Sweet Talk

  “Okay. Shoot,” he told her.

  “Do you ever think about kissing me?”

  He smiled at her again, and she felt as though she was melting. “Yeah, I do. All the time,” he said as his hand moved to the back of her neck.

  “All the time, Grayson?” she asked, her tone teasing.

  He pulled her toward him, and his lips covered hers in a kiss that was outrageously carnal. His mouth was hot, and his tongue stroked hers until she was desperate for more. She could have stopped him, but that was the last thing on her mind.

  For Grayson, the kiss was consuming and extremely arousing. When he came to his senses and realized what was happening, he took her by the shoulders and gently pushed her away. “We can’t do this now.” His voice was harsh.

  Olivia was feeling dazed. One kiss and she was shaking. What would happen if he made love to her? She’d probably disintegrate. She threaded her fingers through her hair and took a breath. Grayson had disappeared into her kitchen. She needed to apologize. She knew she was putting him in an awkward position. He was an agent investigating a crime, and she was the victim. Getting personally involved was not a good idea. Their relationship should stay professional . . . shouldn’t it? Her head was telling her yes, but her heart was screaming no.

  When she entered the kitchen, Grayson was standing at her refrigerator. He had the door open and seemed to be looking for something in particular.

  “What would you like?” she asked.

  That was a leading question. “I don’t know. Something to drink.”

  She pushed the door closed. “There are all sorts of drinks in the beverage drawer. It’s behind you.”

  It looked like a regular drawer to him; the exterior was the same dark cherrywood as the cabinets. He opened it, pulled out a bottle of water, then closed it.

  “Nice,” he said, making a mental note for his next remodel. “I like it. I should put one of these in my kitchen. My nephew is always in the refrigerator.”

  “Henry?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  “He’s living with you?”

  “Yes, ever since my father’s heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry. Is your father going to be okay?”

  “Yes,” he replied and said nothing more.

  That was it? Just yes? No explanation at all. Okay, she got the message. His personal life was off-limits. She felt like a fool now because she had all but begged him to kiss her. Again.

  Olivia leaned against the sink and folded her arms across her waist. She was irritated with herself. She had broken her vow not to ask personal questions, to let him volunteer whatever he wanted to tell her.

  “Do you mind if I look at your cabinets?” he asked.

  Since he already had opened the door above the sink and was looking at the wood, she didn’t bother to answer.

  “I rehab houses,” he explained. “This wood is nice. I like the grain. Did you choose it?”

  “Yes.”

  “I also like the granite.”

  He suddenly moved and pinned her against the sink. Then he leaned down and kissed her. It was quick and very nice.

  “What was that for?” she asked, bewildered.

  “To get you to quit frowning.”

  He brushed his mouth over hers again. “Know what else I like?”

  “No, what?” she whispered.

  He stepped back. “Your sink.”

  She walked past him. “You’re such a flatterer.”

  He followed. “Hey, I really do like your sink.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You want to kiss me; you don’t want to kiss me. You kiss, then you don’t kiss. Make up your mind, for Pete’s sake.”

  He laughed. There was a knock on the door, and his mood changed in a heartbeat. “Go sit down. George is here.”

  “He’s early,” she said. “Guess he didn’t have any trouble finding the place.”

  “He’s never been here before?”

  “No.”

  He waited until she was seated, then unlocked the door and opened it. George was a big man, almost as tall as Grayson. He needed to lose some weight, at least sixty pounds. He carried most of the extra pounds in his chest and stomach. Heart attack waiting to happen, Grayson thought.

  George introduced himself to Grayson but couldn’t look him in the eye.

  “Are you staying or leaving?” he asked.

  “Staying,” Grayson said firmly.

  “Why? There’s a guard right outside the door. She doesn’t need one inside, too. He patted me down, which I found a bit insulting.”

  “Come sit down, George,” Olivia called. She wanted to get up and properly greet him at the door, but Grayson had insisted she sit.

  “I see no reason why he—”

  “I’m staying,” Grayson repeated.

  “Grayson’s with the FBI,” Olivia explained. “They’re investigating the shooting.”

  Olivia’s brother-in-law stopped arguing. He took his coat off and started to hand it to Grayson. He quickly changed his mind and draped it over a table. It immediately fell to the floor, and George didn’t bother to pick it up.

  He was used to others taking care of his needs, Grayson thought.

  George looked around the living room before taking a seat in one of the chairs facing the sofa. Olivia didn’t care if he liked her home or not. After Grayson and she were finished talking to him, he wouldn’t be coming back.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked Olivia.

  “I’m fine,” she answered.

  He turned to Grayson. “Have you got any leads on who shot Olivia? I’m sure it’s one of the people she’s going after for not paying their taxes. A lot of people hate her . . . I mean . . . hate the IRS.”

  Grayson didn’t say a word. He simply stared at George until he flinched and looked away.

  “Where’s Natalie?” Olivia asked.

  “In Miami with your parents.”

  “Does she know you’re here?”

  “Of course. In fact, she suggested I come talk to you.”

  Here we go. “Talk to me about what?” she asked innocently.

  “You simply have to talk to Emma and convince her to put her money in Trinity,” he blurted.

  “No. Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?”

  “Don’t dismiss me,” he snapped. “This is important. People . . . influential people . . . know she hasn’t invested. When she does, they’ll follow suit.”

  “No.”

  “This is killing your mother and your sister.”

  “What’s killing them?” she asked. She tried to sound worried but couldn’t pull it off.

  “This hold you have on Emma. She’ll do whatever you tell her to do.”

  “She will not. She’s an intelligent, strong, independent woman.” And you’re a moron, she silently added.

  “But you’ve got this special hold on her, ever since you gained her sympathy when you were sick.”

  “I gained her sympathy? Are you kidding me?”

  “I’m simply stating what I know to be true.”

  “You know, George, until today I thought you had at least half a brain. I don’t think that any longer. You’re as blind as Mother and Natalie when it comes to Father’s scam.”

  George huffed and started to get up. He glanced at Grayson, and quickly sat down again. “You’re the one who’s blind. Do you realize how much money Natalie and I have made?”

  Grayson took over. “Why don’t you use some of it to pay off your loan?”

  Feigning ignorance, he said, “What loan?”

  “The loan from your bookie. Subway calls himself a bookie, right?”

  “Listen here,” he shouted. “That
’s private . . .”

  “Natalie doesn’t know about the loan, does she?” Olivia asked.

  He seemed to deflate in front of her. His shoulders slumped as he hunched over, and his head dropped.

  “No.” He sounded as though he wanted to cry. “She’ll divorce me if she finds out.”

  “You’re going to have to take that risk. You can’t ignore a loan shark—”

  “He’s a bookie,” he snapped. He buried his face in his hands. “I’ve been such a fool. I started out placing a couple of bets on some college basketball games, and before I knew it, I was in over my head.”

  “How does getting Emma to invest in Trinity help you?” Olivia asked.

  “It doesn’t,” he answered. “I’m just trying to help your parents and Natalie. It’s very important to them that the firm continues to grow, and Emma is so influential. If her friends knew she’d put her faith in the fund, they’d follow suit.”

  “And you could take some of your money out for your debts?”

  “No, I can’t do that . . . not without Natalie finding out about the gambling.”

  She was getting sick to her stomach. “Tell Natalie, and for God’s sake, get your money out of that fund before it’s too late.”

  “You’re not going to be reasonable, are you?” He paused for a moment, and Olivia could almost see his mind racing. “Now that you know about my debts . . . what about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You could borrow against your trust. Don’t you get it in two months?”

  “No, a year and two months,” she corrected.

  “What happens to the trust if Olivia dies before she gets it?” Grayson asked.

  Without hesitating, George said, “It all goes to Natalie.”

  “And you.”

  “Well, yes, we’re married—” He stopped abruptly. “Wait . . . you don’t think I would ever harm Olivia.”

  Grayson didn’t answer. He didn’t think George had the nerve to shoot anyone. He could see him hiring people, though.

  “And once she has the money, if anything were to happen to her, it would go to whomever she’s named in her will,” Grayson said.

  George pretended he didn’t know anything about a will.

  Grayson continued, “And I’ll bet you know how much is in Olivia’s trust, down to the last dollar.”

  “Olivia was given more than Natalie because of her illness. At least, that’s what Natalie and I believe.”

  “George, it’s time for you to leave,” Olivia said.

  He didn’t protest. Once he had his coat on, he said, “You won’t talk to Emma?”

  How many times did she have to say it? “No.”

  She didn’t walk him to the door. Grayson did. After he locked it, he said, “What does your sister see in him?”

  “You haven’t met my sister yet, have you? When you do, you’ll understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “He’s perfect for her.”

  “I see.”

  She touched his arm. “I don’t think George would have harmed me, but I’m glad you were here.”

  “Me too,” he said. He took her hand. “You know, if you need anything . . . that is, if you get scared or want to talk, you can call me.”

  “I know,” she answered with a warm smile. “Thank you, Grayson. I don’t know that I could have handled all this without you.”

  He looked away from her and didn’t say anything. He seemed preoccupied. “I should get going,” he said finally.

  She watched him turn off the kitchen light and walk to the closet to get his coat . . . only, he didn’t get it. He pulled it off the hanger, then hung it back up. He stood there deep in thought for a few seconds, then he circled the living room and turned off all but one lamp. The room was cast in shadows. He stopped at the fireplace, picked up the remote from the mantel, and pushed the “on” button. Fire licked the logs, the gas feeding it until the flames were high.

  The living room was warm and cozy now.

  He silently watched the fire for a couple of minutes with his hands in his pockets, and then he began to walk back and forth, staring at the floor as though he were looking for answers to some unsettling question.

  Olivia observed his peculiar behavior. She was getting a crick in her neck as he paced in front of her. She thought he might be trying to work something out about the investigation, or he was thinking about her lovely relatives perhaps, maybe even thanking God they weren’t in his family. He’d met only George. She wondered how he was going to react when he met the others. She should probably take his gun away before she introduced them.

  “Grayson? What are you doing?” she asked, breaking the silence. She’d been sitting too long. She stood and stretched her arms over her head to get the stiffness out of her shoulders and immediately regretted the action. “Ouch,” she whispered, grimacing. Her shoulder and side were healing nicely, but stretching wasn’t such a good idea yet.

  Grayson had stopped pacing. She looked up at him, and the intensity in his eyes made her breathless. She went to him. Stopping just a foot away, she faced him. “What’s going on?” she asked softly. “Tell me what you’re thinking about. Maybe I can help you.”

  He almost laughed. “Yeah, okay. I’m thinking I’m not gonna be able to keep my hands off you much longer. Wanna help me with that?”

  FOURTEEN

  He’d rendered her speechless. Fortunately, the condition didn’t last long.

  “I thought you were thinking about George.”

  “Why would I be thinking about him?” he asked, clearly exasperated.

  “Because he was just here,” she reminded. “And you’re angry.”

  “I’m not angry.” His jaw was clenched, and he was frowning at her.

  “Yes, you are . . . and so I assumed you were thinking about my brother-in-law. But you weren’t.”

  “No.”

  His eyes looked deeply into hers, and she suddenly realized what was going on inside him.

  “You want me,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.

  Her surprise irritated him. “Hell yes, I want you. And guess what, sweetheart. You want me, too.”

  Her hands went to her hips. “You can’t know that.”

  “Sure I can. Are you going to be honest with me and admit it?”

  He took a step toward her. He was definitely trying to intimidate her, she thought, and she was having none of it. She stood her ground.

  “That isn’t the question here.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “There’s no need to raise your voice, Grayson.”

  “You’re yelling, Olivia.”

  She was having trouble catching her breath. She guessed grabbing her inhaler wouldn’t be very romantic, but then he was glaring at her now, and how romantic was that?

  “Yes, I want you,” she admitted. “Does my honesty please you?” She wagged her finger at him. “It doesn’t matter, so tuck your ego away. I will not distract you, and having sex with you . . . Stop smiling. Having sex . . .”

  “Will distract me?”

  “Exactly so.”

  Grayson wanted to take her into his arms and kiss every inch of her. God, she was beautiful and so damned passionate.

  “You will get fired,” she said.

  He had to force himself to pay attention. “I what?”

  “Get fired.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “This isn’t funny, Grayson. You’ll get into trouble.”

  He shook his head again. “I mean . . . if they found out . . . Oh, for the love of God, stop looking like you want to laugh. I’m thinking about you.”

  “I’m thinking about you, too.”

  He we
nt back to the hearth, picked up the remote, and turned the gas off. The fire flickered and sputtered, then went out.

  Olivia felt a stab of disappointment the second he turned away from her. Yet she was determined to help him make the right decision, no matter how it affected her.

  “You have to think about this, base your decision on logic, not lust.”

  Grayson turned around, and his eyes never left hers as he walked toward her. He stopped just inches away, and though he wanted to take her into his arms, he forced himself to wait. He needed to hear her say the words first.

  “Do you want me to touch you, Olivia?”

  His voice was gritty with emotion, and she could see the passion in his eyes. She knew she could end this now. She could lie and he would leave . . . except, she didn’t want him to leave, no matter how complicated it became. And so she simply gave him the truth. No coyness, no lies, no games. “Yes,” she whispered. “I do want you to touch me.”

  “Now?”

  She sighed. “Oh yes. Now.”

  He reached for her, pulling her into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his neck and began to place soft kisses along his jaw and the side of his neck. She teased his earlobe with her tongue and knew he liked what she was doing because he tightened his hold and pulled her against him.

  He growled low in his throat as he roughly twisted her hair into his fist and jerked her head back. His open mouth came down on hers and his tongue sank inside to mate with hers. The scorching kiss went on and on until she was shaking with desire and could barely stand up. Her fingers slid into his hair, and she clung to him.

  Panting, she stepped back. “Grayson.” His name was said with a groan.

  He swept her up into his arms and carried her to her bedroom. She put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Her heart was racing; she couldn’t catch her breath, but all she could think about was touching him. She loved his scent, so earthy and clean and male. It made her want to get even closer to him.

  Grayson lifted her chin so she’d look at him. “Are you sure? Your wounds—”

  She silenced him by putting her finger on his lips. “I’m okay,” she said.

  He slowly put her down, and she stepped back, her gaze locked on his as she began to unbutton her blouse. She was trembling so, she could barely get her fingers to work. He was quicker. In seconds he pulled off his sweater, then his T-shirt, and was bare-chested.