“Come in,” I call.
She pushes the door open, her cheeks flushed, her sea-blue eyes brimming with emotion. Her lips are trembling and for a second I just stare, wondering what’s wrong with her.
What I don’t have to wonder about, though, is the reaction it provokes in me. Any doubt vanishes from my mind the second I drop the tennis ball, letting it thud on the floor, and stride across the office.
“Grace,” I whisper, opening my arms and pulling her close. “Jesus, what is it?”
“I’m just being silly,” she whispers, letting me hold her, her body hot like there’s an inferno burning her up from the inside. “It’s just the flowers. I guess it reminded me of … well, my grandma, for one thing. But also of us. I remember that day, when we talked about it.”
“So do I,” I whisper, feeling answering emotion rise inside of me. I swallow a lump of regret as I smooth my thumb along her tear-wet cheeks. “It was a good day. I wasn’t playing until the following day. So we had it all to ourselves.”
“I remember,” she says, smiling through her tears. “Jeez, Harry, this is so hard.”
“What is?” I ask quietly.
“Just—this. Being close to you.”
“I know,” I growl. “But it’s good, too.”
She giggles.“I know,”she says, imitating my voice.
There’s nothing in the world that could stop me from kissing her right now.
She looks too vulnerable, too genuine, too damnhuman.
I grab her shoulders and kiss her cheek lightly, tasting the salt of her tears, and then smooth my rough lips along her smooth skin to her lips. She parts her mouth and we taste each other, Grace sliding her hands through my hair, her fingernails dragging along my scalp.
Goddamn, but fuckinggoosebumpsactually prick all along my neck, warmth encircling my throat. I haven’t felt this in years.
I grab the small of her back and bring her even closer to me, opening my mouth wide as our tongues clash. We swirl them around each other and then I move my hands lower, palming the spheres of her ass, wrapped tightly in the yoga pants like the best present in the world.
Her body pauses, her breath stilling, and then she grinds herself against me, up and down.
“W-wait,” she gasps, forcibly pulling herself away. “We can’t do this. Not like this. Not here.”
“Why not?” I whisper. My manhood is like a firework, the fuse already lit, the base fiery. “I’ll lock the damn door. I’ll close the blinds.”
“Harry,” she snaps. “It’s morning. Your receptionist is out there.”
“Fucking Adam,” I groan, not because I don’t like him, but because, right now, he’s the one standing between me and the sexiest woman on the planet.
She leans back in my embrace, tilting her head at me. “What, you’ve got a problem with Adam?” she asks sharply.
“What?” I mutter, confusion boiling through me. There’s a defensive note in her voice I don’t like one fucking bit. “No, I barely even know him.”
“Hmm,” she says, disentangling herself from my embrace. She moves away from me, walking over to the desk, her back turned. “I guess I just misread your tone, huh? Because right then, it sounded like you fricking hated him.”
“Why so defensive?” I snap. “Who is he to you?”
She shrugs. “We’ve talked a little.”
There’s something about the way she says it that raises the hairs on the back of my neck.
“Talked about what?” I ask, trying to sound casual.
For a minute she doesn’t say anything. Her shoulders seem to tense up. I’m not one of her fucking psychics, but even I can see that she’s really uncomfortable.
Suddenly, the idea that there’s something going on between Adam and Grace hits me like a hate-tipped arrow.
