Park Avenue Prince(21)

It was just sex, just f*cking, but it seemed like so much more than I’d ever felt before. As if she’d pricked my skin with that final look and I’d unraveled before her.

Our breaths were uneven, pushing and pulling against each other’s necks.

“Jesus, Grace.” I hadn’t expected that.

She didn’t reply, but shifted underneath me.

I moved to her side, discarded the condom and then rolled onto my back, my breath still stuttering.

Eventually, Grace sat up, giving me a view of her back. She turned her head to look at me over her shoulder. “Why don’t you have any furniture?” she asked, her voice unsteady, still recovering from the exertion. It puffed up my ego. I did that to her. “Is it in storage?”

“How long have you been waiting to ask me that?” I missed her warm, soft body beneath mine. And I wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. I wanted to feel her surrounding me again. And I still had to make her come with my tongue. So much to do.

She raised her eyebrows. “Have you noticed how often you answer one of my questions with a question of your own?”

“You do it, too,” I replied.

She settled back into the crook of my shoulder, respecting the fact I didn’t want to answer her question. Which only made me want to tell her everything. “There’s nothing in storage. I rented until I bought this place.”

“You didn’t collect anything on the way?”

“I told you I’m not a collector of things. Or of people. I’m not sentimental that way.”

She didn’t respond and we lay there marinating in what had just passed between us—the words, the touch, the way she fit so comfortably against my body.

I might not be sentimental, but for the first time ever, I knew there had to be something after the f*cking.





Chapter Eight

Grace





“You’re not sentimental at all?” I asked after a few minutes. Why was I still lying here, against his hard, delicious body? I needed to get the hell out of there, not be in his arms. If only my muscles just had a little bit more power in them. It was as if Sam had drained me of all my energy.

It always took my body a while to open up to a new guy, and I never had an orgasm the first time I slept with a man. I wasn’t sure whether or not I’d ever felt anything so intense. My climax had rumbled low and deep, in wave after wave. This man, who could have any woman he wanted with his sure smile and easy confidence, had waited for me to come first. It was only after me that he’d come, as if he’d finally been allowed to do the one thing he wanted to do most.

I shuddered.

“Hey, are you cold?” he asked.

I wasn’t, but I couldn’t tell him it was thoughts of him, of what we’d done together, that had made me shiver. “Maybe, a little.”

He pulled his shirt over me like a crisp cotton sheet.

“I’m not ready for you to put on clothes yet. We have plenty to do first.”

He couldn’t see the grin trying to escape my pursed lips, but I couldn’t stay here. My desire to bury thoughts of Steve had made me weak. Momentarily. But, as comfortable as the crook of his shoulder was, I shouldn’t settle here. “I can’t believe I f*cked my first client,” I said, then wished I hadn’t said that out loud.

He pulled me closer and dropped a kiss on the top of my head. “I think you’ll find I f*cked you.”

I wasn’t going to argue. He was right. I’d had little say in the how, and I found I liked that. I squeezed my thighs together as I remembered his hot breath on my *. I rarely let a man go down on me, but as much as part of me hated to admit it, I was pretty sure if Sam Shaw suggested it again, I’d say yes.

His cock pulsed against his belly, as if he was getting hard again. Jesus. I needed to go. I should have left already. Like he’d said, nothing came after the sex, so what was I doing lying here, basking in postcoital glow?

“I need to leave,” I said.

“Not yet. Soon. I want to come again. Make you come again.”

It was what I wanted, too. Just to make sure it wasn’t a fluke, that I hadn’t imagined he’d made my body sing the way I thought he had. Even now, just a few minutes later, I was sure it couldn’t have been quite as . . . overwhelming . . . different . . . or as good as I thought it had been.

“And you haven’t agreed to be my art consultant yet.”

I groaned. I’d been hoping he wouldn’t mention the art consultant thing again. Now I wouldn’t make any money from Steve’s earlier work, I needed the cash.

I couldn’t say no.

Even though I wasn’t qualified.

Even though I didn’t have enough contacts.

Even though working with him would be a complete distraction.

The “nothing” after sex would be easy if I never saw him again. But the way he made my body feel . . . Surely I wouldn’t be able to be near him and not think about it.

“I’ll have my office update the contract I had with Nina with your details, and have them send it over.”

I stayed silent and kept as still as possible. I should say no, but I couldn’t.

“We can start right away.”

What was his rush? Art collecting wasn’t a sprint. It was something you took a lifetime to do. I sat up and glanced around for my clothes. “There’s an auction of Old European Masters at Sotheby’s next month.” I reached for my bra and fastened it around my chest. “I’ll check out the program and see if there’s anything I think you should bid on.”