I felt it stir when I saw him in the warehouse. When he trapped me against that desk. Attraction.Desire.Hormones that’ve had enough of staying away from this man, and are begging for me to jump his bones. Chemicals I was determined toignore, because…
Because they’re unprofessional.
Because I had a bad morning, and I’m probably not emotionally responsible right now.
Because this isGrayson.
ButGraysonjust shifted that big, sturdy frame closer to me, leaning down on one arm. His gaze keeps traveling down to my lips, still salty from the oysters. And he just laiddown a blatant dare, knowing full-well I never back down from them.
That’s just because you weren’t eating them with the right man.
“How can you be so sure?” I whisper, my chest frozen in anticipation.
“Do you really want me to answer that?” His body is as still as my lungs, eyes molten as he waits for my response.
I may not have had many partners, but Iknow.
What this is, what he’s asking. What my answer will lead to.
And whether it’s from being out here, so far removed fromeverything, or exhaustion from constantly needing to make the right, smart, success-driven decisions, I shut off my brain.
“Yes,” I answer.
His nostrils subtly flare.
That’s his only reaction before he smoothly shucks the oyster in his hand. He leans in closer so our forearms brush. “Have another one.” He lifts the shell toward my mouth, but I barely look at it, too fixated on his smooth lips and the neatly trimmed scruff around them. Scruff I’d once found unkempt, too rugged, but now has me wondering what it’ll feel like on my skin. Between my thighs.
The cold edge of the shell meets my lips, and I open my mouth, allowing him to press it inside enough for me to suck the flesh away.
He applies pressure, dragging the bottom of the shell down my lip as he removes it. Then he dips in, catching that same lip between his own, giving it a gentle suck that shoots straight to the ache between my legs.
He pulls away, slowly licking his lips.
“You’re right.” His hot breath ghosts across my mouth. “‘Good’ isn’t a strong enough word.”
I gasp when the bumpy, rounded exterior of the shell lands on my chest, just below my collarbone. He presses, gently nudging me onto my back. His body follows, so he’s lying on his side next to me, eyes on that shell.
He moves it, dragging it across my upper chest, then down to trace the scooped neckline of my shirt, the shell’s cool, rough texture lighting a path of little fires. My nipples harden against my bra, waiting for the shell to pass over them.Cravingit.
He stops just above my left breast. “So what do you think, Boston?” The words vibrate along my side as his body curls closer, half-covering me. His head dips, eliciting a full-body tremble as his lips brush the edge of my ear. “Those oysters working?” he whispers.
His face roves over to mine, so close our noses brush. That shell remains still on my skin, my chest heaving beneath it.
I didn’t expect this from him.
I expected what I’ve always gotten. Dispassionate patterns of movement, the same old routine that always ends in the guy’s release. Not this torturous seduction and these rumbled words. Not for every single nerve ending to throb in frenzied anticipation of this man’s next move. And all he’s done is half-kiss me and caress me with a freaking seashell.
It isn’t nearly enough.
Not even close.
“You’re going to have to discover that for yourself, Grayson,” I say, hardly recognizing the throatiness of my voice. His jaw tenses, encouraging the next sentence to fallfrom my lips. “Though I’m not quite sure you know where to find it.”
His lips part in a cocky grin. The kind he wears so easily, that puts us back on familiar footing. “Someone’s impatient.”
“Not impatient. Just making sure you know your way around at age thirty.”
“I’ve never told you my age. You asking around about me?”
