Her one night gamble with her yoga teacher should have slaked any future cravings.
She'd been wrong.
She only wanted more.
Arianna shook the thought off and posed the question on her mind. "What now?" He handed her a mug of steaming brew. "Black, right?" She nodded. "Now we get ourselves together and finish up the workshop."
"And then?"
His face softened as he gazed at her. "And then we figure it out." She lifted her chin and asked the question. "Was last night it?" His lip quirked upward. "It?"
Arianna blew out an irritated breath. "You know, is this thing over? Do we go our separate ways now that our itch has been scratched?" He seemed to consider the question. "Do you want it to be over?"
"No."
"Neither do I." He walked into the bathroom and she heard the water turn on. "Go take your shower."
Arianna opened her mouth to argue, then surrendered. Grant answered things in his own time. As impatient as she was, he symbolized patience. As much as she liked to control, he fostered surrender. They were complete opposites and would never work out long term. But for now, she'd go with the flow and let Grant set the pace.
Arianna sipped her coffee and strode into the bathroom. The hot water pulsed against each sore muscle and she moaned in pleasure. Lifting her head up to the spray, she closed her eyes and breathed in and out, enjoying the luxury of the four shower heads that covered every inch of her in massaging water.
Her eyes flew open when hard hands grabbed her hips and pulled her back.
His muscled chest pressed against her. His jutting manhood settled in between her naked buttocks. With one foot, he kicked her legs apart so she was open to both the water and his hands.
"What are you doing?" Her voice seemed torn from her throat. "We'll be late."
"We have time. Shhh, let me wash you."
He lathered the soap between his hands and slipped down her shoulders, using gentle circular motions as he slowly coated her in bubbles. Her breasts were massaged, his thumbs tweaking her hard nipples and bringing a moan to her lips. He continued over her body, easing her sore muscles until a low fire simmered in her center; a fire that grew steadier as those hands washed her back, her belly, her thighs.
Arianna surrendered to his hands and to whatever he wanted to do to her, feeling almost like a concubine, wanting only to give him pleasure with her body and anything else he wanted to take.
"Grant." His name tore from her lips as his hands washed the curls between her legs, his fingers gently slipping into her own wetness, moving his slick hand back and forth in a slow steady motion.
She arched back and gave him full access, feeling the heat climb over every inch of her body, waiting for him to take her, to drive his hard cock deep inside so she could. . . .
The water washed the bubbles away and he turned her around to face him. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, his tongue gently probing her wet mouth while his hard length settled at her entrance to tease her. The taste of coffee and male hunger swamped her senses. She held onto his damp shoulders and urged him on.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he eased away from the kiss, his fingers caressing her face, his gaze so hot his eyes deepened to an inky black, luring her in.
Then he stepped back.
Arianna blinked, fighting insanity as her body leapt madly for him to finish what he started. "Grant?"
"I'm not finishing this yet, Arianna. Tantra is about building the sexual energy between a couple, riding the waves as they come, but not always surrendering." He stepped forward at her obvious confusion and roughly pushed a thumb over her swollen lips in a gesture of possession.
"I want you to think about my hands on you all day. I want you to remember how many times I made you come last night. I want you to imagine what it's going to be like when I get you alone again. Sexual tension is great foreplay, but you have to have enough control to play." Grant flashed a wolfish grin. "I happen to have enough control. And I know you do. You are a worthy partner."
She shook her head as the water poured down over her. Every nerve ending was jumping and alert, her clit felt swollen and uncomfortable, her breasts heavy and ripe. "I don't think I like this game," she muttered.
His eyes gleamed. "You will. Your body is a playground, baby, and I intend to play for a long time. Not just one night in a free for all." He stepped away. "Get dressed and I'll meet you downstairs."
He left and Arianna was alone.
Bastard.
She glared at the man who sexually tortured her, but only received a sly wink back which made things worse. Her body throbbed with unfulfilled longing. Her belly felt like it was on the edge of a roller coaster hill, all tight with anticipation. The whole episode was ridiculous. There was no reason to feel this way when satisfaction was available. Tantra sucked.
She rolled up her yoga mat and cleaned up the studio. It had been a productive session, even with her body buzzing out of control. The students were excited and Arianna felt confident she had demonstrated the asanas correctly and helped Grant promote his school.
She had planned to drive back to New York tonight, but since circumstances had changed considerably with her teacher, she decided to stay. She craved one more night in his bed. She's already called into the office a few times during the day, but the upcoming week symbolized hell. The launching of an account took months of planning for a creative team, and her schedule would be pretty tight. She wondered if Grant wanted to keep seeing her when they returned home. The stray thought nagged at her. She couldn't remember the last time a man had confused her. Usually, she knew exactly what type of relationship she was getting into and easily controlled them. Arianna enjoyed being the dominant partner, and men usually had no problem with her role. Grant was the first man to push back.
A smile curved her lips at the thought of his control in the bedroom. The man was in for a surprise tonight. She intended to drive him crazy until he begged for mercy, just like she had.
Revenge would be sweet.
"You did well today."
She turned at the sound of his gravelly voice. "Thanks. I'm getting better. It's almost as if my body is going deeper into the postures."
Grant nodded and reached out to smooth back her hair. His gaze travelled over her face with a half searching, half serious look. "Yoga is specifically tailored to allow the body the most pleasure. Holding the asanas clears your mind and helps you go deeper into your meditation."
"I never thought I could sit still for long, but now I find I like it. Control the breath, control your life."
He smiled at the recital of his common quote to class. "Hmmm, you've become my best student."
"I like to study hard." She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "But watch out. The student sometimes surpasses the teacher."
His hand snaked downward to cup her buttocks and bring her up hard against him. He was already aroused. "You've got a few more lessons to go, woman. Don't get cocky on me." Arianna lifted her leg so he fit in between the notch of her thighs more snugly. Then she slowly ground against him as she bit down hard on his earlobe. "How about getting your cock in me?"
He growled. "You asked for it, little girl."
One quick twist and her back slammed against the wall. He pinned her legs open as he thrust between her thighs, the stretchy fabric of her yoga pants the only barrier. She lost control and ripped out the band holding his hair, thrusting all ten fingers into the pitch-black strands and pulling hard as the sexual tension pulsed through her body in demand to his thrusts. His hands made their way under her t-shirt and pulled down the cups of her bra to roughly massage her nipples, which were hard little points. A low animal groan escaped her throat. She felt the madness grab hold as her breath came in choppy gasps as she urged him on, to do her hard, to tear her apart with his mouth and tongue and teeth.
Grant looked down at the woman who exploded in his arms and shuddered. He felt a crazed urgency to rip off her pants and thrust into he
r, but the warning bell sounded in his brain and with his control on the ragged edge, he pulled back. He knew he could make her come right now, come hard with just his fingers brushing against her clit, but he paused, torn between his constant need to control her and his own emotions. He refused to think about why this woman scared the literal crap out of him. He stared at her, half naked, panting hard as her cat green eyes dared him to take her here. She had no fear. She took life and all its messiness with a passionate awareness and lust and never offered an apology. She was true to her body and soul, from her work to her lovemaking. He wanted to hold all that fire within him, feel her tighten around his cock and hear his name on her lips. For the first time since the divorce, he felt the pure need to own another woman, body and soul, and he'd promised to never feel such weakness again.
Because love was a weakness. He was open to life, and experiences, and sex and friendship. He was no longer open to love and marriage and sacrifice. There were too many casualties, and after his wife had betrayed him and walked away from everything they'd built without a glance back, something deep within him had died.
The man he'd been had died.
Grant never intended to bring that man back.
So, he eased away. The hard length of his erection pulsed between them in obvious contradiction. The question gleamed from sea green depths. Grant refused to answer the real inquiry and buried his unease with a rough smile.
"What are you doing?" Her voice came out raspy, as if just surfacing from a deep sleep.
He held himself in a muscle lock and used all of his training in tantra not to fuck her anyway. "I'm taking you to dinner."
Her eyebrow lifted. "Now? Don't you have an appetite for something else?" She looked down at his heavy engorged penis. "Or is it just me?" Grant laughed out loud at her cheekiness and pressed his thumb over her swollen lips. "I intend to satisfy both of us. After we eat."
"Seems like a replay of last night."
He kissed her hard and grabbed her hand. "Different meal. Different conversation.
Different intimacy."
"Hope not too different," she muttered under her breath. He laughed again as they locked up the studio and made their way back to the hotel.
Arianna lifted her martini glass and sipped, enjoying the sting of vodka as the liquid slid down her throat. Grant watched the intimate gesture from across the table, his mouth lifted in a half smile. She admitted to herself she loved teasing him, knowing soon they would be in the bedroom together. She'd never met a man with so much control, so much focus to give her pleasure before his own. The knowledge was like a drug, and she wanted to drink deeply and gulp the sensations like a greedy half-starved addict. The men she had been involved with had approached sex with the same basic drives she had--hard, fast and satisfying. They took turns pleasuring each other. Emotion was involved, but she had never met someone who filled both her body and mind. She always believed she was too complicated and searched for perfection. At least, that was what her mother always told her when she complained about no grandchildren.
They sat at the same table as the other night. The atmosphere was hushed and intimate, and the restaurant was empty. A lone piano singer sang a sad rendition of Piano Man by Billy Joel. The Boston city lights sprawled in glory underneath them as she gazed out the window.
"Tell me about your job," Grant said. "When you first took my class you said you had burnout."
She forked up a leafy green and thought about the question. "It's a demanding career," she said carefully. "The hours are shit, the deadlines are killer, and you have to be wonderful and creative for every account or someone else will step over and take your position." He saw right through her words and nodded. "You love it." Arianna grinned. "Hell, yes, I love it. I get up in the morning and I'm excited about what the day brings. I never know what to expect. The money is great, the pressure helps me thrive, and I'm lucky I found what I want to do. Most people don't." A shadow must have crossed her face because his gaze probed hers, looking for something more. "No, you're right. Most people don't." He seemed to fight his own demons and then came back to her. "How did you start?"
"I come from a small town in Iowa. I moved to New York when--"
"Excuse me, did you say Iowa?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Iowa. You have a problem with that?" He held up both hands in defense. "I love Iowa. I just can't picture you living in a small town. Your personality is a bit too, well, large."
"My mother agrees." She thought about those younger years and allowed him access. "I always felt out of place. We lived in a farming community where things were simple. The school, the jobs, the people. I was always. . . wanting." He reached across the table and snagged her hand. His fingers massaged hers. Their gentle strength soothed her soul and she reached deeper to share part of who she was. "I wanted to move and do something great with my life, but my family was pretty shocked at my ambitions. They never understood who I was, so it ended up with my acting out in high school and gaining the reputation of being a slut."
"Not very Iowalike, huh?"
She smiled. "No. I got through high school by using my reputation to anger them further.
And then I graduated and moved to New York."
"How was the transition?"
"Tough." She shrugged it off as the memories flitted past. "Young attractive girl hits the city with a will to set it on fire. Little money in her pocket. Things were not pleasant for a long time. But I got lucky. I found some girls who wanted to make it in acting and I roomed with them. I waitressed and worked the movie theater and learned retail. I made no money but I kept myself working and I experimented."
"I bet you did." His low, sexy tone raked across her ears.
"I dated creative artists and actors. I dabbled in theater and music, but something didn't feel right. I finally got an office job with a steady income and benefits at a small advertising firm.
Receptionist. I worked hard and started snooping around. When I started dating one of the executives I began learning about working an advertising account. One evening, he was revising his pitch and I had an idea. I came up with a tagline--branding is pretty important, especially now. My idea got him the account, and before I knew it, we were working together. Of course, I was behind the scenes and never got credit, but I learned a lot." Grant leaned over, seemingly intrigued by her life story. "What happened?" She took another sip of her martini. "I slipped him a mickey one night." He choked, then grabbed his napkin. "You what?"
Arianna gave a wicked grin. "Put something in his drink so he got sick. Just a little. I showed up for work and took over his position on the pitch that day. Walked right into the conference room and did the presentation like I owned the place. They loved me."
"You got his job?"
"Hell, no, the creep lied and threw me to the wolves, so they fired me. But after that I had the experience I needed. I lied on my resume and got another job at my current firm. First level assistant. But that's all I needed. A foot in the door. I made my own luck." Grant shook his head in admiration. "Heck of a story. What do your parents think?" She fought past the sadness and refused its entrance. "They were happy I was okay, but they're not interested in the life I built here. They're more interested in me getting married and having children. I think that will help them believe I'm normal. So far, I've been one long line of disappointments. They couldn't have any other children so they were hoping I'd settle in Iowa, help dad run the farm and have a few kids."
He squeezed her fingers and startled her out of her reverie. When she looked up, his gaze was dark and haunted, full of raw need and ghosts of his own past. She caught her breath at his own nakedness, and felt her heart pause, just a moment, then resume its beat.
"You know who you are." His voice filled with urgency, as if warning her what he said was of utmost importance. "You have a gift not many people have, and if they do they refuse to listen. You took risks and you never compromised your soul for another human being. You, Arianna D
evlin, are a hell of a woman."
His words shook her to the core. Arianna struggled to keep her emotions from brimming over the cup which always held a tight lid. This man saw who she was. He watched her struggle in class through postures, had thrust into her body and made her come over and over, but was able to see a part of her she always hid--the shame she felt for never giving her parents what they wanted, for being who she needed to be. Deep down, she had always apologized for those emotions. Grant Madison made her feel powerful. She wondered if she would ever think of herself as that poor, ashamed girl again.
Her fingers trembled over the stem of her glass as she carefully set it down. She used her napkin to pat her lips, then pushed her chair politely away from the table.
"Come upstairs," she said. "Now."
Grant didn't hesitate. He threw a wad of cash on the linen tablecloth and followed her out.
Chapter Four
The door closed behind him.
Grant turned. They stared at each other from across the cheap carpet in the hotel bedroom. The lighting cast a half glow over the queen sized bed, muting the furniture and the walls and everything else that existed. The heat between them rose. Simmered. Pulled.
"Take off your clothes." His demand was rough, controlling. She shivered. His grace and gentleness all day in the studio vanished, leaving a hungry sexual male predator who wanted all aspects of power. She recognized her physical soul mate, recognized the sheer need within her core to be the one in charge, to be the one who held the command and made her mate bend beneath her and melt to her sexual will.
Tonight, she was a creature of surrender.
Arianna felt on the edge of an ancient discovery and fought the fall. "I want to see you. I want. . . . "