Page 5 of Grant’s Heat

I quickly texted Rio that I was on my way. After a ten-minute walk, I was hiking up the sprawling steps at Bunker Hill.

When I finally reached the summit, there was a raven-haired pixie with the constant devilish gleam in her brandy eyes to greet me. As I gasped for air, she threw her head back, taking obvious delight in my distress.

“What’s”—gasp—“so”—gasp—“funny?” I folded in half, gripping my knees while sucking in air through my nose. “Motherfucker, that’s a lot of stairs.”

She popped up on her feet while I straightened my stance. The top of her head only reached the knot of my tie since she was in one of the nineteen pairs of Chuck Taylors she owned. And yes, I’d counted and mentally cataloged them all.

“You, Mr. Tough Guy, getting so winded from a few steps.” She cranked her head back to look up at me, so I went back down three of the shallow concrete steps to put us back to mutual eye level.

“This was your plan all along, you little brat,” I accused, narrowing my eyes.

Wiping a tear from the corner of her eye, she asked, “What?”

“You’re trying to kill me.”

“Nah.” Her elfin features sobered. “I like you too much to kill you.”

She issued the last of it in a voice so soft, I could’ve been mistaken about what I’d heard.

“Maybe just hurt me a little, then?” I decided to fight fire with fire. As I added to the quiet taunt, I leaned slightly toward her, letting my register drop even lower. “Like a cat toying with a mouse?”

“Yeah. Maybe something like that.”

Rio grinned and looked at where her slender fingers wrapped around the railing. Black nail polish tipped her delicate hands, bringing a dirty image to the forefront of my mind. I imagined that metal pole being my shaft instead…

And there was no going back.

My slacks became agonizingly tight in the crotch.

No. Bad Grant. Married woman.

At once, my logic—and my stomach—supplied the perfect subject. “Are you hungry, Blaze?” I inquired. “Have you eaten anything today?” The woman had a terrible habit of neglecting herself in favor of caring for others, and I called her on it routinely when we worked together.

“Yes, Daddy. Thank you.” She wrinkled her nose at me in defiance. “But I am hungry, now that you mention it. I think there might be an empanada cart across the patio. Somewhere that way.”

She pointed with one of those black nails, and my dick kicked up again. And now, the recognition was getting outright odd. Since when was Wednesday Addams nail polish a thing I actually liked? Easy answer: never. Goth girls just weren’t my thing. Too much angst. Too much emotion, period. But Rio Gibson wasn’t the quintessential goth girl. She had her own unique style in just about everything she did.

Her short ebony hair, for example. It was downright fascinating. I found myself staring at it when we talked. It caught and absorbed sunlight like a spectrum. Then, depending on the way she turned her head, it shone the rays back in different colors altogether. Sometimes scarlet or cobalt, other times the deepest chestnut or hint of violet.

“Is your hair naturally black?” I randomly blurted the curiosity as we walked across the deck. Jesus, I probably sounded like a smitten schoolboy, though at the moment, I didn’t really care. Right now, I didn’t want to think about what anyone else thought—except for the captivating human at my side, who tilted her head before answering. Likely, she was trying to figure out the same thing I was. What the hell had gotten into me?

“Yep,” she answered simply and then completely changed the subject. “I’m buying. What would you like?”

“You’ll do no such thing.” I didn’t lift my gaze from the small menu.

“Why? I can afford to buy you lunch, Grant.”

“I’m sure you can. But I’m old-fashioned and a gentleman. And because I said so. Tell the woman what you want, please. Beef and a bottle of water for me, please, and whatever the lady would like.” I motioned Rio to order with a sweep of my hand.

She huffed and rolled her eyes. And sure enough, my cock twitched yet again. Dear God, how I longed to teach this girl some manners—and to do it my way. A different definition of “the old-fashioned way.” Over my knees. A paddle. My hand. A hairbrush, maybe? On her delicate bare ass…

“Hmmm.” I shifted my stance, applying damn near the same kind of discipline to my willful erection.

For fuck’s sake. Settle down.

“Hmmm, what?”

“What?” I startled from my fantasy. Good thing too, since the cart was getting a line and the sweet old lady behind was pushing me off with a pointed glare. I paid her and then guided Rio to the side, where we could wait for our food.