Page 56 of The Innovator

The seduction excited me. What could I make Grayson do? How many layers did I need to peel off to get to the real and raw man?

Feeling free as a bird, I walked up the wooden stairs to the second floor. The steps had metal bolts that matched the masculine railing. Beautiful wooden floors greeted me as I surveyed the spacious room furnished with comfortable couches, uniquely shaped tables and chairs, a TV sitting on an abstract wooden stand, a wide bookcase, unique art, a cozy rug, and a mini bar tucked in the corner. An adorable swing with a round back hung near the balcony, facing the backyard.

A seed of jealousy sprouted in my stomach. I placed a hand over it, rubbing it gently. Why should I have been jealous? Why should I have cared how many women he’d brought here? This tree house was a peek into the Grayson beneath the layers, and I didn’t like that other women had gotten to know him first.

Stop asking irrelevant questions!

Jealousy was a natural human emotion that everyone experienced. I wasn’t immune to it. It didn’t matter if he had women lined up at his other homes or tree houses—I had men asking me on dates in Paris, Milan, London, and so forth. The problem was, I hadn’t felt a tinge of jealousy with them.

Was I getting sick? This surge of jealousy was abnormal. I placed a hand over my forehead and didn’t feel a fever.

I forced myself to focus on the intimate ambience of the space. This cutting-edge tree house was a combination of the masculine and feminine parts of nature—the hard and soft edges blending together. Metal and wood, dark and light—the opposites that somehow completed each other. It was a superb design, a reflection of who he was and how his mind connected things. I understood why people wanted to hire him.

A noise drew my attention to the left, where Grayson stood in a fancy kitchen that shouldn’t belong in a tree house. He wore a printed apron that read Hot Stuff Coming Up, and I couldn’t help but smile. His height, build, and magnetism filled the space beautifully.

Would he model for me? I could see him wearing one of my menswear ensembles from my private collection. No, he’d probably prefer the well-known brands like Armani, Gucci, and Balmain.

He moved around the kitchen with precision, speed, and dangerous sophistication—a panther with determined focus that mesmerized me.

Grayson was making lunch for me. No man had ever done that. They’d taken me to elegant restaurants, but had never put in the effort to show I mattered.

I didn’t have time to cook and didn’t enjoy it when I did.So this was extra special.

He transferred something from the stove onto plates, washed his hands, and removed the apron, hanging it on the hook on the wall. Then he stared at the plates of food as though they were artwork. If a man could grin without smiling, he just did it.

I sighed, and his eyes cut to me. The galvanized look made me suck in a deep breath that probably shifted an organ out of place.

“Ready to eat?” he asked.

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

GRAYSON

How long had she been wandering around this floor? How long had she been watching me? I’d been immersed in cooking and wondering if she’d enjoy the meal when her sigh broke my trance.

Natalie walked up to me, wearing a new top that gave me a peek at her chest and a sexy pair of shorts that made her legs appear longer than before.

She viewed the plates of salmon and turned her attention to the two bowls of salads. “I’m impressed.”

“About what?”

“That you can cook.” She gestured to the plates.

“I grill, not cook.”

“Way better than me.” She sniffed the salmon. “It smells so good.”

I brought the plates over to the table and she followed with the two bowls of salad.

She stood next to me, her bare arm brushing mine. Just looking at her shoved all other thoughts aside, leaving only her in my mind. My eyes flicked to her neck. That damn pulse on her neck called me again.

Looking up at me with appreciation, she said, “This looks delicious.”

Her gratitude broke my resistance. “So does this.” I bent down and nibbled her neck, skimming my lips over the pulse that galloped even faster. “This is a nibble, a taste, not a kiss. So it doesn’t count as a kiss.”

A soft laugh followed by a moan escaped her. “You’re improvising.”

I had to get creative. The need to touch her was too much, and I’d burst if I didn’t listen to my body.

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