Chapter 8
Eight
Grier nearly choked on her tongue as she ducked behind a passing waiter, breaking eye contact with the captain and gasping for the breath she’d been holding.
Shirtless! Seriously? Captain Maes was toying with her.
As if the tuxedo alone wouldn’t have had the desired effect, she had to forgo the shirt—and bra!
All that exposed skin—Grier’s fingers were burning to explore it.
She threw back a large gulp of her cocktail, trying to douse the heat rising in her chest.
Where the hell were Grant and Delta? Or Alix? Maren? They were literally just here. She needed a distraction. She needed camouflage.
“What are you doing?” Delta openly judged her.
“Oh! There you are!” Grier spun toward her niece. “I was looking for you.”
“Right.” Delta rolled her eyes. “You were practically squatting in that dress, Auntie.”
Grier swallowed the lump in her throat. “Fine. I saw the captain and I wanted to unsee her, so I ducked.”
“You hid? Why?”
“I panicked,” Grier admitted, bracing for another snide remark from her overly involved niece.
“Auntie, you don’t have to hide. If you want to talk to her, just say hi.”
“How old are you? How did you get so wise?” Grier stared at her, humbled by the simple directive. It provided her with an astonishing calm that had been absent moments before.
“From me, obviously.” Grant appeared at Grier’s side, grinning as he leaned in to kiss her cheek and squeezed Delta’s shoulder in passing.
“Sorry, I got sidetracked. I ran into Dr. Rhodes and wanted to catch up.” He mentioned one of the hospital’s pediatric surgeons— someone Grier absolutely adored and had mentally paired with her brother ages ago, just waiting for him to be ready.
“It’s okay,” she muttered. “I’m just avoiding humiliation over here, only to be schooled by your daughter about appropriate adult conversation techniques.”
“Those techniques aren’t exclusive to adults, Auntie. Most conversations start with a ‘Hello.’” Delta’s smirk twisted into a full- blown grin as she suddenly lifted her hand and waved enthusiastically at someone behind her.
“Or a wave,” she added impishly. Her eyes gleamed with conspiracy.
“Delta, if I turn around right now, I better see Alix or Maren.” “Don’t worry, you would.” Her niece’s grin sharpened into something smug. “And Captain Maes.”
Grier had approximately half a millisecond to breathe and prepare herself for what she estimated could only be a disaster in the making.
“Hi, Delta.” The voice slid across Grier’s skin before she even turned. Chills spread along the bare skin of her open back and along her arms, stealing the moisture from her mouth.
“Hi, Captain Maes! We were just talking about you!” Delta beamed. Grier had to fight the urge to run away. Or cover her face in humiliation. Her mouth was so dry.
“Good things, I hope. I don’t think I left too poor an impression on you during your tour last week.” Captain Maes literally crooned, settling smoothly into place beside Grier.
Grier refused to make eye contact, delaying that part of her mortification as long as possible. She could feel the captain looking at her, imploring her to turn and face her.
“Auntie was just saying she saw you and hoped she got to talk to you tonight,” Delta piped up.
Desert. Her mouth was as barren as the Sahara. She managed a sideways glance, and a thin, embarrassed smile.
“Interesting,” the captain drawled. “I could’ve sworn she ducked out of sight the second she saw me.”
Grier froze, unable to dispute the captain’s roast. The captain’s grin told her she was enjoying this torture.
“But, if what you say is true, Delta, then I’m not nearly as offended as I thought I was.” Captain Maes flashed a devastating smile at Delta.
They were working together, and enjoying every second of Grier’s discomfort.
“All true. She thinks you’re hot.” Delta replied deviously.
The captain’s smile widened, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “I’m suddenly recalling how very candid this family can be.”
“Sometimes a little too candid.” Grant narrowed his eyes at Delta, then shot Grier a sympathetic look. “I’m Grant—Grier’s brother, and that miscreant’s father.” Pride slipped through, despite his warning glance at his daughter.
Grier stared at her empty glass—just ice and meltwater left. She had to risk it. She couldn’t say anything with her tongue sitting in her mouth like lead. And she needed to say something to try to recover from this shit show.
She threw back her empty cocktail glass. A remnant of ice hit the back of her throat and ruthlessly lodged there, taking up residence. She coughed. But that didn’t dislodge the ice. She coughed again, louder. Heat spread across her face, half fear, half humiliation.
Captain Maes turned directly toward her, bending her knees to bring them eye to eye. Concern softened her features. “Dr. Savage, are you okay?”
Still coughing, Grier managed only a simple nod as tears welled along her eyelids. Death by ice cube. This isn’t how she thought she’d die—but at least her final sight would be a goddess.
A warm, firm hand landed with a thud between her shoulder blades. Twice. The ice dislodged from her throat and landed, mercifully, on her tongue, wetting it just enough to allow her to croak. “Thank you.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. She hadn’t died—but she wanted to. Except the warmth on her open back hadn’t ceased with her coughing. The captain’s hand had remained. What fresh hell was this? One torture to the next. She couldn’t read the captain’s intentions, and that uncertainty was dizzying.
A flick of movement caught her eye—Alix and Maren, two yards away, eyes wide, white, and unrepentant.
Shock and amusement were plain in their expressions.
They were shamelessly gawking at the entire display, from Delta’s invitation to the captain to Grier’s near-death experience.
She felt like a train wreck, her friends more interested in goose-necking than offering to rescue her.
She glared daggers; they were received with zero remorse.
“Let’s get you another drink. Maybe one without ice?”
The captain’s voice was low, amused. When Grier dared to meet her gaze, she caught the unmistakable dilation of pupils as the captain looked at her fully for the first time since she walked over.
Alix and Maren had spent hours shoving her in and out of dresses for this event, but the winner had been the one that silenced them completely—no quips, no opinions, just slack-jawed stares when she’d stepped from the fitting room.
The dress clung and glittered like sin. A high halter neckline left her shoulders exposed, while the fitted bodice flowed into an asymmetrical hem with a daring thigh-high slit, every step threatening a glimpse of toned thigh.
An open back emphasized Grier’s developed shoulders, toned back and feminine hips.
Black sequins shimmered with every subtle movement, and the strappy plum heels added a splash of color and emphasized her legs and ass.
Judging by the way Captain Maes’s pupils flared, the effect landed squarely where Alix and Maren had intended.
The green of her irises was different in the darkness of the atrium, with grays and browns swirling along the edges.
Her eyes seemed capable of holding Grier captive and simultaneously causing her undoing with a single, sultry gaze.
“You guys don’t mind if I steal her for a minute, do you?” The captain asked Grant and Delta, never shifting her gaze from Grier’s.
“Go ahead,” Grant said quickly. Grier saw her bother nod emphatically from her periphery. “Just have her back by midnight. She’s our ride.”
“Dad!” Delta groaned, appalled. “Keep her as long as you want, Captain Maes!”
Heat pooled low in Grier’s stomach as she nodded her consent, her mouth once again dry, but for entirely different reasons. Their eyes were locked in a silent, sensual standoff, neither willing to blink. The captain’s hand still rested warm against the small of her back, as if it belonged there.
“Let me take this one.” The captain plucked the empty glass from Grier’s hand and set it on passing tray. The break in eye contact let Grier finally drag in a full breath.
Then the captain’s hand slipped lower. Really low.
Low enough that Grier’s pulse responded inversely, galloping through her system.
Fingers pressed firmly into the small of her back, the edge of a pinky teasing at the seam of her dress just above her ass.
It was seductive. And Grier accepted the warmth that flooded her groin with patient knowing.
“Shall we?” A cockeyed grin formed along the corner of Tobin’s mouth. Grier was suddenly very interested in that mouth.
She had to swallow the cotton ball in her throat. Her voice, barely a whisper, responded before she could think better of it. “Yes. Please.” It sounded far too hungry.
The captain nudged her forward, guiding her with that steady hand, before sliding down to capture Grier’s wrist. The absence on her back was shockingly cold as a chill spread through her body, yearning for warmth from the captain’s touch.
At the bar, Tobin ordered two waters—no ice— and passed one over, tapping the glasses together.
She tipped hers back, throat working with a slow swallow that dragged Grier’s gaze down the sinews of her neck, over the deep cut of the tux jacket.
Her eyes drifted lower to her open sternum and halted on the inviting swell of the captain’s cleavage.
A small slip of black ink winked at her from the curve of the captain’s left breast.
Grier wanted desperately to see more, to follow it first with her eyes and then, delicately, with her fingers.
She gulped. Her mouth was dry again. Her body responded to the captain in ways it never had with other romantic interests.
The captain cleared her throat. “I appreciate the admiration, but my eyes are a tad higher.”
Fuck.