I want to dig, to find out what kind of corporate idiots would ever think they’re above this woman, what kind of shithead would cheat on her, what kind of fake friends would betray her like that. Then I want to go have a private word with all of them. Get them all to see how stupid they are, how fuckingwrongthey are, to cast her aside like that.
It isn’t lost on me that I was no better than them just a few weeks ago. But now I want nothing more than to remove that slump from her shoulders that looks dangerously close to defeat.
“It’s no wonder you’re so damn talented at dealing with dickheads like me.” I’m trying for humor, but grooves appear in her forehead.
“You aren’t a dickhead, Grayson.”
No, I’m usually not. But, “I was.”
Finally, a hint of a smile. “Good to keep me on my game. Don’t want to lose all my dickhead-handling abilities. I’ll be needing them again soon.”
“I can turn it up, if you want. Just let me know.”
“So generous of you.”
“I’m a generous guy.” I drag the cooler and bag in front of me and start unloading the supplies, keeping the oysters on the ice.
“You brought oysters?” she asks, her delight feeding my ego.
“Like I said, you need a different perspective on the atmosphere of this place.” I unscrew the cap on the hot sauce. “That includes oyster consumption.”
She shifts, folding her knees around and twisting to face me. I make a point of wrapping a towel around my hand before shucking, to which she huffs in amused annoyance, and present her with an open shell.
“Ladies first.”
Slurping oysters—slurpinganything—shouldn’t be attractive. Hell, I’ve witnessed enough of it to know. But I find myself riveted to the way Eliza tilts her head back, exposing the long column of her neck, as she downs the oyster in the most ladylike way possible. Her throat rolls as she swallows, and then her tongue darts out to lick some of the briny liquid off her lips.
The sight heats my own throat. There’s a gravelly note to my voice as I grunt out, “Good?”
Dainty fingers place the empty shell back in the cooler. “‘Good’ isn’t a strong enough word.”
I hardly taste the salty sweetness of my own oyster, and then I’m handing her another, telling myself to cool the fuck off, when she has to go and say, “I think the whole aphrodisiac thing is a myth.”
My cock stirs, like she just summoned it. “What do you mean?”
“My ex loved getting these when we went out.” The graceful line of her collarbone shifts as she shrugs. “Never felt a thing.”
She tilts her head back, sucking the oyster down. That sound, that silly littleslurpthat has no right stirring anything besides mild disgust, has me shifting my weight closer to her.
I’m too aware we’re all alone, too aware that it’s just me and her in this little corner of the pond.
Removed from the real world—just like she said.
So all those real-worldrulesI remembered earlier, all the self-defensive reasons I can’t afford tolikethis woman, and sure as fuck shouldn’t act on it, don’t apply here on this little strip of sand.
I don’t want them to.
Which is why I don’t stop myself from rumbling, “Well, that’s just because you weren’t eating them with the right man.”
22
ELIZA
The low octaveof Grayson’s voice rumbles straight to my belly, curling down and hooking itself there. I’ve been viscerally aware of him from the moment I sat beside him, closer than was work appropriate. Close enough to make my skin tingle with awareness.
But not close enough to satisfy the desperate, aching pull toward him.
I know that pull.
