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She sucked in a breath. Tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked. “Okay,” she said, because she didn’t have any other words.
It was all too much. So she did what she did best and pasted on a chipper smile while dabbing at the corner of her eyes with her knuckles.
“I think we need some music, don’t you?” she asked, hands already fiddling with her phone.
Anton didn’t protest or pry at her sudden change of direction. “Just no opera,” he said, as their car continued to climb up the winding mountain road.
All of the prior tension in the car melted away. The biggest question Grace had to answer was how long and how loud she would blast Pavarotti.
eighteen
“Physics isn’tthe most important thing. Love is.”—Richard P. Feynman
It was hard to say when Anton picked her up—it could have been halfway up the walkway to their chalet, or somewhere after he had kicked the door shut with all the energy of a Viking returning from a successful pillaging—but what Grace did know was that somehow she ended up in his arms, both legs wrapped around his waist, minus her jacket and with a shoe missing from one foot, in some kind of R-rated retelling of Cinderella.
Except there was no way Prince Charming was going to find her shoe with how far away Grace dimly registered it landing. She thought it might have knocked over a lamp? Whatever it was, it was broken.
Oops.
She pulled back to see that Anton had fared no better than the lamp. His normally styled hair was a mess, shirt rucked up and wrinkled—and his eyes, those gorgeous whiskey-brown eyes, had a frantic energy to them that filled her with a fire to see him come even more undone. There was just something about leaving a man out of breath and with swollen freshly kissed lips. She’d done that. Took the wind right out of his sails and made a mess of him.
“Come here,” She whispered, pulling him close. She kissed him hard, nipping at his bottom lip as she ran her fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands. Anton moaned and she kissed him again, claiming the moan for her own before it had a prayer of going anywhere.
Forget Cinderella. She was a Viking princess, hellbent on having her man.
She surged forward again, hands sliding down to cup his face before moving to yank his shirt up and over his head.
“Holy shit. You’re a hellcat,” he said in between kisses. She grinned and hopped out of her last shoe, but didn’t stop in her quest to get him divested of his clothing. Getting his shirt off of him was enough motivation to keep pulling at his clothing. The man was all fine lines of muscle and supple soft skin that her hands ached to trace and cover with kisses. Releasing his mouth with a sigh, she kissed her way across his jaw and down his neck, her lips burning a trail of small featherlight touches.
Anton groaned, hands moving to her hair. “You’re going to give me a heart attack,” he whispered.
Grace nipped his neck. “Get a pacemaker.”
“I’ll have it added to my agenda.” His hands began undoing the buttons of her jeans as he spoke, head tipped back as she continued to place light kisses on his skin. “First thing Monday morning, I’ll look Mindy right in the eyes and tell her my cardiac health is at risk.”
She frowned and lifted her head long enough to look him in the eye. “Maybe don’t talk about your assistant while I’m trying to get into your pants?” she said, giving his belt a little tap.
He paused, tilted his head to the side as if her request was new information, and then nodded.
“Good point. Assistant talk bad.”
She kissed him, her tongue tracing his bottom lip. “Very bad.”
Anton undid her jeans button and slid the zipper down with a decisive tug. “You know what else is bad? Pants.”
She rolled her eyes at him. There was too much talking for her liking.
“You talk too much,” she told him. “More action. Less talking.”
Anton scoffed. Or at least he made a sound that sounded like a scoff. Grace wasn’t focused enough to really know, but no sooner had she spoken did Anton move. His hands came to her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh there, and he lifted her. She knew the man was strong, but the power in him was felt then in his hands when he launched her onto the bed. Grace felt herself freeze. The air left her lungs in a whoosh at Anton’s veritable caber toss of her. She hadn’t expected this.
But who could?
One second you’re kissing the man of your dreams and the next you're flying through the air. Life was funny like that, she guessed. Full of surprises. As such, her sudden airborne situation left her gasping and emitting the least sexy sound—a squeak, perhaps even ameepakin to something a Muppet might emit, rather than a woman set on seduction.
She scrambled to sit up, her unbuttoned jeans open, shirt somewhere on the floor and hair wild as she gaped at Anton, who had begun yanking off his shoes. He stood in front of her, bare-chested and barefoot, one hand moving down to whip off his fine leather belt with a practiced hand that snapped the accessory against his thigh.
Grace sucked her bottom lip between her teeth at the crack of Anton’s belt.Boy oh boy.What in the universe had she done to deserve such a treat? She was ready for the ravishing she appeared to be about to get.
