Page 27 of Dating the Rebel
She chuckled—that sexy, naughty chuckle that had his blood pressure rising like the elevator moving from one floor to the next. He wanted the old lady and the dog off it. He wanted Miranda alone. But when the elevator stopped on ten, she was the one who stepped through the doors. When he hesitated, she asked, “Are you coming?”
“Soon...” he murmured—hopefully.
A slight smile curved her lips, and she sighed. “And here I just expected you to show me to my door like the perfect gentleman would do on the perfect date.”
She was teasing—he hoped.
“You didn’t think the wine was too dry?” he asked. “The risotto too sticky?”
Her smile widened as she walked down the hall. It was an older building with the wallpaper and carpet worn and in need of replacement. But it was clean and safe.
“Nope,” she said. “It was all perfect.” She stopped at the second door from the end of the hall. “This is my place.” As she reached into her purse, her face flushed—almost as if she was embarrassed.
“Can’t find your keys?” he asked.
She shook her head as she pulled them out. The metal jangled as she unlocked and pushed open her door.
Grant tensed, waiting for her to stop him there with the offer of another damn handshake like she’d done the morning after their incredible night. But before he could react, she reached out, grabbed his T-shirt in her hand and pulled him inside the apartment with her. She slammed the door and shoved him up against it.
Almost giddy with relief, he laughed. This was the Miranda he loved—no, not loved. He loved nobody but his family and some really close friends. This was the Miranda who intrigued and excited him.
She took the takeout container from his hands and put it on the table in the small foyer. Then she linked her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to hers. She kissed him like he’d wanted her to kiss him—with all the crazy passion she brought out in him.
She nipped and nibbled at his lips until he opened his mouth again. But he wasn’t laughing anymore. He was panting for breath. His heart raced. He wanted her so damn badly.
He cupped her butt, her sweet, curvy little butt, in his hands and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him, clinging to him, as he walked. He didn’t go far. The apartment was a tiny studio. A small kitchen stood on one side and a living room on the other with a bathroom door open off that. “Where’s the bed?” he asked, his voice gruff with the need gripping him.
Her lips curved against his. “You need a bed?”
“Don’t you have one?” he asked. “What? Do you sleep hanging upside down?”
She laughed now and, unlocking her legs, she slid down his body, over his straining erection. “You really should be worried that you’re going to offend me if you want to be the perfect date.”
He didn’t want to be the perfect date anymore. He just wanted her.
“I never offended you before,” he said. “Even when I tried.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that...”
A twinge of regret struck his madly pounding heart. Had he ever hurt her feelings before? He’d been harsh with her sometimes, out of concern for his sister, but she’d never seemed to let it faze her.
“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.
She tilted her head and studied his face, as if uncertain if she should believe him. “I’ll let you make it up to me,” she said. “If you can find the bed.”
“Are you going to give me a hint?” he asked—because he wanted her so badly he was thinking about taking her up against the door where she’d slammed him. But he wasn’t sure his knees would hold him up; they were beginning to shake as desire overwhelmed him.
She twirled around in the middle of the living room space, like she’d twirled on the beach that first night they’d gone out—the moon casting a glow like a spotlight all around her. She was so stunningly beautiful that he had to look away for a moment, as if she was so bright she might burn his eyes. Or his heart.
That was when he noticed the wide armoire standing against the wall next to the bathroom door. Nothing sat on the hardwood floor in front of the antique piece of furniture, or maybe it had been purposely distressed to look as if the white paint was wearing off it. He opened the doors and pulled down the mattress of the hidden bed.
She giggled now, as if she was as excited as he was. He turned toward her and arched a brow. He hadn’t ever heard her giggle like that. Only Blair’s flighty friends had giggled like that.
She’d clasped a hand over her mouth, as if the sound had surprised her, too. Her eyes were wide above her hand, wide and bright.
He closed the distance between them, leaned over and brushed his lips across the back of her hand. But that wasn’t where he really wanted to kiss her. Where he needed to kiss her.
When she’d wound her legs around his torso, her skirt had ridden up—bunched nearly around her waist. He pushed it up the rest of the way and reached for her panties, sliding them down her bare legs. She stepped out of them, and when she parted her legs, he parted them wider and slid his fingers inside her. She was already wet, already hot, all ready for him.
