My hope was to take my time, taste every inch of her body, and spend hours with my tongue between her legs, but the urgency is too much. The driving need to fill her overpowers me. I stand, and she wraps her legs around me. With a steady grip on her ass, I press her back to the tile wall. “Hold on.”
She loops her arms around my neck, and her nails rake against my skin. My hips piston forward on instinct. “Yes,” she sighs, and her head falls back against the tile.
I bury my face in her throat and take her hard.
A voice in the back of my head whispers to slow down, be careful, but her lips beg for more while she pulls me deeper. I give her what she wants, give in to the primal need to take and mark and claim.
Her orgasm hits like an electric current that shoots through our connection, sending me spiraling over the edge right behind her. My hips shoot forward, pinning her in place until the pulsing ecstasy ebbs.
The thick steam makes it hard to catch our breath.
I was too rough. Too out of control. “Are you okay?” I ask her throat, afraid to pull back and see what I fear might be regret in her eyes.
Her hands slip into my hair with lazy strokes, and she sighs. “Better than ever.”
We both hum when I pull out. I lower her to her feet, making sure she’s steady before I let go. I bring her under the spray to rinse off and then step out to dry. I hand her my robe, and she slips it on. The sleeves go past her fingertips, and the hem hits her toes. I keep my towel wrapped around my waist while I brush my teeth, and I give her a new head for my brush so she can do the same.
Finally, I bring her to my bed and pull back the bedding. She tosses my robe to the foot of the bed and crawls naked between my sheets. I toss my towel, climb in with her, pull her against my chest, and note how she still fits perfectly at my side.
There are so many things I want to say, but I hesitate, fearing that I’ll say the wrong thing. Now that I have her here, I don’t want to push her away. But the truth still lingers in the air around me. I’m not the kind of man who can maintain a long-term relationship. All it takes is one bad day, and she’ll be gone. Unless I can hide that side of myself from her. Then, maybe I’ll be able to keep her just a little longer.
“I’m glad you found me,” she says softly, sleep heavy in her voice.
“Which time?” I found her twice in the mountains, once tonight. The muscles in my arm twitch with an urge to hold her tighter.
Her answering yawn ends on a hum. “All of them.”
I frown into the dark, hoping she doesn’t come to regret those words, but I know that eventually, she will.
Nineteen
Jordan
I wake up to a dark room, and Alexander’s side of the bed is cold. I sprawl out on the mattress beneath the softest sheet and thick down and stare at the ceiling that seems a million miles above me. Absolute silence. No noisy neighbors or street traffic. I could sleep in all day. I contemplate doing just that, but the sun is up, and I fear I’ve overstayed my welcome.
I crawl out of bed and pull on my leggings and sweatshirt. The clock on Alexander’s bedside says it’s 9:24. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and wrangle my hair into a messy bun. There’s a reason women don’t go to bed with wet hair. Ugh.
I reach for my purse and find a slip of paper beside it with a phone number on it. The numbers are written in bursts of hard, fast lines, rough and a little messy, just like the man who wrote them.
He gave me his phone number.
With a stupid smile on my face, I enter the digits into my cell and then put the paper into my purse as if it were a love letter. For Grizzly, it kind of is.
The penthouse is deserted. I assume he’s left for work, so I make myself at home in the kitchen with coffee, scrambled eggs, and toast. I eat cross-legged on the floor, looking out on Central Park, where the trees are quickly becoming bare branches.
I clean up after myself, make the bed, and leave everything spotless, as if I were never here. It feels weird to leave without saying goodbye, so I pull up the number he left me as I gather my things.
“Good morning, Ms. Wilder.”
My smile falls at the unfamiliar voice. “Hello. Who’s this?”
“James, ma’am. Mr. North’s driver.”
“Oh, right.” I frown. “Alexander left me this number.”
“Yes, he told me you’d be calling for a ride home.”
My heart sinks into my stomach. The paper wasn’t a love letter but a get out of his bed free card.
“Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be waiting downstairs.”
“Thank you, James.” I end the call and remove the paper from my purse. How could I have been so stupid? I assume Grizzly showed back up in my life because he missed me as much as I missed him. He made it seem like he couldn’t stand living another day apart. He held me as if he’d never let me go. How could I get things so confused?
I toss the paper with the number back onto the table where he left it. I don’t bother looking at the view as I ride down the elevator. Sure enough, waiting right outside the door of the building is the same SUV that Murphy brought us here in last night.
James opens the door with a polite, nonjudgmental smile, and I wonder how many women he delivers home for Alexander. He certainly doesn’t look like he’s doing anything he hasn’t done a million times before.
“Home then?” he asks as I crawl into the vehicle.
The space smells like Alexander, and my insides clench with recognition. “Yes, thank you.”
He circles the hood at a clipped pace, and soon enough, the SUV lurches forward.
Why wouldn’t he at least wake me to say goodbye? After everything we did last night, would he not even kiss me before leaving? No thanks for last night or let’s do this again sometime? He didn’t even ask me for my phone number.
I scrub my face, rub my eyes, and try to ignore the pain in my chest. When I open my eyes, they settle on a folder tucked into the seat pocket in front of me. The tab on the folder scribbled in the same masculine writing as the phone number reads “Ms. Jordan Wilder.”
The ache in my chest turns to a hollow burn as I pull the folder into my lap and open it. The nondisclosure agreement glares back at me. I flip through the pages, seeing the same phrasing as I did the first time it was presented to me. Tucked between page three and four is the check, made out to me, for twenty-thousand dollars.
The rush of adrenaline makes me nauseous, and part of me wishes I would throw up all over his stupid luxury car.
“Change of plans, James.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Take me to North Industries.” I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror, and his brows slant behind his dark glasses. “It’s an emergency.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea—”
I grip the back of his seat and bring my face close to his. “Take me there now, or let me out, and I’ll take a cab. Either way, I’m going.”
“Yes, of course.” He makes a series of turns that puts us headed back in the direction we came.
My knee bounces uncontrollably as I rehearse a million different versions of the same fuck you speech. I am so sick of being treated like I’m disposable! First Lincoln, now Alexander… twice!