Chapter 2
Grace
If ever there was a sign from above to go home, Iceman’s rejection has it in flashing neon lights. His dismissal stings, but going home to Cameron without a single man here finding me attractive enough to fuck would be the humiliation to beat all humiliations.
My phone lights up with a series of messages from my husband that I studiously ignore. He’s determined to ruin my night, as is the man standing next to me.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I ask. “You might have better luck finding a woman of the night lurking in the lobby if that’s what you’re after.”
Iceman is resting his back against the bar again and makes no show of hearing me. Fine. If he can pretend I’m not here, I’ll do the same. I take a sip of my second cocktail for extra fortification before turning to the crowd and adjusting the folds of my dress to show off more thigh.
The irony isn’t lost on me that I’m living up to the label Iceman gave me by putting my wares on display, but now that Cameron knows exactly what my plan is, I’m getting desperate.
There’s nothing I can do about my husband being the first man I ever slept with, but I can sure as hell make sure he doesn’t remain the last.
The espresso martinis have helped me relax a little, but my pulse quickens every time I make eye contact with someone reasonably attractive.
A few potential candidates draw nearer. Quite a few actually, but before they get close enough for introductions, they have a sudden change of heart and slink away.
One man appears bolder and gets within a few feet. He’s a little older, but he has a nice smile, one that falters when he clocks my security detail. To my utter disbelief, the gutless asshole tips his drink to Iceman then saunters away without giving me a second look.
My head snaps to my nemesis and I catch him glowering at the retreating figure. “Can you not do that.”
He still won’t look at me. “Do what?”
“Be less…” I wave a hand at his colossus frame. “Less you.”
He rubs the back of his neck, a finger sweeping over the scar near the base of his neck. “Some people would argue I am less.”
Taken off guard, I swallow back my next smart remark and quietly absorb the hint of vulnerability I doubt he wanted me to see. And I keep staring at him until he’s forced to meet my gaze. I arch an eyebrow. “Finally. The Iceman cracks.”
He holds my gaze for far longer than should feel comfortable. “The guy was a predator.”
“You’re vetting my suitors now? You do realize I’m after a one-night stand, not a life commitment?”
“I don’t care what you’re after, Grace. I’m simply protecting the good name of this establishment,” he says, resting a hand on the bar as he leans in far too close. “And there’s only a certain level of reckless behavior I’m willing to tolerate.”
Anger makes my blood pound against my ears, momentarily drowning out the chatter and the incessant buzz coming from my phone. I don’t like that he’s discovered my name, but then he knows so much more about me after my conversation with Cameron. I clench my jaw. “Noted.”
I twist away and down what’s left of my cocktail. The couple who had been on my other side have left, giving me a good view of the rest of the bar. I notice a man on his own a few seats away and he notices me. After an exchange of eyebrow quirks, he moves to the vacated stool next to mine.
“Let me get you another of those,” he says, indicating my empty glass.
“Thank you,” I reply with a smile that belies my nerves.
He’s attractive. Well groomed. His cologne catches the back of my throat, but there are worse smells. There are also better smells. Like citrus and cedar.
“I’m Grace,” I force myself to continue.
“Aaron.”
When the bartender accepts our order and Iceman doesn’t intervene, I take it as a green light to carry on.
I should be excited, but my gut twists. I don’t have the slightest inclination to rip Aaron’s clothes off the way I might have done with a certain security guard.
Is revenge against Cameron a good enough reason to go through with this?
Aaron asks me about myself, but when I mention interior design, he starts up a monologue about the houses he’s renovated.
As he talks, he puts a hand on my knee. I’d already checked that he wasn’t wearing a wedding band, but I spot what might be a stripe of paler skin around his third finger.
I smile politely as I move his hand off me.
He gives me a sheepish grin of apology, but carries on talking.
“Chestnut Hill has some beautiful family homes,” I note when he explains where he lives. “Do you have children?”
He winces. “Two.”
There’s no point being polite about this. “And a wife?”
He waves a hand dismissively, then sets it back down on my knee. “We have an arrangement.”
“I imagine you do.” And I imagine Cameron said something similar to the women he bedded over the years.
The ones I know about. And the ones I don’t.
“Well, it’s been lovely talking to you, but I don’t think we should be continuing this conversation.
” Staring pointedly at the hand on my leg, I raise my voice a touch when I add, “And I’m pretty sure my boyfriend wouldn’t appreciate you touching me like that. ”
Tingles dance along my spine as the air shifts behind me. The legs of my stool scrape slowly across the marble floor as I’m pulled backwards until I can feel the touch of fabric against my bare back. The touch transforms into the reassuring pressure of Iceman’s chest as he leans over my shoulder.
“He doesn’t.”
The creep who has an ‘arrangement’ with his wife recoils. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I’m…” he stutters as he removes his hand quickly and jumps up off his stool. “I’ll go.”
“You do that,” says Iceman casually.
I’m enjoying the feel of Iceman’s chest against my back but my cocktail has just arrived and I need a drink. Pulling away, I reach for the glass, but Iceman tugs it from my grasp.
“I don’t think so,” he says. To the bartender, he adds, “Make a fresh one.”
“There was nothing wrong with it,” I complain.
“That asshole bought it.”
“There is that.” I bite my lip. “I wasn’t expecting to you to step in and claim to be my boyfriend.”
“But you were expecting me to step in, weren’t you, Grace?”
Why do I suddenly like the sound of my name on his lips? Is it because, for a brief moment, he claimed me as his?
When I don’t answer, he leans over the bar, mirroring my pose. “What the hell am I supposed to do with you?”
And just like that, my mind is flooded with images of all the things I’d like him to do with me. A goddamn moan tickles my throat before I can swallow it back.
“Fuck,” he hisses just as my phone starts rattling against the quartz countertop.
It’s a call rather than a message this time, and my husband’s name glows on the screen. Iceman picks it up and hands it to me.
“Answer it.”
“But I–”
“Answer it, Grace.”
The last thing I want to do is talk to Cameron right now, but I find myself doing as I’m told and accept the call.
I’m about to put my cell to my ear when Iceman plucks it from my fingers and switches to speakerphone.
We both listen as my husband screeches down the line, barking orders for me to get my ass home.
“Are you done?” Iceman asks when he’s finished.
There’s a long pause before Cameron says, “Who is this?”
The security guard angles his head so we lock eyes. “I’m the man who’s going to fuck your wife. Thoroughly.”
My insides turn molten and I can feel my pulse throbbing between my tightly squeezed legs.
“This is insane!” Cameron yelps. “She’s not in her right mind. You can’t take advantage of someone like that.”
“Clearly you don’t know your wife very well. She’s the one who’ll be taking full advantage of me.” He leans closer to the phone and I do the same. I swipe my tongue over my lower lip, drawing his gaze, and he shakes his head imperceptibly.
“Tell me where you are,” Cameron barks. “You do not get to touch my wife. I’m coming to get her.”
“You can try,” Iceman replies.
I’m pretty sure if this were a video call, Cameron would not be squaring up to this man.
And as much as I’ve dreamt of personally beating my husband to a pulp, I hate physical violence.
I take a breath, ready to intervene, but Iceman presses his finger to my lips.
It’s the first skin on skin contact we’ve had, and I forget all about arguing and concentrate on not sucking that finger into my mouth.
“We’re at the Exemplar in Rittenhouse Square,” Iceman says. “It’s the new Moncrief hotel. Just give your name at the door.”
“I’ll be there.”
When Iceman cuts the call, I pull away the finger he still has pressed to my mouth. “This is such a bad idea. He’ll make a scene.”
“I’ll handle it.”
He says it in a way that makes me trust him. Implicitly. “And then what?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. He’s told Cameron he’s going to fuck me, but we haven’t actually had that conversation. “What would you like to happen next, Grace?”
Panic sets in and my first thought is to take flight and leave before Cameron gets here. Or I could be as reckless as Iceman thinks I am. I can be that woman. Or I can at least pretend to be for one night. I take a shaky breath. “I could see if I can book a room.”
“I have a room,” he says. “I’ll be heading back to Chicago first thing tomorrow morning, but that still leaves the whole night.” He inches closer until we’re almost nose to nose. I can feel his warm breath on my wet lips. “I can give you everything you want, Grace. Multiple times.”
The corners of his mouth tug when I shift in my seat. He knows the effect his words have just had on me.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” I ask, recalling how he’d dismissed me earlier. A man who looks like he does must have his pick of beautiful women. I’m nothing special.