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I knock twice and listen for her footsteps as she reaches the door. For a moment, I can practically feel her hesitation. On the other side of this door, she is closing her eyes, breathing, and preparing herself for the connection we have.
I need it too—the preparation, the willpower to handle what so obviously lies between us. It’s the reason I can’t let her go, no matter the price. My business, my reputation, none of it matters when I compare it to how she makes me feel. There is a pull that exists between us which sets my pulse racing and makes me do stupid things, like demand her address and show up at her door when she obviously doesn’t want me here.
When the door opens and Grace comes into view, it’s like finally breathing after diving into the cold ocean water. Before her I was living my life—going to restaurants, working, dating, having sex—and I was enjoying myself. I’d have told anyone that I was happy. Now life is more painful, the colors are brighter, and my emotions are constantly on fire. I feel uneasy, anxious, and unsettled because the woman standing across from me makes me feel things that I can’t explain, and until I can tell the world she’s mine, I don’t think I’ll be calm.
It’s infuriating and exciting.
My eyes hold hers and I see the war raging within her own. I don’t know what happened in the last few hours, but something’s changed since last night. She hasn’t yet accepted the inevitable—that she’s mine. I don’t have her completely.
With her hair in a ponytail and her face scrubbed free of makeup, I connect with her eyes and see nothing but pure exhaustion. She looks overwhelmed and out of sorts in her black leggings and a gray sweatshirt, but she motions for me to enter.
“You never showed up,” I say, my voice coming out darker than I mean. The things I want to say to her would scare her. The way she makes me feel, the plans I’m making in my head just from entering her space, would send her running in the opposite direction. “You never even called.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” Grace replies, avoiding my anger. I follow her into the kitchen which is just off the living room and watch as she picks up a bottle of open wine and pours it into two glasses. She hands me one of them before gulping down half of her own, then fills it back up and walks to the couch without a word.
I follow her around her apartment feeling out of sorts. I’m still in a full suit, and my entire body buzzes with adrenaline and angst. I want to touch her, to pin her down on the couch and kiss her until she relaxes.
“Were you ever going to show up?” I ask, anger seeping into my tone.
Grace doesn’t look at me. She pulls her leg up onto the couch and takes another gulp of wine.
Infuriating.
I wait for her to speak, but she takes another sip. Her eyes seem to catch my clenching fists and she sets her glass down.
“Cash, I’m not what you want.”
“Fuck that,” I grunt, getting angrier by the second.
How did we get back to this conversation? What the hell happened between last night and today to make her question what we have?
“Did you call the magazine and set the record straight?” I grit out.
Grace finally turns her violet eyes to mine. “What do you want from me, Cash?”
Confused and aggravated by the unnecessary drama, I find myself shouting, “Everything! I want everything with you. I want everything from you. I don’t want you to fake date Hanson. I don’t want us to hide. I want to be with you, Grace. If you give me that, I will give you the world. I will figure it all out. Stop playing games, stop this bullshit, and we can work this out together. But if you keep pushing me away, so help me, Grace, you better be prepared to let me go, because I’m not going to keep pushing back.”
My heart hammers in my chest. This is it. If she can’t provide even the slightest fight for us then I can’t keep waiting. There’s only so much one person can do.
Grace sighs, and I prepare myself for her to give up, buttoning my jacket and turning toward the door.
“Cash,” she says, her voice sounding closer in my ear. I look back and find her standing before me, the war in her eyes evident as they dart back and forth, looking over my face. “I don’t want to do it anymore,” she says, her voice desperate, confusing me further. My eyes dip from her own, looking away, and Grace’s hands cradle my face, turning me back to her. “I don’t want to do it alone anymore. If you’ll still have me, I’m yours.”
As she lifts herself to me, pulling my mouth to her own, and our lips meet, I groan and take her in my arms, hungry to feel every inch of her. Her tongue snakes into my mouth, and it’s like I’m being set free.
Cradling her head, I spin and push her back against the bookshelf as her hands make quick work of my jacket, pulling it off and smiling against my lips. Grazing her chin with my teeth, I taste the salt on her skin. I lean her against the shelf, using my knee to provide her support as I lift her sweatshirt over her head.
As soon as I spot her bare nipples, pink and pebbled, I groan and dip my mouth to one, biting and nipping at it as she writhes against my knee.
I don’t dare move her, instead studying her intensely as she continues to grind against me. The way quick breaths fall from her lips as I dig my hands into her hips, or how she bites down on her bottom lip when she gets nervous, or the sounds she makes when I press my cock against her. I want to learn every way to make her come.
“You’re wearing too many clothes, Cash.”
Grace works the buttons down my shirt and slips it down my arms, then stares at my chest, her eyes hooded and begging. When she raises her lashes, I’m met by her startlingly beautiful eyes. This woman has me so wrapped around her damn finger; I’m a complete sucker for everything she’s giving, and I can’t imagine I’ll ever be able to walk away.
With her fingers, she traces my chest, circling my skin, and I grow harder as we just stare at one another. I can’t look away, the heat bounces between us, and the unspoken conversations leave the moment heavy.
Grace reaches for my belt and works the leather out of the loops, while biting her lip. A glint hits her eyes, and I don’t know what she’s thinking but I watch as she continues. With her tongue, she traces the same spots on my chest she just circled with her fingers, licking and sucking, as I watch in anticipation. She raises her eyes and smiles. “I’m yours, Whiskey. Tell me what you want.”
