Park Avenue Prince(27)

“I do. It’s masculine and pretty at the same time.”

“Okay, well if this is the one, let’s find a sales clerk.”

“What, just like that?”

I shrugged as I leaned forward, then glanced over my shoulder at her. I was right; she looked beautiful on this couch. “We’ve found something we like. What’s the point in continuing to look?”

“You’ve resisted buying furniture for what looks like your whole life, but now, all of a sudden, you’re ready to pick the first thing we see?”

I stood and held out my hand to help her up. “I told you I’d get a couch. We found one. I like it. I’m going to buy it. It’s really not that complicated.”

She ignored my offer of help and stood. “Okay. Well that was easy. What about a coffee table?”

I chuckled. Why was she taking such an interest in my interior decorating? “Oh of course,” I said. I wasn’t so different to the other men she’d been with—the artist boyfriend, the musician before that.

“What?” she asked, looking at me from where she was crouched over a glass table.

I nodded. “You’re a fixer.” I’d met people like her before. No doubt she over invested in the people around her, coaching them to be the best they could be before they turned around and dropped her.

“And you’re a know-it-all,” she retorted. “Do you like this table?”

Well at least she didn’t pretend to be something she wasn’t. “I’m not going to make it that easy for you, Grace Astor. If you want to push at my boundaries, I get to peer over your Park Avenue princess walls, too.”

She shrugged and stood up, catching the attention of a sales clerk. “Excuse me, Mr. Shaw would like to take this couch,” she said. “And this coffee table.”

Jesus, this woman had some balls on her. But I took that as game on. How could I pull her out of her comfort zone? Before I could think too hard about the implications, I grabbed her around her waist and pulled her toward me.

“What are you doing?” she pushed her hands against my chest as I drew her closer.

“I’m peering over your walls,” I replied. “I bet you’ve never, ever kissed someone in public. If you want me to buy that table, press your lips against mine in front of everyone in this store.”

She glanced around. “You’re blackmailing me?” she asked.

“Hardly. We’re talking about a kiss and a table.” Truth be told, I wasn’t one for public displays of affection; seeing other couples embracing always made me feel a little uncomfortable. But having Grace in my arms, her warmth began to seep into me. Holding her felt as if I were in some kind of secret club, just her and me.

I didn’t give a shit about who was looking.

“Okay,” she whispered, then put her hand to the back of my neck, her thumb stroking up my jaw. If I hadn’t known better, I would believe that was real affection in her fingers. I bent and she reached up on her tiptoes and very chastely touched her lips to mine. Her mouth was so soft, vulnerable.

“More,” I muttered against her mouth, dipping my head lower. She linked her hands around my head and smiled against my lips. I couldn’t help but grin back before snaking my tongue inside and kissing her as if it were my last moment on earth.

Without the whiskey, every sense was heightened, and in a matter of seconds I was hard. I pressed my hand against her ass, pulling her toward me, wanting her to feel my cock. Jesus. Being in public and knowing this couldn’t be any more than a kiss made it all the more fun. I couldn’t remember ever kissing a woman without the expectation that it would turn into something more. This was new. And I liked it.

A small groan escaped Grace’s lips and suddenly she pulled away, almost as if she were ashamed she’d gotten so carried away. I released her, but couldn’t keep my eyes off her as she glanced around surreptitiously. She smoothed down her hair and turned away from me, then covered her mouth with both hands. “Your . . .” she whispered as if it were talking that would draw people’s attention. She waved her hand in front of my face. “It makes my face red.”

I stroked my face. She meant my stubble. I shaved every morning, but by the afternoon, I always had some regrowth. Her chin and mouth were a little reddened. I grinned, pleased she still wore the aftereffects of our kiss. How would she like my scruff grazing along her inner-thigh, across her *? It was my turn to swallow a groan.

How had I let her leave the other day without tasting her?

“You want normal shipping or the expedited option?” the sales clerk asked, pulling my attention away from Grace and her red, kiss-swollen lips.

“Expedited,” I replied without really thinking about it, distracted by the blonde beauty in front of me.

“Right, now a dining table and a bed,” she said as the clerk handed me my credit card.

“You know how this works, right?” I asked.

“How what works?” she asked, leading me toward some dining furniture.

“You get to push, I get to push. If that kiss was what I get for a coffee table, I’ll have to think up something suitable before you pick out stuff for the dining room.”

She trapped the side of her bottom lip with her teeth. “Well, let’s just look on the way to the exit,” she said. Maybe she thought she could convince me. Or maybe she thought I was going to kiss her again. Perhaps she wanted me to.