THE PAST TWO WEEKS had been all business, which kept me from going away with Grady. I launched my website and it couldn’t have gone more perfectly. After Bermuda, Grady ended up going to Los Angeles to shoot a television pilot leaving us with zero staged outings for the tabloids. As far as arrangements go, ours had seemed to be working against us or not working at all.
England ended up dominating both the United States and France in the World Cup. Analysts now have them favored to win it all. From the look of things, Harry didn’t have any excuse for poor play. I mistakenly turned on ESPN and watched the highlights. As one announcer said, Harry Brackman was on fire. It was true enough. I’d never seen him play so well. Perhaps he was correct in ending our relationship.
In other news, reasons for the James/Young divorce cheating scandal circulated and the tabloids took a different direction with Heather’s accusations.
Grady James and Harlow Trembley Relationship Rebound—Revenge of the Ex’s.
At this point, the entire scheme felt ineffective, and I’d seemed to have lost sight of why we were even doing this in the first place. I wondered if Grady was feeling the same way.
The only thing that I was sure of was that I missed him when he wasn’t around. I missed our talks, and I had little desire to hit up any of the local restaurants or coffee shops without him. I craved his intellectual notes and fun facts.
Grady: I may be seated next to a killer on this flight. Thinking an assassin.
Harlow: How do you figure?
Grady: His hands are stained reddish-orange and he looks as if he’s been crying.
Harlow: Maybe he’s a painter.
Harlow: A sensitive artist.
Grady: I’m going with murderer fleeing the country. Let’s see if he’s going straight to
New York or has a connecting flight.
Harlow: If he was a murderer fleeing, I think he’d pick Australia.
Grady: He’s going to London. I see why you would think Australia.
Grady: But, he said he just filmed a scene for a movie and his character had been killed off.
Grady: Apparently, there was no time to shower.
Grady: Dammit. Now, he wants to talk to me.
Harlow: That’s what you get for peopling.
Grady: What’s peopling?
Harlow: In layman’s terms, basically being social.
Grady: You kids and your new words.
Harlow: I resent that. I’m just hipper than you, old man.
Grady: How old are you?
Harlow: Remember how I told you to never call a woman crazy?
Grady: Yeah.
Harlow: You should never ask a woman her age.
Grady: You sound like my mother.
Harlow: I would be offended at that comment, but I haven’t met your mother.
Harlow: She sounds like a pretty classy lady who has manners.
Grady: Wikipedia says that you are thirty.
Grady: My mother is definitely a classy lady. You’d like her. I think you should meet her sometime.
Grady: Will you be confirming your age?
Grady: What if I told you that I’m 33? Does that help matters? A share for a share?
Harlow: Maybe.
Grady: Flight is taking off. I’ll text you when I get to NYC.
Harlow: Safe travels.
Grady suggested that I should meet his mother. Was that how far he was willing to take this faux relationship? With a smile, I set my phone onto the counter and returned to the task in front of me.
I couldn’t decide which cocktails to feature next. At the moment, I was trying to decide between simple syrup and triple sec for the pineapple margarita recipe I was concocting. Definitely wanted a lime and pineapple garnish.
I sipped the cocktail with triple sec and then the one with simple syrup. They were both yummy.
Choices. Choices.
And I did need to make a choice. After sampling multiple times, although tipsy, the choice was certain. The orange of the triple sec was just too much and confused the flavor profile. Once I fashioned together a few glasses, I grabbed my camera and took several photos.
Grady: Just landed in New York.
Grady: I have twenty-seven minutes before my flight to East Harbour.
Harlow: Are you going to make it to the wedding on time?
Grady: I should. Are you sure that I can’t pick you up on the way to the ceremony?
Harlow: I’ve been working on a few cocktail recipes today. I’m a little drunk.
Harlow: I don’t want to show up wasted to your friend’s wedding.
Grady: Understandable. Day drinking is an art form.
Harlow: Definitely a marathon, not a sprint.
Grady: How are things with Cocktails & Couture? I’m guessing good, if you’re drunk.
Harlow: I can’t believe the views that it’s getting.
Grady: I enjoyed the travel packing tips post.
Harlow: You read that post?
Grady: I’m sure that I’ve read all of them. And I signed up for your newsletter.
Grady: Is the bikini in the photo one that you’ll be wearing in the Caribbean?
Harlow: Perhaps.
Grady: Fantastic. For the second part of our trip, we have a private beach.
Grady: Clothing is optional.
Harlow: I’m not sunbathing nude.
Grady: Topless?
Harlow: How private is this beach? Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?
Grady: Nope. You need to embrace the element of surprise.
Grady: How about you send me a picture of you topless right now?
Harlow: Haven’t we discussed nude photos already?
Harlow: No nude selfies. Ever.
Grady: Get a Snap Chat account.
Harlow: No.
Grady: Redirect.
Grady: How much convincing do I need in order to get you into my bed naked tonight?
Harlow: You’re going to be exhausted after traveling and the wedding.
Grady: I’ll never be too exhausted to fuck you.
Grady: Time to board. Give some thought to spending the night with me. I want to see you.
Grady: I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow to kiss you.
Grady: Redirect.
Grady: I’m not waiting. Want you in my bed tonight or I’ll be in yours.
Grady: I have to admit. This wedding is rather romantic.
Harlow: Aren’t all weddings romantic?
Grady: I suppose.
Grady: What are you doing? Still drinking?
Harlow: No. I went for a swim to help sober up.
Harlow: Now, I’m eating pineapple and shrimp tacos.
Grady: And you didn’t send me a picture of you in a swimsuit?
Grady: How much do you love pineapple?
Harlow: You didn’t send me a picture of you in a suit.
Harlow: Pineapple is sweet and juicy. What’s not to love?
Grady: Fair point.
Grady: BTW, the innuendo door is wide open for me about your sweet and juicy expletive.
Harlow: I love it when you talk dirty to me, especially when you censor yourself. Hot.
Grady: I’m sweating my balls off. Beach weddings are hot as fuck, even at dusk.
Harlow: Tell me about the bride’s dress.
Grady: Ivory I think. Could be off white. Strapless.
Grady: I have a picture of Alex and Ella. I can show you later.
Harlow: I haven’t said yes, to spending the night with you, yet.
Grady: You said yet. That implies you will.
Harlow: Perhaps.
Grady: You will.
Harlow: I was thinking. We need to get a couple of rafts.
Harlow: For your boat and for your pool.
Harlow: Like a pink flamingo or I found a pineapple shaped one.
Grady: Anything you want. You got it.
Grady: The bride and groom just left.
Grady: Am I on my way to your house or are you coming to mine?
Harlow: I’m out the door. You need to sleep in your own bed tonight.
Grady: Sleep? That’s cute. I won’t be doing much sleeping in my bed tonight.
Grady: My headboard is going to punch a hole into my wall tonight, sweetheart.
I parked my car and tossed my keys into my handbag. Hauling my overnight bag higher onto my shoulder, I walked up the stone sidewalk. It was a gorgeous summer evening, storybook perfect, no humidity and the smell of chlorine and oriental lilies hung in the air. Squinting, I tapped the code into security pad and then pushed open the door.
“Grady, I’m here.”
The entryway was dark, a little bit of light illuminated the kitchen. As I stepped further into the house, the glint from the moon splashed over every fixture and surface. I dropped my bag to the floor and set my laptop and handbag on the island.
“Whoa.” A voice said—his voice. I’d know Grady’s voice anywhere.
I turned around to face him. The moonlight passed over his face, when he stepped in front of the window. I studied his neck, and his five o’clock shadow. Dirty thoughts surfaced, thinking about his face between my legs with that scruff rubbing against my most sensitive spots. I pressed my thighs together, averting my eyes to concentrate on the buttons of his dress shirt, two at the top, unbuttoned with his tie draped loosely around his neck.
One . . . two . . . three . . . four strides and he was on me, pushing my back against the cool glass of his refrigerator.
“You’re in a bikini.”
“Well, you did say that you wanted to see it.”
“You drove to my house wearing a bikini in the middle of the night.” His finger teased under the thin strap of my top brushing across the rise of my breast. “You’re such a weirdo, I love it.”
Brushing my hair to the side, his eyes met mine. He leaned into me, kissing his way up my neck and over my jaw. He sealed his mouth over mine, kissing me deeply, sucking all the air out of my lungs.
“I’m the weirdo, you’ve been texting me perverse and filthy things all day.” He nipped my bottom lip making me moan.
“You don’t mind, though.” His fingers dipped inside my bikini bottoms. My cheeks heated, feeling the rush of wetness pooling between my thighs. A groan rattled his throat, when his fingers pushed inside me.
His hands slid to my ass, spreading my arousal along my hip. When his lips kissed below my ear, while gripping and kneading my bare flesh, I nearly lost my mind. My fingers dug into his shoulder, and everything tightened inside me.
“You’re so hot,” he murmured against my skin.
Grady lifted me up onto the island, the sound of my thighs slapping against the surface was the only thing that I registered before his mouth was on me again. I managed to knock the fruit bowl over sending whatever was in there rolling onto the floor.
“Sorry, about that,” I laughed against his lips.
His hand slid under my top, caressing my breast. “Not a problem. Are you clumsy around all fruit?” he asked, his finger pinching my nipple.
My hands gripped his forearms. “It seems that way.”
“Except for pineapples,” he mused.
“Yeah, pineapples.”
Snaking my arms around his neck, I wanted to say something dirty, something depraved but words were lost in a haze with Grady’s fingers sliding up and under my thighs. He took me by surprise when his chest pressed against mine propelling me backwards.
“Now, I’m going do something that I’ve fantasized about since the day I saw you at Buchanan Beauty.” With a snap of his wrist he removed his tie from around his neck and tossed it onto the counter. My breath hitched at the possibility of him using it to blindfold me or tie me up. Parts of me wondered if I’d even like that—if I could let go and give up control.
My hips jerked, when I felt the ties of my bottoms fall away. “Lift up, I want you bare.”
I arched up, and Grady removed the fabric from my body. I was opened and exposed to him in the most vulnerable way. Goosebumps splashed across my body when his warm breath fanned across my skin. I levered up onto my elbows watching him as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
“I’m going to eat you so well that you’ll get wet tomorrow just thinking about it and then I’m going to fuck you in a way that makes you throb when you have flashbacks.” His voice was rich and full of promise.
“Good, because I want to hug your face with my thighs.”
Teasing me, his lips trailed up my stomach as his fingertips grazed my thighs. His tongue lashed over my skin, rubbing my clit with his thumb and driving me out of my mind.
“Oh, fuck—your mouth.” My fingers twisted and pulled his dark strands while I murmured inaudible pleas and hummed moans of satisfaction.
“You look just as beautiful as I imagined you would.”
Two long fingers pushed inside me as he continued licking me into an epic orgasm. Searing pleasure wound its way through me at the primal way he ate and licked my pussy. This was a man who knew his way around a woman’s clit. Grady James was both a scholar and a gentleman when it came to all things foreplay and fucking.
“I love the taste of you on my tongue.”
“Grady.” His name came out in desperate plea wanting him to soothe the needy ache deep inside me. The ache he created.
I wanted more—more of this, more of him. Increasing, his rhythm, his lips and tongue worked a delicious friction making me hot and slick. The scrape of his stubble against my thighs made me drunk with lust and I rocked against him.
“There’s my dirty girl,” he groaned against my skin. “Does it feel good when you rub your gorgeous pussy against my face?”
Fucking hell. His teeth nipped and sucked my folds, biting the tender skin ever so slightly.
“Please,” I moaned feeling my muscles tightening and pulsing.
He twisted his fingers inside me, and his tongue lashed over my skin making me cry out as my orgasm ripped through my body. Toe-curling, mind numbing explosions unleashed and a tidal wave of heat crashing over me.
“Grady!” His name bounced off every wall and beam in his home. He tongue fucked me through another orgasm and I had to push him away, it was too much. Multiples were his specialty, as if further convincing was needed. If my legs weren’t jellied I’d stand up, clap, and cheer giving him the proper ovation he deserved for that performance.
I gazed up at him, watching as Grady pushed his dark hair away from his eyes.
“Is it okay to kiss you after, that?”
“Mmmm hmm.”
He dipped his head, crushing his lips to mine. My tongue stroked against his. A shiver moved through me, tasting me on him. His hands threaded through my hair, gripping at the base of my neck pulling me up to him. “Now since you’ve wrecked my kitchen, let’s go wreak havoc in my bedroom.”