Anywhere You Are (10 page)

“Maybe you should let it go.”

“That's not an option.”

“Why not?”

“My deals just don't fall apart. And if I haven't tried every angle to make this thing work, then I haven't done my job. I've got a meeting with the government set up next week, and I need to make sure everything's ready for that before I make my case. I refuse to believe this is my last shot, but if it is, I'm going to damn sure be as well prepared as possible for it.”

“And if you can't make it work?”

Marc shrugged. “I'll try a different angle.”

She leaned back. “I can tell you're a man who works hard. But I think you might not know when stopping is in your best interest. I mean, how much money is tied up in this project? A million dollars? Two million?”

“Try a hundred million.”

She didn't even blink. “I don't think money is worth giving up your health. Or your sanity.”

“Says the woman who grew up with plenty.”

She nodded her head sadly. “Yeah.”

“You aren't happy you grew up rich?”

“Sure,” she said, her eyes guarded. “I mean, like my mom always says, it's better to have money than not to have it.”

“You don't sound convinced.”

“Things changed. Even from my early childhood. I keep thinking back to how my parents weren't always the way they are now. Once upon a time, Evergood was just a band from Birmingham trying to make it and my mom was just a young, unknown model. She did a show in London, where she met my dad at some run-down club where he was opening for another band. My dad told me those days, playing trashy clubs at night, practicing during the day, making zero money and hacking around with his mates, were some of the happiest of his life. I've seen pictures. They seemed so young and free and glad to be alive. The music and the art mattered, not the money. But now, everything's a production. My mom seems to be cool with it, but honestly, I think my dad was happier before.”

“The money changed them.”

She nodded her head. “Yeah.”

“And you don't want it to change you.”

“Of course I want to have enough money to live, but it's not something I need in excess. I think it masks what's really important.”

“What's that?”

“Art. Music. Beauty. All the things I gained when I stopped worrying about how much I was raking in and started being more concerned with how I lived my life. Of course, things still aren't easy. I mean, just this week, I got turned down for a project I'm really passionate about, all because I didn't want to sell out, but I'm not giving up. I'll make it on my own terms. I just have to figure out how.”

She was so young, yet so wise. “How old are you?” he asked abruptly.

“How old are
you
?” she countered.

“You don't want to know.”

“Seriously? You're not going to tell me?” After a moment, she shrugged. “It doesn't matter anyway. I don't mind telling you how old
I
am, though. I'm twenty-seven, which you could have figured out from Wikipedia. I have my own page. Not that I care. I'd be happy if it all went away, but no. The public has a right to know and all that jazz.” She gave him a sad smile.

Never had the urge been so strong to soothe, to comfort. He reached across the table with an open hand. She stared at it, then slowly slid her hand into his. His fingers closed around her small, warm one, her pulse ticking rapidly under his fingers.

Heaven.

“You already know you're on the right path,” he told her. “You'll find a way to do what you love while staying true to who you are. Or who you want to be.”

She raised her eyes to his and gave him such a hopeful look it almost broke his heart. “Do you really think so?”

“Grace, after hearing everything you just told me, I know so.”

For several long moments, she simply gazed at him. “Thank you,” she finally said, her voice soft. “And I hope someday you'll figure out your path, too.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he had already figured everything out. That his whole life was a well-oiled machine, running like clockwork—work, sleep, exercise, repeat. But he couldn't, because it wasn't. Not anymore. And it was partly because of her that he was able to see that.

Her.

But why her? And why now? After so many years of thinking and not feeling, he wasn't sure what to make of her. Or of his own reaction.

And when she finally gave his hand a gentle squeeze and withdrew, he was left feeling more alone than ever.

Something was going on with Marc tonight. He was still as serious as he always was, but something had changed. She didn't know him that well, but for some reason he seemed more resigned.

But to what she didn't know.

Maybe he was tired. He'd been traveling pretty much nonstop, which meant he was living out of suitcases. She knew from firsthand experience that wasn't healthy, especially not in the long term.

She should have just packed him back in her car and bundled him and Big Blue off to his Aunt Sarah's old place, but he claimed he wanted a walk. So after dinner they went down to the empty beach. Midweek during the summer there was no one around, and the skies had clouded over, portending rain. The evening was dark, the streetlights blurry dots in the distance. A warm breeze blew up from the ocean, and the air was heavy with salt and moisture.

Grace let Big Blue off his leash, and he snuffled along behind them as they made their way down the damp sand, flirting with the water's edge. When he got tired of playing with the receding tide, he came farther up the beach and sat down on the pebbly sand, looking out onto the sound.

Grace stopped near Blue, intensely aware of Marc's big body at her side. She followed Blue's gaze out to the water. “Beautiful.”

“Yes.”

She turned to Marc, but he wasn't looking at the water. He was looking at her.

A curl of warmth shot right through her, and the memory of his lips on hers flashed through her brain like a bolt of lightning. That kiss had been incredible.

And probably a mistake.

Marc wasn't some half-assed wannabe rocker suffering from a case of Jer Davingham hero worship. He was a man. A man with experience and little patience for women like her. Though for some reason he seemed to want to spend time with her.

Grace cleared her throat. “Did you like the place I took you for dinner?”

“It was good,” he said simply. “Besides, I'm easy.”

She laughed. She couldn't help it.

Marc narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“You think you're easy?”

“Yes,” he said. Then frowned. “I'm guessing by the tone of your voice that you don't.”

“Marc, I'm going to lay it on the line. You are not easy. You are the opposite of easy. Just look at you.” She gestured up and down his body.

The frown got deeper. “Is this about my suit? I had a meeting.”

Grace sighed. “You always have meetings.”

“That's right,” he said, his voice clipped. “I have a lot of meetings.”

“Exactly my point. You're always dressed like that. Formal to the extreme. I'll bet you even dress up on your days off.” She looked at him, daring him to deny it, which of course he didn't. “And while I think your cuff links are sexy as hell, the way you act, the way you dress, and the way you are is
definitely
not easy.”

A curious look crossed his face. “You think my cuff links are sexy as hell?”

Of course he would latch on to that.

“The cuff links aren't my point,” she said. “My point is that you don't know how to relax, and your attire is emblematic of that.”

“The cuff links were part of your argument,” Marc said, his expression now seriously intense. “Ergo, it was part of your point.”

The demeanor, the language…Grace had no doubt Marc could out-lawyer a lawyer. Of course she found that sexy, too. Not that she was going to tell him that.

“My point is that you wear cuff links with French cuff shirts every day because regular shirts are probably not dressy enough. I'll bet you have a whole cuff link collection, don't you? A pair for every occasion?”

“I have twenty-seven pairs of cuff links,” he said, the corners of his lips curling in a sensual smile. “And you think they're sexy. As hell.” His eyes were mirrors of light in the darkness.

Grace let out a sharp huff of breath. “Fine. They're sexy, okay? Let's move on.”

But Marc wasn't done. “What else do you think is sexy?”

She threw her hands up in exasperation. “Gah. Forget I said anything about the cuff links.”

“No can do.”

“Stubborn as hell,” she muttered. “Like a dog with a bone.”

“So are you,” he retorted. “I'm guessing you think that's sexy, too?” He was riling her up, something he'd never done before, this casual teasing. It wasn't him…and yet it was. It so was. And she liked it a hell of a lot.

She wanted him. And if he was going to play, she was going to play right back.

She stepped forward until she was standing directly in front of him, her fingers toying with the edge of his jacket.

“Do you want to know what else I think is sexy, Marc?”

She heard his sharp intake of breath, charged with awareness. “What?”

“Men who know when to stop talking.”

He hesitated for all of a moment. One single, solitary moment when she didn't breathe, praying that he got it.

He got it all right.

Because in the next moment, he pulled her close and crashed his lips down on hers.

The first kiss he'd shared with Grace had been explosive, mostly because he'd done it on instinct. She was gorgeous, he'd been tempted, and in a rare bout of selfishness, he'd acted on that temptation.

But this one? This one was charged and fraught with tension.

There was no slow. There was no easy. There was only pressure and warmth and need.

One light flick of his tongue and she willingly opened to him. Then he tasted. She tasted right back, a low moan rumbling deep in her throat. God, he wanted her with a need that made him dizzy to contemplate.

And just like it had the last time, the kiss quickly morphed into something deeper, something darker. She opened to him completely, taking his mouth, his tongue, and giving hers in return.

She kissed like she did everything else in life—with passion, with purpose—and he quickly found himself harder than he had any right to be, given that technically, this was their first date.

“Mmph,” he groaned, pulling away.

“What?”

“We're going too fast.”

Her lips curved upward. “We're not going fast
enough.
”

He grasped for an excuse—any excuse to clear his head. “Blue's sitting right there,” he said, indicating the dog with his head.

“I have a solution.”

Grabbing his hand, she pulled him across the sand.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“Wait and see.”

They ended up underneath the pier that stretched out a quarter mile into the sound. It was quieter under here. Dark, too.

“The dog…”

“Blue will be fine,” she told him, tugging him deep into the shadows. “He and I have done this before. He'll just sit on the beach for a while and watch the moon. He'll come find me when he's ready to go home.” She'd stopped and turned to him. “Besides, he can smell us.”

“You've got it all figured out, don't you?”

“Most stuff, no. But this? Yeah, I kind of do.” She tilted her head up and wrapped her hand around his neck, tugging him down. “Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like for you to kiss me again.” Her lips were close to his, tempting him to touch. To taste.

“You would, would you?” he said, his lips lightly brushing hers.

“Consider it payment for me teaching your dog all those tricks.”

“I'm pretty sure I owe you more than just a couple of kisses for that.”

Even in the dark he could see her smile. “Then pay up.”

He did and it got carnal, fast, him delving deep, her giving it back just as deep. He itched to feel his hands on her skin. It would be so easy, to slip a hand up her shirt, cover her breasts with his palms and play with her nipples. He'd like that, watching her squirm while he took his sweet time exploring her body and…wait…where was this coming from?

This wasn't him. He was measured. Controlled.

He ripped his mouth from hers and pulled back.

“What?” she asked, her voice breathy. Confused.

“I'm trying to be a gentleman,” he rasped.

A beat passed. Another. And then she said two words that changed everything.

“Don't be.”

When she pulled his head down again he didn't stop her.

She hooked her hands over his shoulders and slid his suit jacket off. It fell onto the damp sand and he didn't care because it meant that Grace had easier access to his dress shirt, which she was quickly undoing, one tiny button at a time.

Once she had that shirt open, she slipped her hands up inside his white undershirt, and then her fingers were moving, stroking, roving everywhere, touching all the bare skin she could reach.

And while she was conducting her exploration, he was embarking on one of his own. His hands slid up the back of her loose blouse, only to find that this time, she was wearing a bra. He wanted to unwrap her piece by piece, but Grace was done going slow.

She'd abandoned her stroking and was now jerking both shirts out from the waistband of his pants. She attacked his belt and fly with a vengeance, then tugged both his pants and boxers all the way down and…

“Grace,” he groaned. “This is—”

Stupid. Dangerous. Someone could come. Could find them here at any minute. The thought petrified him. Thrilled him.

And…oh Jesus, she'd dropped to her knees and taken him in her mouth, and all of that sweet, wet heat surrounding him made his eyes roll into the back of his head. Nothing had ever felt this good.

It was her mouth, and the way his hands found themselves buried in her hair, as if they'd done this a hundred times.

She made a noise of approval that sent shock waves up his cock and sucked harder.

“Oh, God. Grace,” he hissed.

But she didn't stop, and whatever she was doing with her tongue was so outrageous it should be illegal. He grabbed her head harder and she moaned louder. If she kept going, this was going to be over in a heartbeat.

He tugged on her hair, trying to pull her off. “Grace,
please.
”

She sat back then, a look of satisfaction on her gorgeous face. He pulled her up—lifted her, really—and pushed her back against the pylon. Her arm curled around his neck and right before she pulled him close, he caught that secret smile. The one he'd seen the first time they'd met.

But he didn't care. He wanted this—wanted her—too damned bad to think about what it meant.

His mouth descended on hers and he kissed her hard, hot, the pressure almost punishing, and she kept right up with him, grinding herself against him, ratcheting up the heat to the point where he thought he'd explode.

He fumbled with her jeans, almost destroying the zipper to get them undone, following the fabric with his palms. She had a killer body, all dips and curves, and he wanted so badly to explore everything she was, except he wasn't thinking straight and all he needed was to feel her, to touch her, to see if she was as ready for this as he was.

He slid his hand right into her underwear, palmed her soft mound. She was soaking. Wet for him. He couldn't resist. He slipped a finger inside her, felt her clench around him.

“Do you want this?” he demanded, his voice harsh.

“Yes,” she breathed. “God, please yes.”

“Your place.”

“Here. Now.” Her hand was on his ass, urging him closer. “Please, Marc.”

He planned. He organized. He made love to women in beds with silk sheets. He didn't fuck them under piers where they could be discovered by anyone walking along in the dark, with his dog sitting sentry on the beach only a few dozen yards away.

Not for the first time since they'd started down this crazy road to hell, sanity reared its head. “I don't have protection.”

Her eyes gleamed. “But I do.” She bent down, fished around in her bag for all of a moment, then pulled a brightly colored string of condoms out and thrust it in his hand. “Here.”

Then her mouth was on his again and her hands were around him, and all thoughts of stopping were buried under the sweet softness of her body.

He didn't even care how or why she had so many prophylactics in her purse. All he knew was that if he didn't get one on, stat, he was going to blow before he even got inside her.

He ripped one off and threw the rest to the ground. He didn't know how he got that packet open and the condom on his body but it didn't matter, because Grace was there, fiery and needy. He lifted her up, she wrapped her legs around his hips, and he slid home hard and deep, muffling her cry with his mouth.

He gave her only a moment to adjust, and then she flexed around him, squeezed him with her internal muscles hard enough to make him shudder. Pulled him close and kissed him and kissed him like she couldn't breathe without him.

This.

Was.

Madness.

And he didn't fucking care.

He pulled back and thrust deep, loving the way she gasped right into his mouth, reveling in the way her arms wound more tightly around him. He did it again and again, and each time he hit home, she ground herself against him, taking him closer to oblivion.

There was a bark in the distance, but then she rolled her hips and he forgot all about the pier and the dog and anyone else except Grace, her body wrapped around his as he went deep, then deeper, drinking in her soft cries as he pinned her to the wood pylon. Still she kept moving, writhing and twisting in his arms to get him there. But he'd get her there first. He had to. A sweep of his thumb over her clit and she arched her back, hair streaming over her shoulders. She came, and came hard, lighting up for him like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

“Marc,” she gasped, and he felt every inch of her surrender to the sensations.

“Yes.”
This.

This searing intensity that destroyed what was left of his sanity. She convulsed around him and the knowledge that he'd done that—made this wild woman break—did him in.

He followed fast with a mighty thrust and a roar.

The rush of blood in his ears was louder than the surf crashing on the shore. He was buried in her, drowning, falling like he'd never fallen before.

It took him a few moments to recover, but when it was over, he realized he was standing there, his slacks at his ankles, still buried deep inside Grace, and something wet was dripping on his neck, bringing him back to his senses.

He slid out and placed her gently on the ground. Quickly, he shucked the condom off and pulled up his drawers and slacks. Grace was doing the same.

More wetness. A soft pattering sound. It had started to drizzle. He looked back to Grace, who had already fully righted herself, her jeans back on, her shirt straight, her hair behind her ears.

She looked poised. Collected.

And he was a wreck.

Jesus, what had he done?

“I'm sorry,” he said softly.

A little furrow formed between Grace's brows. “For what?”

“I don't—” He stopped. How could he explain that he'd never done this before in his life—lost control, behaved in anything other than a civilized manner? “I can't—”

“Marc, it's okay. I swear it.” Grace stepped up to him and kissed him, effectively silencing him. “I wanted this and you have nothing to apologize for,” she told him. “But I'm getting rained on, and I don't want Blue to get soaked, so maybe we could head home and, um, do it in a bed next time?” This, said with a smile.

“You…want there to be a next time?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I was thinking maybe sooner rather than later. Like maybe back at my place.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, Marc,” she said, her eyes going soft. “Right now.”

This woman. This crazy, gorgeous woman wanted to take him home right now.

He didn't truly understand. But then again, he didn't need to. Grace had it figured out for the both of them.

So together, they gathered up Big Blue, who was extremely happy to see them, got into the truck, and drove home.

Where they did it again while the rain pattered on the roof of Grace's farmhouse.