Page 18 of Grant’s Heat

Grant’s blue eyes sparkled with mischief in the artificial office light before roving over my body from the top of my head to the soles of my shoes. When I allowed my own eyes to crawl all the way back up to his, I could feel the heat building in my core. The middle of his throat bobbed as he roughly swallowed, and I focused on my own throat for a moment. It felt so dry and scratchy, and when my eyes finally locked on his mouth…

Holy God…his mouth.

Grant Twombley had the most sinful mouth. Full, sensual lips that seemed to be made expressly for a woman’s pleasure. Hours and hours of pleasure. But not mine.

No. Not mine. Not. Mine.

“Where do you want me?” I gasped. Then, mortified at what just came out of my mouth, I all but shouted, “It! Your lunch. Where do you want your lunch, Grant?”

Fucking hell.

I shook my head while squeezing my eyes shut. Wishing for a cloak of invisibility seemed pointless and juvenile, but it was worth a try.

Who was I kidding? None of my wishes ever came true, no matter how simple or how complex they were. I was always left to clean up the messes I made for myself—proved by the moment I peeked out of one lid and saw Grant watching me with that damn smirk plastered on his mug.

So the invisibility thing was really a no-go.

“Okay, seriously. What’s going on with you today, woman? You’re acting crazier than usual.” He smiled, and I knew his intention wasn’t to be cruel with his words. I’d been called crazy most of my life. Most of the time, people said the word to sting. Most of the time, it did.

“Just tired.”

“Bullshit.” Grant crowded closer to me, but the catering cart was still between us. Those damn blue eyes, piercing icicles, carved at my carefully constructed layers of protection. “Am I your last delivery?”

I just nodded. I couldn’t trust the sound that might come out of my parched throat in place of words.

“Sit with me.” He walked over to the conference table, an impressive piece of furniture despite being much smaller than the one in Shark’s office. He never looked back to see that I followed. Somehow, he just knew I would. Again, it was that voice—not the words. That ineffable pull between us.

Okay, so I also had the lunch he’d paid a ridiculously high price for. But his food could’ve been sitting out in the hall on a paper plate, and it wouldn’t have mattered.

“Do you want iced tea with your lunch?” I had to say something to stop this train we were on from barreling any farther down the track. I had an intense feeling there was a bridge out—just up ahead—and people were going to get hurt if we weren’t careful.

“Sure,” he said, finally looking away for a moment to tend to his vibrating phone. “Do you have lunch for yourself? If not, we can share.”

“I’m not really hungry. Don’t worry about me.”

A low growl emanated from the center of his chest. “Blaze.”

“Grant, I’m serious. Cut the bossy shit. I had a late breakfast, and I said I’m not hungry.”

“Then sit down and tell me what’s really happening with you.” He motioned toward the door with the fork he’d just unfurled from his napkin. “You just about jumped out of your skin when you came around the corner out there.”

After one last scan to ensure he had everything he needed to enjoy his meal, I took the seat beside him at the round table. I rested my chin on my fist, waiting for him to have a bite or two of his meal. It gave me a perfect break for organizing my thoughts.

I certainly wasn’t going to get into the struggle I was having with my physical attraction to the man himself. That left the chaos with my husband. But did I really want to open up about that? Somehow it felt like a betrayal to Sean. But why would talking to Grant, my friend, be any different from talking to Abbi? Or Hannah?

Maybe it would be better, actually.

Grant might have a unique man’s perspective on the whole mess. A point of view that I’d yet to tap into with anyone else.

“Jesus, Rio.” He chuckled.

I gave my head a little shake. “Huh?” I asked, focusing on him again, offering a sheepish smile. I had really wandered off in thought. “I’m sorry,” I muttered. “My brain follows weird tangents sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” he replied. “I just said that this is fantastic.”

He held the bite of pasta a bit higher to draw my attention to the subject, then shoveled it into his mouth.

Christ. That mouth.