Heard It All Before (6 page)

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Authors: Michele Grant

BOOK: Heard It All Before
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6
Getting Down to the Real
Renee—Monday, June 1, 10:00 a.m.
 
 
I
t was Monday morning, and I took the day off to sleep. Yeah, I did. Just didn't feel like playing the corporate bullshit game this morning. I had the ringer off, the voice mail on, and a little old-school Sade on the MP3 player. I was eating peanut butter and crackers in bed. Later I planned on sinking into my whirlpool tub and relaxing in wet, steamy, pineapple-mango-scented heaven. I knew this laziness was shameful coming right off a weekend, but I was beat. Gregory had been keeping me up nights. Oh, not that way, though I wished he would! Night after night, I had been lying awake rethinking my strategy, trying to map this whole thing out between Mr. Samson and me.
It had been two weeks since the basketball game, and that boy was driving me out of my ever-loving mind. Dammit, I knew when I was being played. And he was a maestro. Not so blatant that I could call him on it, mind you. Just ever so subtly sending me up a wall! He called, chatting about nothing for brief little moments during the day. He came over in the evenings, and we swapped life anecdotes, snuggled all up on the couch, and watched TV. He even cooked once. Brother who can cook scores many points. We've had a picnic lunch in Thanksgiving Square, dinner atop the Hyatt, a water taxi ride through the Las Colinas canal, hot dogs at a Rangers baseball game. We've been dancing, to movies, to the theater (don't ya love it!), to the mall, grocery shopping, bar-hopping, and to church (can I get an Amen!). Gregory was witty, urbane, sensitive, strong, masculine, even moody, all to the point of perfection. Gregory, I just figured out, was a big tease!
Little touches to help me out of the car, into a chair, up a stair, off a curb, for Christ's sake. Steamy glances by candlelight, moonlight, headlights, floodlights. Accidental brushes of the body as we leaned, reached, stopped, strolled. All of this I could handle. It was the Kiss. The single, solitary kiss at the beginning and end of each and every little excursion that was beating me down. Like that kiss at the basketball game a couple weeks back ... only hotter. And that was it. That was apparently all I was getting.
My own damn fault; I was the fool who said, “Not yet.” Actually, no, he said that; I just agreed. What was it I was waiting on again? Oh yeah, a commitment. Damn the commitment—it was time to get down and dirty. Look, if he had been building me up all this time for a weekend of frolicking and then planned to disappear into the sunset, there was nothing I could do about it. But I didn't think it would go down like that. I felt like I had been reading him a little better; I thought he was pretty into me. We had been hanging out for about two months now, and if a quickie hit-'n'-run was his goal, he would have been long gone, right? Was I rationalizing too much because I really wanted to do this or what?
I talked to Jewellen about it yesterday. She said I should go with my first instinct. My first instinct was to lure him to my bedroom and body slam him till I pass out. She laughed and told me to go for it. If he decided to sky up afterward, at least I'd have gotten two months' worth of first-class wining and dining and a much needed episode between the sheets.
My mind was made up as I sunk into my decadent tub of silky water. I opened the latest Sandra Brown novel and started reading. Thirty minutes later, I was overheating. The jets kept the water hot, and Sandra's book had me all aflutter. I wrapped up in a towel, padded to the fridge, and grabbed some juice. Whew, I was dying of thirst. That woman could write! She understood the South, Southern men, and sex; you had to respect a writer for that. Anyway, that last scene triggered a memory of one of her other books, and I'd formulated me an idea or two. Thought I'd slip on a little something and pay Gregory a visit at the bank. Two could tease, you know.
 
 
Now, you would think a man would know he was in trouble when a woman strolled into his office at two in the afternoon, at the beginning of June, with a trench coat on. This was Texas, the South—shit, it's hot outside, without a doubt. He was either a lot cooler or a lot dumber than I thought. After I quickly convinced his secretary to let me go in unannounced (no dummy, she knew it was ninety degrees outside), I expected some sort of reaction out of the boy.
I came in, shut the door, and locked it behind me. He was looking good and corporate, as usual. Charcoal-gray suit, flash of personality in the dark green paisley tie, and mint-green shirt. I dropped my purse, turned around, looked at him, leaned up against the door in my best seductive lounge, and what did he have to say?
“Hello, Renee. It's nice to see you feeling better. I called your office, and they told me you were ill.” I could have strangled him. Did I look ill?
Instead, I smiled engagingly and said, “Hello, Greggy. I think I'm on my way to a speedy recovery.” When I was teasing him, I could call him whatever the hell I wanted.
He raised one eyebrow over those Polo tortoise shells. “What can I do for you?”
Ah, my cue. I untied the belt, undid all the buttons (still trying to look coolly seductive, mind you), and dropped the coat. His mouth dropped, the glasses tilted ... finally, a reaction. I was laced into an emerald green teddy with matching four-inch peep-toe pumps, total. Matched perfectly thanks to the Victoria's Secret spring/summer catalog. Sorry, sometimes I got off on things like that. Back to the moment. In my patented, come-to-Mama-Sweet-Daddy voice, I said, “Come here, Greggy, and do for me.” Good line, don't you know? It was one of many I practiced in the car on the way over here. This seduction shit had to be carried out perfectly. Couldn't be too bold or too shy. Gotta get the right words, the right tone, and by all means, the right lingerie!
He yanked off his glasses, vaulted over the desk (which was pretty impressive, as it was a big desk), and was standing in front of me in no time flat. “Is it my imagination or did you lock that door?” Um, he was working that baby-come-to-bed voice. He loosened his tie and threw it over his shoulder.
“I locked the door.” I barely got the sentence out before he grabbed me and kissed me like he was walking the Sahara and I was a truckload of Evian. Wow—wait a minute! My plan, you see, had been to tease and leave. Drop the coat, swap a little kissy-face, then exit with a “See ya later, playboy.” Just like he did. But, um, he had me backed up against the wall, and his hands were doing incredible things, and his kisses were ... Whoa, boy! “Gregory!” This was one of those speak-now-or-forever-hold-your-peace moments.
“Hmmm?” He had the flimsy straps down my shoulders, and his mouth was sliding down my neck. I was fading fast.
“We can't do this here?” Damn, I meant to make that sound like a statement. His lips were introducing themselves to my breasts, and good Lawd! He had amazing technique. They were very pleased to make his acquaintance.
He turned me around and shuffled me backward before maneuvering us down on the sofa. “Oh, we're
going
to do this here.” He whipped off his jacket and tossed it to the side. Without thinking, I started undoing his shirt buttons; mere seconds later, the shirt joined the jacket. He kicked off the loafers and turned his attention back to me. Easing down over me, he did that body-slithering thing I loved so. “We're gonna do this, Renee. Right here, right now,” he repeated, making it sound like a definitive statement.
That's
what I was trying to do earlier.
That big hand was sliding up my thigh slowly, slowly—bull's-eye, like an old pro, he unsnapped the teddy and peeled it back. That was it. I was done for. Any plan I had of leaving this room with a kiss and a promise was GONE. Listen, this boy possessed
skills
. Perfect suction on the breasts, exquisite pressure right where I needed it, and those fingers ... those long, thick, incredibly inquisitive and sensitive fingers with an impeccable sense of timing. This intense attack on my entire mind and body went on for I didn't know how long. I heard all these little gasping, groaning sounds and was shocked to find they were coming from me! I heard him chuckle, a deep, very macho, self-satisfied sound.
This was totally unlike me. Oh, don't get me wrong—I generally enjoyed sex, but I rarely surrendered myself totally to the pleasure of it. Just lying back and letting some man run amuck with my physical and emotional well-being? Never, not me. His mouth left my breast and started sliding down my stomach. I had to get a hold of myself; if I let him go where he was heading, I would never regain an ounce of control.
If I had ever been shy before, I gave up all pretense of it now. I shifted a little, reached down, grabbed his belt buckle, and dispensed with that. His pants were unbuttoned and unzipped hastily. “Get rid of those NOW!” It was a demand, nothing less. Shit, playtime was over.
His head came up and he grinned. “Impatient, are we?” Asshole. I felt his impatience lying against my hip. I reached down into his boxers and raked my nails lightly across the entire glorious length of him before holding the very pulse of it in my hand, stroking ever so slowly.
“Aren't we?” I countered cattily as he sucked in a breath and released it in what sounded pretty much like a moan. Yeah, there we go, player. Let me see you lose some of that Ivy League composure for a minute.
“Don't play, Renee.” His thumb zeroed right in on the spot most likely to make me beg.
“Then come on with it.” I refused to beg, but I could certainly make an urgent demand or two.
“Let's slow down,” he said, and tried to back out of my hold. I tightened my grip.
“We've had two months of foreplay, Greggy.” I pushed his pants and boxers down. “Now I'm telling you one last time—unless you want those beautiful pants hopelessly wrinkled, I suggest you get rid of 'em.”
He slipped off his boxers and pants after digging that trusty Trojan out of his wallet. “Preparing to do work, are we?” he teased, and ripped open the packet.
I looked him up, down, and over before licking my lips. Yum-yum. Surely Adam didn't look this good to Eve in the Garden of Eden. He took care of the condom and slid back on top of me.
I put my hands on his shoulders and smiled. “Well, I'm planning on getting real busy, Greggy. I kinda hoped you could hang on for the ride.” Yes! I was smooth and in control again. I brought his face close for a quick I-got-you-now-boy kiss.
“I'll try to keep up.” With that, he raised up on his arms over me. “You ready?”
I rolled my eyes, thinking I'd hate to be much more ready than this. “Willing and able.”
His knee nudged mine aside, and he was in in one smooth stroke. Damn, I should have known it would feel this way. I shifted my hips in anticipation of his first thrust. He didn't move, just lay there forcing me to bask in the knowledge of his possession. I shimmied around again, the combination of the reality of him inside me and the anticipation of more to come was making me lose it. His hand snaked down to that ever sensitive button and flicked across me, once, twice and I came apart into a million pieces. I was in a trance, under a spell, all of that totally bewitched stuff. Shit, I was still trying to put myself together when the master warlock spoke again.
“Now you're ready.” He bent my knees up and started stroking. Slowly and continuously. I went off again, and I was pretty sure I was begging.
“Tell me you want me, baby.” Not now with the macho shit, not now when I could barely remember my name.
“Tell me you want
me
.” I was trying to hang on to the old, cool, controlled me, but she was slipping away fast. I couldn't think straight, catch my breath, or maintain my controlled façade.
“I want you—all of you,” he answered seriously, sliding out of me. He went down and put his mouth to work. Oh, the wicked, wicked knowledge his tongue had. Whatever I had planned to say flew out of my mind like the wind. I called out his name. I think I wept. I was way over my normal threshold of pleasure by the time he raised up, gave me a tangy kiss, and slid back in, deep and full.
I didn't even try to recover. I just let instinct kick in, and I started matching his strokes with a few of my own, dragging him with me into this vortex where nothing but exquisite pleasure existed. There was no room for machismo or games—finally, it was real. Just him and me, together. It was real and it was right. We both knew it.
The tempo increased and we kissed wildly, raking our hands up and down each other, grabbing oxygen when and where we could. “Damn, Renee,” was the last thing I remember hearing him say before we rolled off the sofa and got down to business in a serious way. Every touch was hotter than the last, every kiss sparked yet another nerve ending, and every stroke ... every stroke was an erotic invitation to paradise. It was wild; it was primal; it was totally mind-blowing.
We were finally at the point at which it absolutely could not get any sweatier, any faster, any dizzier, any
better
. Gregory went absolutely still for a minute before withdrawing and coming back for the final slam dunk. I tried not to scream, but after he called out my name for the entire world to hear, I followed suit. What the hell? Over the edge we went, holding on tightly to each other. We laid there panting, stuck together and in shock on the rug.

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