The ride to his building is short. Or maybe it just feels that way, time compressing under the weight of anticipation. Grant's hand finds mine again in the car, this time landing further up my thigh.
His penthouse is everything I suspected it would be—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, modern furniture that probably costs more than my yearly rent, the kind of elegance that whispers wealth in every room. I usually hate these types of places because they’re so sterile.
But Grant's place doesn't feel sterile. There are books stacked on the coffee table, a laptop left open on the kitchen counter, some framed photos hanging on the walls.
"Can I get you something?" Grant asks, shrugging out of his jacket. "Water, tea?—"
"I'm fine." I set my purse down, suddenly uncertain. There’s no table between us now. No server to interrupt.
Just us and everything we haven't said.
He moves to the windows, looking out at the city spread below us. "I meant what I said earlier. About wanting to do this right."
"I know."
"But I'm also aware that there's no right way to navigate this situation." He turns to face me. "We're having twins together and trying to build something—friendship, partnership, co-parenting—while also dealing with the fact that we're attracted to each other."
"Extremely attracted," I correct quietly.
God, why did I say that?
His jaw tightens. "Extremely attracted. And I don't know the rules here, Emma. I don't know if we're supposed to ignore that, or acknowledge it, or?—"
"I don't know either." I take a step toward him. "All I know is that I haven't stopped thinking about Florence. About you. And I know that's probably not smart, given everything we're dealing with, but?—"
I don't get to finish the sentence.
Grant crosses the space between us in three strides, his hands framing my face, and then his mouth is on mine. The kiss is nothing like Florence—not soft or exploratory or tentative. This is desperate. Hungry. Like we've both been holding back and the dam just broke.
I kiss him back with equal desperation, my hands grabbing at his shirt, pulling him closer. He backs me against the nearest wall, his body hard against mine, and I gasp against his mouth.
"Tell me to stop," he breathes against my lips. "Tell me this is a bad idea."
"It's a terrible idea," I say, then drag his mouth back to mine.
His hands slide into my hair, tilting my head for better access. I arch into him, craving the contact, the heat, theoverwhelming rightness of being in his arms again. In Florence, this felt like a fantasy—something stolen and separate from reality.
This feels different. Raw. Real. Weighted with everything we know now, everything we're about to face together.
He pulls back enough to look at me. "I need to hear you say you want this."
"I want this." The words come out breathless but certain. "I want you."
Something in his expression cracks. Then he's lifting me, my legs wrapping around his waist, and he's carrying me down the hallway to his bedroom.
The room is all clean lines and muted colors, but I barely register it. Grant sets me down beside the bed, his hands going to the tie of my wrap dress.
"This dress has been driving me insane all night," he murmurs, his fingers working the knot.
"I noticed." I can’t help but giggle.
The dress falls open, and his hands slide beneath the fabric, pushing it off my shoulders. It pools at my feet, leaving me in just my bra and panties. His gaze rakes over me, and I watch something shift in his expression.
"You're so beautiful," he says quietly. "And I know—I know you're probably not feeling beautiful right now, with everything your body is going through, but Emma—" His hand settles over my stomach, gentle and reverent. "You're breathtaking."
Tears prick my eyes. I blink them back, reaching for his shirt buttons instead. "You're wearing too many clothes."
He helps me, shrugging out of his shirt, and I press my hands against his chest. Solid muscle, the steady thud of his heart beneath my palm. I lean forward and press my lips to his collarbone, smelling the faint trace of his cologne.
