10. Elise
10
ELISE
Elise
S top kissing your boss.
Stop kissing your boss.
Stop kissing ? —
“Fuck, Elise.” Grant panted as he broke back to stare at me. The wild lust glittering in his gaze seared me. I’d seen some smoldering stares in my lifetime, but Grant’s was a scorching power that would unravel me to weak, spent shreds.
“You kiss like you mean it,” he said in a tone that hinted at equal parts of marvel and dread. Like he realized I was trouble and he was all for it.
I nodded, licking my lips. “That’s the only way to kiss, isn’t it?”
He growled, dipping back to kiss me harder.
His hands roved over my back, to my sides, then back to the center again. His long fingers splayed over my upper back, to better push me into his hard chest. But his other hand slipped lower, teasing me with the hope that he’d grab my ass and haul me against the bulge that hardened beneath his shorts.
Oh…
All I could do was ride the tide of desire and pray I would survive. He plundered my mouth, encouraging me to explore just the same. He groaned and growled as he sucked on my tongue, proving no other sound could ever justify as sexy compared to the ones I coaxed out of him as we made out.
Taunted by the friction of my bra and our shirts, my nipples ached for more contact. Trapped beneath my panties and skirt, my pussy throbbed and dripped with cream.
I wanted him. I wanted my boss. My fake fiancé. Grant could call himself whatever the hell he wanted. Whoever that was—I desired him with such a fervent hunger, I wasn’t sure where he began and where I ended.
I wanted to burrow under his skin. I wanted to spread wide and welcome him between my legs. Every filthy way he wanted me, I was all for it.
“Don’t even think about saying this kiss means nothing,” he whispered against my lips. His hot breaths whipped against my face before he kissed me once more.
Nothing? Having Grant’s mouth on me was everything. It was more than something and not just anything. I lusted for him with such speed, such intensity, I couldn’t think. It meant something, all right, but I couldn’t spend the time concentrating on what we were doing here.
In the back of my mind, that weak mantra tried to chime louder.
Stop kissing your boss.
But right now, he didn’t feel like my boss. He felt like a hard, strong, and turned-on man. And I was the woman he wanted to kiss until I forgot my own damn name.
Under the spell of kissing him, I lost track of what was supposed to be real, what was supposed to be fake. I had no clue which end was up and where we were supposed to be. All I knew from the bottom of my racing heart was that this thrill of being in his arms, under his kiss, and held by his fingers clutching at me so desperately meant I was where I belonged.
With him, carried away by this wicked need and stubborn desire.
As he stepped to the side, backing me away from the wall, he lowered both of his hands toward my ass, as though he wanted to hoist me up against him so I could wrap my legs around his waist. Moving from the wall brought us close to a display, though, and I gasped when he bumped his hip against a case anchored to the ground.
“Watch it,” a stern voice ordered from behind him.
I blinked, dazed and confused and still so overwhelmed by desire. Grant broke the kiss, panting and catching his breath as he looked to his left.
A museum security guard frowned at us both. His glare suggested we’d made a mistake. Sucking in air to catch my breath, I cleared my mind and winced at the glass-enclosed case of gold medallions we’d stumbled into and almost knocked over.
“My bad,” I said, licking my lips. Grant’s taste lingered there, the hints of his coffee and the mint he had on the bus.
“Sorry,” Grant said. He had yet to release me, but under the guard’s glower, he took my hand and guided me back toward the group we’d almost lost.
Heat seared my cheeks. My pussy, my nipples… They ached with the need for Grant’s touch. I wanted to come so, so badly, and knowing how unlikely that was, I wanted to cringe and whine at missing out.
Grant didn’t seem to be in much better shape, almost scowling in what had to be a severe case of blue balls.
We didn’t speak. Simply holding hands and catching breaths, we eased back into our group. If any of them dared to tease us for slipping aside to make out like randy teenagers, I’d cover my face in shame.
He’s my boss! Not my fiancé!
“Was that necessary?” Samantha muttered as we passed her.
I wasn’t sure if it was necessary, but it was mind-blowing. Grant seemed to genuinely want me, and I tried to process that the last few minutes weren’t an act.
“Ah, I remember those days,” Vince said with a secret smile as he gazed at Ginny. They both seemed amused as we all headed to the exit of this particular exhibit. “To be young and in love like that again.”
Ginny beamed at him, holding his hand. “We’re not young, but still in love.”
Vince kissed the top of her head. His affection for her was clear, unbiased and true. Something they’d worked on keeping for decades.
“Sort of reminds me of the time we got kicked out of church in high school,” Ginny said, giggling.
“You were high school sweethearts?” I asked.
“Yes. Straight into marriage.” The older woman grinned at me. “When will you two tie the knot?”
I patted Grant’s chest as he draped his arm around me to keep me close. “We’re not sure yet.” That seemed like a far easier lie than making something up that he might contradict as he tried to also ad-lib a reply.
“Really? How far are you with your wedding plans?” she asked as we moved into another room that preceded the gift shop.
“Umm. It’s going.”
She laughed lightly. “Are you stuck? Need ideas?”
I glanced up at Grant, who smiled down at me. “No, I have lots of ideas,” I told Ginny. “But I doubt they’re feasible.”
“Like what?” she asked.
Oh, gosh. I’d only ever talked to Claudia about this, back before our grandparents passed away, when we were still closer to childhood than adulthood as young teens.
“Um…” I smiled, thinking back to the details of the fantasy wedding I concocted as an impressionable young adolescent. “Well, I want it to be outside, in a garden in early June. Peonies might still be in bloom, and the lilacs would be so fragrant then.”
“For bouquets?” she asked.
“No, along the ceremony space. Maybe a small band with wind instruments, something light to accompany the ceremony. Pale lavender and cream for the color theme. The altar would be something simple and natural, like a wooden arbor with small carvings for detail, little symbols to make it look less rustic and more ethereal.”
“Oh, this sounds dreamy,” Ginny said. “What about a dress?”
I sighed, thinking further back. “My cousin and I grew up thinking we’d take turns wearing our grandma’s wedding dress. It was a gorgeous gown, with lace and beads.”
“This is precious.” Ginny smiled and leaned her head against Vince’s shoulder.
“She raised us, so she was the only motherly figure we’d had. Unfortunately, the dress burned when the storage unit caught on fire.”
“Oh, no!”
I nodded at her dismay. It still pained me that it was gone, lost forever. “I have pictures of her on her wedding day, and when we were younger, my cousin and I would take turns drawing replicas of the dress and make cut-out gowns for paper dolls. Her dress is my dream dress.” But it was gone.
“That’s so sweet. You have so many details already thought out.” Ginny patted my arm. “And you claim you don’t have any plans?” she teased. “What about the party? The reception? The menu?”
She was too fun, bubbly like me about the little things I doubted many cared about. Reese likely hired a professional to design her big day, but I knew how my dream wedding would go. “For the dinner, maybe roasted chicken with baby potatoes in a sauce of—” I stopped, hearing myself and realizing I was rambling. It was too easy to get carried away like this with Ginny. I’d drifted, talking about this fantasy of a wedding that seemed more unlikely the older I got. I’d be thirty soon, and my prospects weren’t promising. They were nonexistent.
As though he could read my thoughts, Grant squeezed my shoulder.
He wasn’t a prospect. We were only pretending for this weekend. I felt the raw and real evidence of his desire, but I wasn’t so dumb as to assume that meant he actually wanted me for anything other than scratching a physical itch.
Embarrassed that I'd rambled like that, sharing something so personal, I peeked at him. I found him gazing at me with a deep, unreadable expression.
I bet he listened to every word I said.
Oh, God.
My cheeks burned hotter.