Creature of Habit: Book Two (Creature of Habit #2) (17 page)

Grant nodded and I saw the traces of a silent exchange carried on between them. Strategy of some kind, I was sure. Grant hadn’t given me a lot of information on Caleb lately and I hadn’t asked. I did have the distinct feeling something was going on tonight. The Palmers were all on alert, prepared to provide security while Grant and I attended the fundraiser.

Butterflies danced in my stomach as I thought about Caleb. I felt confident, though, that he wouldn't try anything in such a public area. I touched the pendent around my neck.

The car slowed and the impressive home filled my window.  The Biltmore House was a significant landmark in Asheville. The home was built by the Vanderbilt family in the late eighteen-hundreds. Over the years the mansion and grounds had been meticulously maintained. I’d been here once before, on a tour with my mother, during one of her visits.

A small crowd milled around the entrance. They were all gorgeously dressed, like Hollywood award level, and I said a mental thank you to Olivia for helping me tonight. No way I would have been prepared for this level of charity event. Several photographers snapped photos, their flashes glaring off the car windows.

Smiling at Grant, I gathered my purse and wrap. He stopped me before I got out of the car, brushed my hair aside and gave me a shivering kiss under my ear.

"Ready?" he asked. His eyes moved to the pendant around my neck. “Where did you get that?”

“Olivia gave it to me—for luck.”

He nodded but I caught something in his eye, something I couldn’t worry about because Ryan was opening the door. He helped me out, leaned in, and said, "He's right. You do look stunning."

I gaped, my fingers trapped in his large hand. He had heard everything. Giving me a cocky, dimpled smile he added, "And he's not lying, he really is an excellent dancer."

~*~

Once inside, Grant kept a firm, yet gentle grasp on my elbow. I couldn’t get over the magnificence of this house. I read on a plaque that the home was built in 1895.

“This place is older than you,” I whispered. “Is that weird?”

“Honestly, it’s strangely comforting.”

We mingled for a while with the other guests and eventually sat down for dinner. I was fairly interested to watch Grant ‘eat’ in front of a full table of people. To the outsider he appeared to enjoy his meal, but I could see the flashes of speed as he removed food from his plate and folded it neatly in his napkin.

After dinner we excused ourselves. After getting a drink for me to consume and one for Grant to hold, we watched the crowd from a quiet spot near the back terrace. Occasionally, people stopped to talk to us. After a while I noticed he knew everyone's name and position. He never flinched.

"How do you remember everyone? I'm impressed." I sipped my drink from the bar and looked out over the back gardens at Biltmore. The reflecting pools glinted as the sun went down.

"Photographic memory. Joyce makes up name cards and bios on everyone attending the event. I glanced over them this afternoon."

I felt stupid for forgetting such a simple fact about him but he just laughed. “The rest,” he said, “involves the hyperawareness that is part of my daily life. I can hear the conversations of anyone in this room, no matter how quiet or private.” 

“Sounds a little intrusive.”

“It’s ridiculously mundane.”

Grant planted his hands firmly on my hips. He towered over me, his hair dipping into his eyes as he looked down. My hand instinctively reached up to trace along his jaw. He was a danger to me and my good sense. I felt his hand brush up my bare back and rest under my hair.

"Can we leave?" I asked quietly, my eyes completely enraptured by his. "Now? Can we? I want to go."

His lips curved into what wasn't quite a smile, more of a predatory snarl. Grant's animalistic tendencies were always lying in wait under the surface and I found myself yearning to reveal them one by one.

"Soon.” He sighed. “I should go talk to that group first.”

"Fine. Go shake hands and schmooze or whatever you need to do so we can go." And I waved him off.

"Come with me?" he asked.

"No thanks, I'm good over here looking at these roses. Thanks anyway," I said and flashed him a smile.

Grant gave me a crooked little grin that made my heart flutter and turned and walked away, toward a group of doctors from the hospital.

I had just settled into a small bench on the patio when I heard, "Amelia! Your dress is gorgeous."

I turned to find myself face to face with Margaret and Nancy from Grant's office. Margaret was beyond excited and perhaps a bit drunk. Wobbling a little, she slurred, "You acted like you had no idea about the party, but really, you were hiding that fabulous dress from us!"

"Hi girls," I said warily, forcing a smile on my face. At least they were being nice.

Nancy leaned in too close to my face. "So, Amelia, Margaret and I were just talking, and we noticed how Mr. Palmer has really changed since he met you."

Raising an eyebrow and wishing desperately for another drink, I responded with a non-committal, "Has he?"

The two girls nodded conspiratorially.

"Oh yeah, he’s totally different,” Nancy agreed, her eyes looking around the room and stopping on Grant, who had his back to us. His head was tilted slightly to the side; an indication I had come to learn meant he was listening. I attempted to squelch the smile inching across my mouth and feigned interest in the women.

"Last year, he came to this party with a scowl on his face and barely spoke to anyone. He walked near me at the dessert table and I was so terrified I ran away," Margaret confessed. "But this year, he actually nodded in my direction and I smiled back!"

I remembered how gruff and socially awkward Grant had been when we met. Intriguing. "Wow, he’s really that different?"

Both girls laughed and Nancy said, "Amelia, before he began seeing you, we were not only convinced he was gay; we were sure he had a personality disorder."

"I'm sure he was just in a bad mood or something. I doubt it had much to do with me," I replied, skeptically.

The women exchanged another look. "Oh, it has everything to do with you. He never takes his eyes off of you and he’s constantly touching you. Mr. Palmer is completely fixated on you. You're like a gazelle and he's the lion. I wouldn't want to be the one to get between the two of you."

They began laughing in that had-too-much-to-drink kind of way. I watched as Margaret ran a finger under her eye to wipe away tears from laughing before it messed up her makeup. Across the room, Grant shifted just a little, so he could give me a seductive smile. I felt the heat burning on my cheeks. Margaret sighed when she saw the exchange and said, "All I know is that I would give anything to be on the receiving end of one of those smiles."

Nancy muttered a low, "Or those hands." Which I pretended not to hear.

I chuckled nervously, excusing myself. Nancy was right. Having Grant’s hands on my body was a priority of mine. Now I just need to let him know I planned on making that happen sooner rather than later.

Chapter 33

Grant

I excused myself from the group of doctors I spoke with, all of them relieved I was leaving. My presence intimidated and brought them discomfort. They all felt horrible for their unease but they didn't realize it was just their bodies telling them to run like hell from the wolf in sheep's clothing that stood before them.

Amelia paused in the doorway to speak to Joyce, and I took the opportunity to watch her. She stood elegant and poised, the dress Olivia chose for her fit perfectly along the lines of her body. I had known Olivia would accentuate Amelia's beauty, but when she’d opened her apartment door, I had an epiphany of sorts.

There was no doubt Amelia was a beautiful woman. But for years I would watch other men regard their lovers and I never fully grasped the emotion behind their thoughts. They believed their wife had perfect lips, or pretty eyes, or stunning legs, and even though I agreed on occasion that the women were attractive, these men truly believed they were more than others. The women in their lives were perfect, pretty, and stunning. I now realized these ideas were fueled by love. When you loved someone, you truly saw past any flaw or fault. You only saw the one you loved and she, Amelia in my case, was exquisite.

I caught her eye and met her in the middle of the room. "Can I take you somewhere?" I asked.

"Anywhere," she replied. “As long as it’s private.”

I grasped her hand and we walked down the main hallway, toward the grand staircase. In a flash I carried her from the bottom floor to the next level. I led her down another hallway until I found the correct door. I pushed it open and we entered a small bedroom.

Amelia stopped. "Grant, I don't think we're supposed to go in here."

I simply grinned and crossed the room. Pushing aside heavy drapery, I opened a glass door that lead to a private balcony overlooking the grounds.

“This is lovely,” she said. “Even better than down below.

“Private enough?” I asked. Away from the rest of the party-goers. I leaned in and gave her a firm kiss. She returned it eagerly, pushing her tongue into my mouth.

Amelia leaned back against the stone railing and inhaled the scent of flowers wafting up from the gardens. I wrapped my arms around her waist and pressed into her body. Pushing her hair aside, to reveal her smooth skin, I kissed her gently.

"Stop," she said, and wiggled under my grasp. "That tickles."

"Oh," I mused. "Not sure that’s a compelling reason to stop."  But switched tactics and placed feather light kisses over her goose bumped flesh.

Careful with her dress, I picked up Amelia and sat her on the smooth marble railing, placing her at eye level. Wrapping her legs around mine, she tightened her grip on my shoulders, glancing nervously at the distance below.

“Don’t worry,” I told her. “I’ve got you.”

She leaned in, tongue darting out, licking my lips. Her breath tasted sweet from the alcohol and it was all I could do not to devour her. Every kiss from Amelia was different. Each one better than the one before.

Pulling away, she wiped my bottom lip with her thumb. “I have a question, one I haven’t asked about.”

“Go ahead.”

“Explain the concept of mating.”

“Mating,” I repeated in a lame attempt to stall.

“I need to understand it better.”

I swallowed and said, “Okay, it’s the name given to our life-long partners or spouses. Sometimes we truly are more like animals, Amelia. When we find the one person we truly, uniquely connect to, the bond it is unbreakable. We mate for life or not at all."

"So your bond to me is unbreakable?"

I could swear I saw hope in her eyes.

I moved my hands from her waist to her face and looked in her eyes. They were so inviting, so warm. Everything about Amelia felt like home. "It's hard to explain without sounding a little, disturbingly possessive, but, no matter how long I live, for me there will never be anyone else."

Her eyes steeled at my words. "For me either."

My dormant heart fluttered wildly. It was one thing for me to bind myself to her; it was another all together for her to claim to want the same. I felt the intent of her words in my bones.

Before I could respond her eyes lowered and she bit down shyly on her lip. In a husky whisper she confessed, "I love you, Grant."

I brushed my nose to hers and then kissed her. Hard. With as much force as I could risk. Euphoria coursed through my body—igniting feelings I’d pushed aside so long ago.

"If you only knew how much those words mean to me. I love you, too." Bunching the fabric of her dress to get closer I said, "Can I wrinkle your dress now?" I asked before moving my lips to her plunging neckline.

She moaned with pleasure. "Please…"

Her fingers tugged at my tie, attempting to loosen it from my neck. I wanted to help her—move along faster, but I restrained myself. The tie finally hit the floor of the patio and she started on my shirt, pulling the hem from my pants.

As she worked, I lifted her from the railing and carried her back inside. Laying her gently on the bed, she grabbed me by the waist and my whole body surged with want. I closed my eyes.

Vermeer

Monet

Degas

“Grant?” she asked, pulling me to her. Her hand grazed my hips, brushing along my hardened cock. I shuddered and opened my eyes.

‘“Not here,” I said following a long, rattling breath. “Let me call Ryan.”

“Are you sure?” I stared at her swollen, pink lips. Her chest rose in desire and Christ, her nipples strained, hard and aroused, against the fabric of her dress.

“No, I’m definitely not sure,” I said, leaning in for more only to be stopped by the sudden vibration from my jacket.

I groaned and muttered, "For God’s sake, Olivia…"

"That girl does seem to have the worst timing."

"It's Ryan," I noted. I’d been sure it was going to be Olivia warning me from slaughtering Amelia in a fit of passion.

Amelia's hand continued working to expose my chest, her fingers struggling with the buttons.

"Ryan?" I said into the receiver, my eyes focused on the woman before me. She was perfect—determined. And very much mine.

"She's gone," Ryan said. I could hear the trace of panic in his voice.

"Who? What?" I said into the phone and rested my hand on Amelia's to make her stop.

"Olivia." The information, limited as it was, came out in a rush. Olivia was gone. Vanished during her patrol. I clamped my hand over Amelia’s and she stilled.

"Pick us up now. We'll meet you out front," I ordered and disconnected.

"What happened?" Amelia asked.

I looked at my angel, beautifully wrapped in blue, lipstick smudged from my hungry, possessive lips. I tried to come up with something to tell her that wouldn’t cause panic. "It's Olivia. Elijah can't find her. Neither can anyone else."

"She's probably hunting or sidetracked…right?" she asked, fear creeping into her eyes.

I shook my head slowly. "The Shifters and Caleb's coven had an altercation. The others went to back up toward Lost Cove, but Olivia never showed," I explained, redressing myself in the blink of an eye.

“Grant, what are you saying? What does that mean?

I took her hand in mine. "Olivia’s missing."