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She found Grey sprawled naked on his back, the bedsheets up to his waist. One sinewy arm covered his eyes.Toni lifted the covers and slid under the sheets, instantly seeking his body for warmth.
Without a sound, he curled an arm around her and pinned her to his side. Giving a silent prayer of gratitude,Toni draped one bare leg across his and cuddled even closer, peering into his face.
“Grey?”
“Not now,Toni.”
Chapter Two
He couldn’t talk to her.
He didn’t know what he’d do or say or betray.
Sprawled in a chair by the window, Grey studied her sleeping figure while he tangled the cool satin strip between his fingers.
The clock on the nightstand read 4:36 a.m.
She’d been tossing and turning all night. And he’d been watching her. Loving her. Hating her. Wanting to selfishly use that body he cherished, take her hard and bury his anger into the depths of her. He remembered everything. Vividly. Every word, every look, her smell, her voice. Every moment with her.
She’d rocked Grey’s world since that first time he’d seen her work: a personalized card from a man he did business with.
Through the echoing noise of what was yet another social evening, Grey had surveyed the sleek embossed logo and design, impressed with what he saw. Elegant, edgy.Totally unique.
“Sharp card.”
He grew up in money. Recognized the importance of appearances. Bank loan agents, investors—they could all be swayed with an intimidating glare, a powerful stance, most of all a sharp tie. And apparently Grey could be swayed by a petite bit of a woman, strolling the next day into his office with a portfolio of her work.
Antonia Kearny.
His first impression, aside from a youth she couldn’t manage to conceal in the rather insipid business suit she wore, was that she was little more than average, her hair tied into some sort of twist behind a pale oval face, a few coppery tendrils framing a high, smooth forehead.
She had a small, rounded nose and small, plump lips painted the color of raspberries. She was nothing extraordinary—certainly nothing to turn heads—but when she began talking, showing him her work with that lively glint in her eye and a quiver of excitement in her voice, Grey had been charmed. Totally enchanted by her.
He’d wanted to slip his hands under her skirt, spread her legs open, and see if the lips of her pussy glistened like her shimmering pink mouth.
Instead he’d glanced at his watch, unsatisfied by the thought of a quick romp atop his office desk. “I’m afraid I’m running out of time, but I’d appreciate it if we discussed this over dinner.”
Time seemed to still as she looked up. “Dinner?”
He noticed his tongue would fit perfectly through the opening in her mouth. Just a little wider, and he could push his cock inside, see it rimmed by the pink of her lips. Stirred by the visual, he bowed his head. Yes, love, dinner. I’ll be having you.
“Name the place, Ms. Kearny.”
Although alarm skittered across her every feature, he sensed her determination in making the sale. She tucked her catalogues back into her briefcase, tentatively suggesting, “The Chop House?”
“Excellent. And your address?” He leaned forward in his swivel chair. “To pick you up?”
She hesitated, then rummaged through her things and scribbled down her address on a tiny yellow slip.
Hours later, tucking the note back into his breast pocket, Grey knocked on her door. His heartbeat had increased en route to her home; it pounded severely when he arrived.A lion’s roar in his ears.
She opened with an exerted little gasp, wearing a navy blue dress that, although loose from her waist to her knees, exposed a delectable amount of cleavage and amply showcased two very pert breasts.
Flushing under his slow but discreet inspection, she quickly went back inside to retrieve the portfolio she was forgetting.
An invitation, if Grey ever saw one.
He followed her down a narrow hall, making no attempt to evaluate the simplicity of her home, intent on one thing only. Mine. Mine. Mine. He caught up with her in the bedroom as she bent to lift the briefcase. “Mr. Richards, do you want me to bring the—”
