Page 21 of One Night in My Rival's Bed

I tried to suppress a whimper of delight but didn’t quite manage it. ‘F-fine...’ I shuddered as his lips touched down on mine again. A feather-light touch that was no less arousing than his firmer kiss earlier. My lips tingled for more contact and my body throbbed hard and fast and furiously with need.

‘It’s been a long time since I kissed someone without it going any further.’ His lips went on an exquisite exploration of my right cheek, his tongue darting out to stroke my skin, making my legs all but fold beneath me. My bones were turning to liquid, my ligaments loosening, my muscles melting.

I clutched at the front of his shirt, my mouth so close to his I could feel the soft waft of his breath against my lips. ‘The self-discipline will be good for you.’ Even if it was proving torturous for me.

He grunted in wry agreement and then his lips went to the side of my neck, his stubble grazing my skin in a toe-curling manner. ‘You smell amazing.’ His voice was lower than I had ever heard it, low and husky as if it was coming from beneath the floorboards.

I tilted my head to one side, the feel of his lips moving against the skin of my neck sending flickers of delight through my body. My dangly earring tinkled as he stroked his tongue against the cartilage of my ear. How was I going to resist him when he kissed and caressed me so exquisitely? I had never been so worked up before. It was like there was a unique alchemy between us, a chemical, combustible reaction that sent shockwaves through my female flesh.

‘Grayson?’

He straightened to look down at me, his hands resting on my hips. ‘Time to stop?’

I didn’t want to stop but I had to exhibit some measure of self-control. I wrinkled my nose. ‘Can you smell something burning?’

Grayson let out a swear word and released me to check on the dinner. I let out a breath and tried to get my reeling senses back in order. I watched him move about the kitchen and did all I could to keep my hands off him. It would be so easy to close the distance between us and finish what we had started. But he was only offering a one-night stand and I had no intention of becoming one of his casual lovers.

But I wanted him and that was a problem. A problem I wasn’t sure I knew how to handle. I was tempted to sleep with him to do as he said—to get it out of our system. But I had a feeling one night with him would not help in that regard but rather make me want him more. Have you ever tried to eat one piece of popcorn? Not possible, right?

One kiss from Grayson’s firm mouth had stirred in me a desire for more.

Much more.

CHAPTER SIX

GRAYSONPICKEDUPthe wine bottle that was sitting on the table during our dinner. ‘Would you like some more wine?’

I put my hand over the top of my glass. ‘No, thanks. I need to keep a clear head.’

His half-smile sent a shiver down my spine, leaving a pool of molten heat at the base. ‘Because of what happened before dinner?’

I looked at his mouth and something in my stomach turned over. I could feel heat flooding into my cheeks and my lips began to tingle at the memory of his kiss. ‘You know how you said you haven’t kissed someone before without it leading to sex? Well, I haven’t kissed anyone since my ex.’

He frowned. ‘Do you regret breaking it off?’

‘No, not at all. We weren’t right for each other, but I couldn’t see it.’ I twisted my mouth and went on, ‘I guess I didn’t want to see it. There’s a point in a relationship where you put so much time and effort in to keeping it on track that getting out of it seems more difficult than continuing it.’ I shifted my wineglass and added, ‘I think that’s what happened with my parents too. My mother stayed with my father far longer than she should have.’

‘They weren’t happy?’

‘Not particularly. They bickered a lot.’ I frowned as I thought about my childhood before my father’s death. Summoning up memories of my father made a crushing weight of sadness form in my chest. I had so many good memories of him and yet there were some shadowy ones I didn’t like recalling. Memories of him shouting at my mother, slamming doors, and disappearing for days on end. ‘I loved my dad, but he could be difficult at times.’ I pushed a tiny crumb under the rim of my plate and then chanced a glance at Grayson. ‘He was a gifted architect and loved his work. It totally consumed him at times. But I wonder if he was as honest with my mother about how things were going financially.’

‘I know you were young at the time, but what were you told about the merger?’

I held his clear grey-blue gaze. ‘My mother told me your grandfather had pulled out of the merger at the last minute. There was some disagreement about the terms of the deal and consequently my father lost thousands of pounds. After his death, we were left with virtually nothing. My mother blamed your grandfather to the day she died.’

Grayson was silent for a long moment, a muscle pulsing in the lower quadrant of his jaw. ‘My grandfather was a hard-nosed businessman, but he wouldn’t have ripped off your father.’ The implacable edge to his tone made me uneasy. Had I got it wrong? For all these years I had blamed Grayson’s grandfather for the destruction of my father. What if there was another side to the story?

‘So, what happened to all my father’s money?’

There was a long silence. A painful silence as the reality started to dawn on me. Grayson was not going to besmirch my father’s memory by telling me the truth—I had to stumble on it myself. Some of those shadowy memories from my childhood surfaced—memories of arguments about money I didn’t understand at the time. But I was starting to understand them now. It was a painful collision between the face-saving narrative my mother had spun and the cold, hard truth.

I swallowed a lightbulb in my throat. The same lightbulb that had just flicked on in my head. ‘My father didn’t have any money, did he?’

Grayson simply sighed as if he was reluctant to add to my pain at finding out my adored father was not the man I had thought him to be.

‘For all these years, I’ve blamed your grandfather...’ My voice trailed off as my mind drifted to all the conversations I’d had with my mother after my father’s death. She hadn’t got on with him while they were married, but in death she had glorified him, making him out to be the perfect husband. But I vaguely remember the arguments about his recklessness with money. Arguments that were conducted behind closed doors, so Niamh and I weren’t privy to the details. In a child’s mind, a parent can do no wrong, especially when they were a fun parent who was so generous with gifts and words of praise. But now I was seeing my father through an adult’s eyes and what I had taken for spontaneity and generosity back then may well be seen as a lack of maturity and responsibility now.

I pushed back my chair and rose from the table, crossing my arms over my body, trying to contain my burgeoning emotions. ‘I wish my mother had told me the truth after my father died. Surely, she owed me that?’

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