roxie groaned at the oh-so-needed friction and the belated realization that she was so damn wet for him. With a slow, teasing pace, he pumped his digits in and out, sending her craving for more. So much more.
He ground against her as he stroked her slickness, and she couldn’t tolerate the torment of needing him. Not breaking their kiss, she backed away from him, tightening her strained thighs on top of his to permit her only enough space to reach for his belt and find his zipper.
She’d waited too long. She debated too far. She needed him. Now. “It’s not…” She could hardly manage words, whining more than speaking.
Her fingers searched clumsily for his buckle and made weak progress of freeing him. “Not…” She choked for air as he speared his fingers even deeper. “Not enough.”
Grant growled into her lips as he forced her against the wall again, allowing him the leverage to still hold her while he undid the buckle and unzipped his pants. As soon as he stood more upright again, he let her lower down on him. One final, harsh thrust, and she sheathed him to the hilt.
“Oh, God…” Roxie crossed her ankles at his ass as he gave her a minute to savor the foreign yet exquisite stretch of him inside of her. Pain, pleasure, shock, and excitement swirled in the back of her mind. Lust reared faster and she jerked her hips, wanting more.
He thrust into her in strong, rapid movements, slamming her against the wall. She clutched his neck, hugging him closer as he kissed her, sucking on her lower lip. When a scream threatened, he swallowed her reaction, her orgasm blinding her into a sunburst-display behind her closed lids. Fighting the challenge to gasp in adequate air for her straining lungs and racing heart for the second time that night, she moaned as she simmered from the explosion he ignited in her, and after a few more muscle-quivering thrusts, he finally groaned and came.
Quaking shudders roused Roxie from drifting into a deeper satiated euphoria as she slumped against the wall. Goosebumps ran up her arms and legs as she took a firm lungful of air, clearing her mind and urging herself to come back to reality. The reality that she’d just gotten laid, against a wall, in public, in a filthy alleyway…by her boss.
When Grant pulled out of her, she winced at the vise-like fit and oddly wondered when he’d return. The shakes weren’t from chills, but from his legs, she’d noticed, and she hurried to unhook her legs and set her feet on terra firma. Only her motions weren’t as hasty and fluid as she’d anticipated, as muscle cramps burned her thighs.
Moaning, she willed her limbs to function and she limped as she stood, smoothing her skirt down. Grant’s eyes squinted in a wince as he stretched his back straight, letting himself stand with only the burden of his own weight, bracing himself with his palms flat against the wall on either side of her head. A loud whoosh of air expelled from his mouth.
“Good God, Grant.” She cupped his jaw, crouching low to be able to see his face as he let his head drop. “Are you okay? I’m not exactly a petite woman! How are you still standing?”
He snorted. Whether it was from humor or pain, she couldn’t tell. With a faint grin, he brought his face up and pecked a quick kiss to her cheek.
“Best workout I’ve ever had.”
Pushing from the wall, he gave her a bubble of space. First he bent down and retrieved their shirts from behind her feet. He took the crumpled notes out of the hoodie pocket and then handed the fabric to her. “If you need to, uh, clean up.” He pushed the hoodie in the general direction of her crotch.
Strangely thoughtful. It would be nice to not have my legs gluing
together… Without making eye contact—because this was the most unfamiliar of uncharted territory—Roxie muttered her thanks and wiped herself off, watching absently as he collected and tucked her ruined panties into his pants pocket.
Once she finished cleaning herself the best she could, conscious of the other people innocently inhabiting the alleyway, she folded the hoodie in a bundle. Grant took it from her and held out his other hand. He glanced back and forth, and then gave her a onceover. “Ready to go home?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The fact Roxie didn’t fuss at holding his hand on their brisk walk back to his car gave him a glimmer of hope. After all, what was holding hands when he’d just fucked her against a downtown wall?
She hadn’t spoken but two words after she broke the post-coital ice with her concern of the fitness of his legs. He hadn’t felt a burn in his quads like that since anaerobic workouts in college, double days for the football team. No, it hadn’t been a piece of cake pulling off that stunt, and he hadn’t even planned it to happen quite how it had. Roxie was a little thing of a woman in his opinion, but holding her up for a frantic and urgent bout of sex against the wall wasn’t the most ideal activity after running down twenty-some flights of stairs and through several city blocks.
He glanced at her striding at his side, her attention riveted on the sidewalk. He’d give anything to know what she was thinking. For all the resistance she built up to ever considering crossing the line with him, he was humbled and lost at how to react after she’d surrendered to him. All in all, she wasn’t limping or showing trouble breathing. She physically recovered, it seemed.
What an ass he’d been. How the hell had she kept up running like that? Given she had a lithe, slender body, he wasn’t shocked. Mightily impressed, though.
They came to his car and he unlocked the doors. She entered and he stalled for a millisecond to take a deep breath before climbing in. There was no escaping further communication. She couldn’t avoid him or take back what they’d done.
Resisting Redemption Page 27
