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I grip the pen in my hand. “Right. Put together a rundown of what you and Landry discussed so we can review it with Chase and Cat.”
Carter nods as he walks out of my office. “Whatever you say, boss.”
Laughing, I shake my head. This is what I need to focus on.
Business. Expansion. Family.
Grace Kensington will be nothing but a distraction. Perhaps she was right. It’s time to move past this step. After tonight I’ll let her know I’m ready for her to work on the matches. The last thing I need is to spend more time with her.
I suggested Lucia’s because it is the place to be in Boston right now. Bloggers, Instagrammers, celebrities, and investors say it’s the place to be seen. Which is precisely what I need. I’m establishing the new reign of James Spirits, and the only way for people to take me, a thirty-year-old nobody, seriously is by being in the places where somebodies are seen.
It’s ridiculous that I can’t just do my job, but if my younger brother, Chase, has taught us anything it’s that we can’t do things just like our grandfather did. He built one hell of a company, but he let it get stuck. He didn’t invest in advertising, and our online presence was minimal until Chase graduated and took over the social media portion of the company. It was Chase who forwarded me the article on Lucia’s and told me to find a way to be spotted here.
Going there with Grace Kensington on my arm—a woman that no one will recognize but will instantly be curious about due to her age, her curves, and the insane eyes—will give me credibility that a younger woman just won’t. Hopefully, it will show a man like Landry that I’m serious. As long as he doesn’t realize that she also happens to be married.
I arrive at the restaurant twenty minutes early. I need a drink before seeing Grace. Unfortunately, she appears to have had the same idea. I spot her sitting at the bar and brace myself. The slit on the side of her goddamn skirt practically hits her panty line, exposing her entire left leg.
Normally Grace is dressed conservatively; in the Keys she wore sundresses and nothing clingy. It’s like she did this on purpose. After last night I don’t exactly blame her. I’d been a complete ass, promising to torture us both. Pretty sure I’m the only one who will be paying for that transgression.
Fortunately, she hasn’t seen me yet, so I give myself a few moments to really study her, to allow my eyes to run from her black heels up to the soft skin that meets her hips, an area I’m itching to run my fingers against. Her chestnut hair hangs down her back, and she’s layered soft curls throughout.
I walk with determination to the bar. The room is lit by flickering candles and low lights. The smell of warm bread and garlic filters through the air, and a soft sensual beat plays low in the background. The tables are all on the perimeter of the restaurant, black booths with black tables giving the look of a dark club. The bar sits in the center as the focal point.
Surrounding Grace are several men in dark suits. I watch as they eye her, but no one approaches. She has an air to her that says she’s taken. Or maybe it’s the wedding rings. A natural deterrent. Although I’m sure many men would fuck her if given the chance, married or not. Hell, I’m struggling not to do it, and I find the entire idea abhorrent.
A possessiveness comes over me as I watch someone attempt to walk up to her, offering to buy her a drink.
“Gracie, I’m so sorry I’m late,” I say as I place my hand on the bare skin of her thigh. Grace’s leg jumps slightly, and she turns to meet my eyes. I’m sure she sees the fiery jealousy reflected in them.
“Not a problem, Whiskey. Would you like a drink?” The word slips so naturally off her tongue, reminding me of how easy things were between us in Florida.
Fuck it. I want to taste her, and if this is the only way how—in this fake universe where I’m pretending to save her from the unwanted attention of another man—I’m taking the opportunity.
With the pressure of my hand still on her thigh, I step in between her and the other man and use my other hand to pull her face toward mine, my thumb gripping the soft divot in her chin. Before I go in for the kiss, I meet her eyes, letting her know I’m taking what I want, and that I’m angry as fuck at myself for doing it.
The pain of being unable to do this daily makes this the least gentle kiss I’ve ever experienced. My lips crash to hers, and I’m so lost in the feel of hers against mine that I don’t even realize when her hand slips behind my head and her fingers dig into my hair as she angles for a better grip. She moans against my lips, and then bites my bottom lip before slipping her tongue into my mouth.
I’m in an alternate universe—one where this isn’t a sin, where kissing Grace should be a daily activity, a way to worship, to celebrate life, rather than the forbidden thing that I know it is. How could kissing her ever be wrong?
She tastes like red wine and bad decisions with just a hint of betrayal which leaves me simultaneously hating myself and wanting more. My fingers dig into the flesh on her thigh, and I pull her closer. I kiss her gently and pull away slightly, my thumb holding her bottom lip to keep myself from kissing her again. When her lashes flutter open, I’m met with shock in her violet eyes which are brighter than I remember. I lean my forehead against hers, panting from this overstep and yet too weak to completely pull away.
“Hey,” she whispers as her eyes search mine.
The man beside us has retreated from his advance, and I push myself back as reality sets in. I adjust my tie and look away from Grace, as shame rolls over me in waves.
Before, when I kissed Grace, I had no idea she was another man’s wife. Now I have no excuse. I took something that wasn’t mine.
“Our table should be ready. I’ll go check with the hostess,” I say before stalking off.
Even breathing is difficult. I have to actively remind myself to put air into my lungs and to not look back at Grace and see if she’s as overwhelmed as I am.
It’s not possible that she has that with her husband. I’ve never had that with any woman I’ve been with and there have certainly been plenty. I speak to the hostess and keep my focus off the bar. I just need a few moments to remind myself of my goals.
Tonight, I end whatever this is between Grace and me. The hate that consumes me for feeling this way about a married woman is not worth whatever I feel for Grace. It’s a betrayal of who I am.
Besides, my family doesn’t need any scandals right now, and pursuing someone who isn’t available would be an incredibly stupid scandal.
A hand presses into my shoulder, and I turn to find Grace staring at me, her face as flushed and bewildered as mine. “You okay?” she says softly, meeting my eyes.
