Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
RAFE
“ W ho the fuck is Aaron Jamie?”
I raise the license Grant tossed in my lap a minute ago and watch him while he paces. Kit is in bed in the next room. It took a while to calm her down after we left the restaurant and brought her home.
“The fucking piece of shit that followed us to The Cellar.”
“Ah, the photographer.”
“Yeah, him.”
“How’d you get this?” I ask and narrow my eyes, already expecting the worst out of Grant’s messy ass. “You killed him?”
Grant rolls his eyes and settles down onto the opposite end of the couch. “I knew you were going to fucking say that . Bitch, bitch, bitch, with you . ”
“Did you?” I press.
He narrows his eyes at my question. “If you must know, mother, no. I didn’t fucking kill him, even though I wanted to.”
That surprises me. Grant doesn’t have the restraint I do. We might be killers but we kill for different reasons. I’ve always been drawn to the monsters, the bottom feeders. I like watching them when they realize they were never the real predators. I take my time with my targets, plan it out and let it last if I can. But Grant?
Grant is unpredictable at best. He gets away with murder because no one thinks he’s the one they should be scared of. The light from the fireplace plays over his face and softens his features, even though he’s looking at me like he wants to start a war. Grant is handsome, easily beautiful in a way that disarms normal people into thinking they can trust him. He’s the kind of All-American pretty this country gives a fast pass to in life. Which is a godsend because if he wasn’t, Grant would easily be serving life somewhere and not starring in blockbuster hits.
“Why the fuck are you looking at me like that?” he snaps and I flick the license at his head.
“Just thinking God knew what he was doing when he made you pretty.”
Grant tosses the license onto the coffee table and raises an eyebrow. “So you think I’m pretty. I knew it. ”
“Of course that’s the part you heard, you fucking sociopath.”
“Takes one to know one.”
I shrug. “Whatever. I’m just proud you didn’t kill him. What are you going to do with that, though?”
“Kill him. Obviously.”
I rub my temples and look up at the ceiling. “Grant…”
“If I don’t kill him he’s going to keep coming for Kit. He’s a dead end but I might be able to get something out of him on the way to taking his head off.”
“What do you mean?”
“He didn’t know who hired him when I roughed him up. Said it was a woman but he couldn’t see her face.”
I cross my arms and shift on the couch to face him. When I move so does he, until we’re mirroring each other, which is bold. Grant only mirrors body language when he’s trying to get someone to trust him. Why does he want that from me now? I trust him enough to share a bed with him and Kit. He’s angling for something else.
“Did anyone see you?” I ask.
“Gentry and his wife.”
“Roland? The music guy?”
Grant nods. “Yeah, that’s the one.”
“What the fuck was he doing at The Cellar?”
“I dunno, taking his wife out on the town to get laid. What else do people do at a sex ballet?”
I smirk. I never figured Gentry to be one for taboo but it’s not bad that they saw Grant. “They’ll be good witnesses that you were the same old golden boy and caught a pap.”
I expect Grant to flip me off but he doesn’t. Instead he nods at me and shifts closer. “Yeah, I thought so too. I asked him if he was the one taking photos of Kit on the lot but he said no. I’m not convinced, though. Not when he said that shit about not knowing who hired him.”
I don’t move, not even when our thighs touch. Grant is close enough that I feel his body warmth. There’s no reason for him to be this close to me. But when Grant’s thigh presses against mine I remember this afternoon when we were both on the floor. He swallows and the slight movement of his Adam's apple pulls my attention from his handsome face to his throat. He’s not wearing a shirt and the shadows play along his collarbone and over his muscled chest and abs.
As much as I want to kill him, I want to fuck him, too.
“I don’t have to be on set, it’s just you.”
“You’ll find him tomorrow then,” I tell him and Grant nods.
“You’ll keep Kit with you. Keep her safe,” he says and when he holds his hand out to touch me, I let him. His touch is light, just a skim of his fingers against my arm, so I reach for him. I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and pull him to me. I card my fingers through his hair with my other hand and smile at the look of bliss that flits over Grant’s features. There’s something about the way he looks with my hand in his hair that sets me off.
“You know I will,” I tell him before I kiss him. He inhales deeply with our kiss and I do the same. The press of his body against mine is good. Solid and strong. It grounds me to the present better than any meditation class or hypnotherapy Rita tried to make me take to help me de-stress and focus.
“If you don’t learn to fucking relax you’re going to burn out and I’m not letting that happen to you, so get your ass on the meditation train, Rafe or else.”
I lean into Grant and let him push me back onto the couch until I’m settled beneath him. He kisses my neck and I close my eyes with a sigh. I mostly napped when she thought I was meditating but I’m wide awake now. I’m also relaxed. Rita would be proud.
Who knew Grant Stone was going to be the thing that I needed to make it happen?
Grant’s teeth nip my skin and I welcome the sting of it. Doesn’t mean that I do it quietly. “You give me a fucking hicky and I’ll give you a black eye.”
Grant scoffs. His breath is warm against my neck and he kisses the place he just bit. “Stop fucking talking. You’re prettier when you keep quiet.”
“So are you,” I grumble but I do what he says. It’s easier when there’s no words between us. We communicate better without them. Grant’s gentler than I’m used to tonight. He kisses me more than not, the slide of his hands over my abs and up my sides is slow. The touch of someone exploring with all the time in the world. I wrap an arm around him and lean into his grip. When he pulls at my sweats, I lift my hips to let him and do the same to him. He moves, the drag of his dick against my thigh has my blood pumping in anticipation.
I know what comes next.
I need what comes next.
“Grant.” I don’t tell him I love him. I don’t feel what I do with Kit for him. That’s just for her. But there’s something there between us. When he wraps his hand around my dick to stroke it and take it into his mouth, he doesn’t say anything, either. He just looks at me. I’ve lost count of how many times it’s been just us while Kit sleeps. I’ve looked enough to know Grant’s eyes aren’t the summer blue or Mediterranean shit the entertainment sites swear by, they’re stormy, like an overcast sky with flecks of blue so dark they look black.
From the way Grant looks at me, I know he’s got my eyes memorized too. For as long as it’s just us, there’s nothing else I give a fuck about but Grant’s eyes.