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She shrugs. “I’m sorry, but come on. There was no point in going on like that. The normal Greyson Storm is a thousand times more interesting than whatever that was, trust me.”
“That’s how I am in front of the camera.”
“Not with me you aren’t,” she says. “Why don’t you ditch whatever pre-made script your assistant made you and just say what you really think?”
“That’s not what the public wants.”
“You might be surprised what they want.”
All I know is that I want you, I think but don’t say.
A strand has come loose from her pulled-back bun, and it seems almost unbearable that I can’t walk up to her, real close, and tuck it behind her ear. Then tip her chin up and…
Focus, Greyson.
“Try it,” she says. “For me?”
The last words crossed some invisible boundary, but I don’t care. The next thing I know, I’m tossing Madeline’s notes aside, and starting:
“You all know who I am. Why I’m here talking to you like this. I’m as sad and disappointed and angry about this whole tax evasion thing as you are. My dad was supposed to be an all-American, one of the good guys. He was supposed to be the one who not only made his own rules, but also didn’t break the intrinsic ones. But I’m not here to bash on my dad, whatever his faults. I’m not here to talk you out of thinking that Storm Inc. is a corrupt company, or even tell you that we’re a company that can change, come back and be ethical again. That’s for you to decide, based on the actions we’ll take over the next few weeks and months. I just wanted to be the one to tell you that we’ll be paying our debt in full. More than that, we’ll be running a lottery to pay off the debts of some of our most loyal viewers. And we want to hear from you. How we can do better. How companies around the world can. It’s not going to happen all at once, but I can promise that I will do everything in my power to put Storm Inc. back on the map for all the right reasons. Starting now. Thank you.”
I only realize I’ve stopped talking when Harley bursts out, “Wow! That was amazing! You were…”
“That was easy.” I can hardly believe I’m saying the words. “I just…”
Everything that happened still doesn’t feel real. Guess I signed up Storm Inc. for a new charity too. Clearly, selling Storm Music was the right—and only—choice.
I walk up to her, still stupefied. “You’re magic. Did that just happen?”
She laughs, looking so genuinely surprised and delighted and amused that before I’ve thought about it, I’ve kissed her.
It’s like coming home. Our bodies meld together.
She tastes like coffee, and I’d never have thought coffee could be a turn-on but I’m as hard as ever. Something’s nagging in the back of my head, something important, but I can’t remember.
Not with her here, taking over every one of my senses. Her arms are soft as hell, her clothes too. Her mouth knows just how to take and give, follow and lead. Fuck, I want her.
I want her bad.
I kiss the words out of her: “But… Greyson…”
And then I remember. We pull away at the same time.
“Shit, sorry, I…” I trail off.
She’s breathing heavy, her gaze still stuck on my lips, me.
She looks over at the door, then at me. I understand without a word.
I go over there and lock it. When I turn around, she’s sitting on a table, legs swinging. “So.”
I don’t move.
I can feel it, the last of my self-control dissolving the longer I’m in the room with her. When it’s gone, there’ll be no turning back.
“So,” I say.
This is risky and I know it and yet, with her there in front of me, tangible and sexy and irresistible, ‘risk’ seems like the most abstract concept in the world.
“Greyson—” she says.
“Harley,” I say, not moving.
I should leave. I need to stay.
“We shouldn’t,” she says simply, correctly interpreting my pause. “Tell me to leave. Look at me, and tell me to leave.”
She knows I should. I know I should.
It’s the right thing to do. The only thing.
I swallow. I have to do this.
“Fine,” I say hollowly, turning away.
“Go on,” she urges me. “Tell me. Say it.”
Next thing I know, I’ve strode right up to her, taken her face to mine and kissed the words right out of her mouth.
Our tongues tangle, lips snag. She knew I was hers as soon as she sat on that table and started swinging her legs.
I kiss her to the table so she’s sitting on it again, undo her blouse, the mocking blue tie that was made to be untied.
“We shouldn’t do this,” I growl, kissing at the newly bared skin, lapping my way down, sucking a nipple into my mouth.
