Chapter 16 #2
He rises from his seat with the elegance of a predator. “I told you on the phone on Thursday I wanted to see you.”
“And you did. Yesterday.”
“That wasn’t seeing you the way I want to see you.” He prowls toward me, flicking my unbrushed hair over my shoulder. Dragging a comb through it seemed like ten seconds I could ill afford given the circumstances. “I like this outfit.”
I arch a brow. “A sweatshirt and yoga pants? Maybe don’t take up giving out fashion advice.”
He gives me a boyish smile that sends a rush of butterflies into my stomach.
Why does he have to be so goddamn… sexy?
Whoever is up there is surely having a laugh at my expense.
They could have made him ugly or, you know, have bad breath or something.
But no, the man is perfect. Good looking, hot, fit, tall, dark hair, dark eyes, sinful smile.
Everything I’d list out if asked to describe my ideal man.
Murderer wouldn’t make the list, though, would it?
“You look good in whatever you decide to wear, Duchess.”
“You’d change your mind if you saw me in my flannel PJs and bunny slippers.”
“I’m hoping I will, soon.” He rests his forehead against mine, his voice dropping into a throaty husk. “I can’t wait much longer.”
The hunger in his voice arrows straight to my clit. I press my inner thighs together, although why, I’ve no fucking idea. It does nothing to quell the ache, the yearning, the lust I have for this man I hate with my whole heart.
Or do I? Truly, I’m not sure anymore.
The body and the mind are two separate entities, and it’s bloody inconvenient.
“Here you go.” Juliet breezes into the living room and sets a tray down on the coffee table.
Christian’s pained expression as he steps back and politely smiles at her is one of the funniest things I’ve seen in ages.
“I can’t function without coffee in the morning.” She hands him a mug, then passes one to me. “What about you, Christian?”
“I manage,” he says, eyes locked on me as he takes a sip of his.
“Should I have made one for your bodyguard? I’m not sure of the etiquette in these situations.”
I stifle a giggle. Juliet is the best wing woman I could have wished for. If I was in this alone with only Arron and Uncle Daniel to lean on, I’d have fallen over by now. If anyone is equipped to get me through the next however many weeks or months, it’s Juliet.
“He’s fine.” Christian’s gaze seeks me out. He cocks his head toward the door.
I pretend not to see his unsubtle sign. Subjecting him to a few more minutes of Juliet’s never-ending stream of consciousness is a lot more fun.
She rambles on about… well, nothing, and Christian’s fidgeting gradually gets worse.
Eventually, even his manners run out of patience.
Abruptly standing while she’s in mid-flow about the state of Britain’s roads and how she’s going to write to the local council and give them a piece of her mind, he clears his throat.
“I have somewhere to be. Thank you for the coffee and the… chat. Grace, would you walk me back to the car?”
I catch the gleam in Juliet’s eyes as he turns his back on her to head to the door.
She’ll have loved every second of that. Winking at her behind his back, I follow him into the hallway, and we head down the stairs, with Marshall tracking us.
I can’t imagine having a permanent shadow, yet, according to Vicky, if I do marry into this family, I’ll have one of my own.
Ugh. It doesn’t bear thinking about. There must be some way to give them the slip.
Bathroom windows are big enough to climb out of, right?
As we reach the lobby, Christian turns to Marshall. “Wait outside. I’ll be there shortly.” The man immediately does as Christian orders, and once we’re alone, Christian grips my hips and pulls me close to him.
“Does your friend ever take a breath?”
I grin. “You got off lightly, believe me.”
He widens his eyes. “If that was lightly, next time I decide to pop round, I’m going to call ahead and make sure you’re in.
She grilled me before you arrived on everything from my favorite color to whether I can cook and how, if I hurt you, she will…
let me get this straight… hunt me down and peel the skin from my cock and balls. ”
Well done, Juliet. You just prevented any further mad dashes at ridiculous o’clock on a Saturday morning.
“She will, too, so I’d take heed.”
“Noted.” His fingertips trail over my waist, my ribs, brushing the sides of my breasts.
Cupping my cheeks, he tilts my head back.
I draw in a breath, preparing myself for him to kiss me.
Except all he does is stares deep into my eyes.
After a good ten seconds have passed, I blink and tear my gaze away.
“Staring at someone for that long without saying anything is weird.”
“Is it?” He waits until I look at him before continuing. “It’s called intimacy, Grace. Does intimacy scare you?”
“No.” Yes. With him, at least. I don’t trust myself with this man. It’s like I’m staring down the barrel of a gun, and even though I know the bullet will kill me, I’m encouraging him to shoot. I hate him. Hate him. Yet at the same time, my body is screaming out for his attention, his touch.
“Good, because intimacy with a woman is my favorite thing in the world, and there’s no one right now I want that with more than you.”
His mouth closes over mine, his fingers tangling in my knotted hair. I’m assailed with the smell of him, the feel of his hands on me, the tautness of his chest as my boobs flatten against him. I try not to groan, but I’m a passenger getting pulled along by a riptide.
His phone rings, and he pulls away from me with a curse. Wrenching it out of his pocket, he glances at the screen and curses again.
“I have to go.” Regret leaches across his face as he caresses my cheek with the back of his hand. “What are you doing tonight?”
“I’m not sure.”
“The answer is simple. You’re seeing me. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.” Flashing an impish grin, he pivots toward the door.
“Wait,” I call out. “What shall I wear?”
“Doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, you won’t be wearing it for long.” With a casual wave, he leaves the building and gets into his car.
As it drives away, I sag against the wall.
I should feel revulsion, fear, or trepidation at the fact I’ll soon be sleeping with the enemy. Instead, I’m delirious with excitement—and that’s the scariest thing of all.