Worth the Risk(59)

I put the phone down, thinking that will be the end of the conversation, and a second later, it vibrates again.



Grayson: We can use the helicopter for pictures if you want.



And just like that, he hands me the little extra Rissa was talking about. I’m still smiling as his next text comes in.



Grayson: The other night was incredible. When can I see you again?



I fight a little yelp of pleasure as well as the beginnings of flutters in my belly.

How about now? I want to ask but know that sounds a little too eager.

I’ll make him wait a bit before I answer. That way, he won’t read into it, and I won’t look so desperate.

I’m being pathetic. The man just wants more sex.

Incredibly good sex, that is.

And, of course, I’m slowly coming to the realization that I’m a bit more involved on my end of the stick.

Slowly? That’s a lie.

I know I want more . . . I’m just not sure what that more exactly is.

More lust? More sex? More friendship? More of a little bit of everything?

I’m leaving in a few months. That’s one thing I know for sure . . . so I guess that’s my answer. More lust and sex, please.

So why does knowing the answer feel less satisfying than I’d expect it to?

Reel it in, Thorton. Don’t be a giddy girl. Be a grown woman who can have sex without strings.





“I should’ve figured.”

“Should’ve figured what?” I ask to the door at which I’m currently staring, the one thing that is separating me from seeing Grayson. It’s been a long week since the last time we saw each other. A long week since his lips were on mine and the heat of his body was in my bed. And on top of me.

I’ve seen four other very sexy men up close and personal during my travels to the other finalists’ photo shoots over the past week. I’ve seen chiseled chests and flawless smiles and have been charmed to death by one after another. I’ve been taken to dinner, been wined by their wives, and dined with their children, and yet, the one man I can’t wait to see is standing behind the door in front of me.

Needless to say, I’m kind of anxious about it. Even if it’s in this setting: at his station with his crew sitting around and waiting for a call, all of them anxious to harass the hell out of him.

I’ll take him any way I can get him at this point.

“I should’ve figured that you’d finagle a way to see me.” His laugh is muffled.

“Finagle? Who me?”

“Says the queen of manipulation. Tell me, did you plant any stories in the Gazette telling people we’re getting engagement photos done today or something?”

I stare at the door with wide eyes, trying to say no and that it was all Rissa before, but before I can get the words formed and out of my mouth, the door opens, and I lose any and all ability to speak.

I may have seen other perfect men this week, but none of them stole my breath like Grayson does in this moment.

There is a teasing grin on that cocksure face of his and humor in his stunning blue eyes. Those two things together I may have been able to handle, but he’s in his flight suit, which makes it all too much. He’s just too damn sexy.

I allow myself a quick moment to appreciate the sight of every inch of him.

Just lust.

It’s even better knowing exactly what he looks like beneath it, too.

Just sex.

I feared he was too good to be true. That I’d relived the sex we had over and over in my mind—I mean, c’mon, that’s a normal thing to do—and worried that I made it better than it was. That I made him better than he was.

That’s all, I remind myself.

Now that we’re face to face, now that every part of me sighs at the sight of him, I know I didn’t make a damn thing up.

And I know I’m so very screwed.

“I did not finagle you. Not then. Not now.” I stand my ground, despite the smile playing at the corners of my lips. “Even if we are engaged.”

Our eyes meet. Hold. His smile turns salacious, and just as I hear voices down the hall, Grayson yanks me into the room where he was changing. Before I can even yelp in surprise, his mouth is on mine in a mind-numbing, lip-bruising, thigh-clenching type of kiss that I never want to end but know needs to if I don’t want to be ruined for any other guy.

When he finally tears his lips from mine, he steps back, leaving me out of breath and a little overwhelmed. The grin he flashes is one of pure arrogance.

“If we’re engaged, the least I get to do is reap the rewards for putting that imaginary ring on your finger.”

I look down at my ringless ring finger, raise my eyebrows, and then look back up to him. “Look who’s doing the manipulating now.”

He shakes his head and chuckles quietly before putting his hand on the back of my neck and pulling me in for one more mesmerizing kiss.

Thankfully, we don’t get caught as we are sneaking out of the room like a pair of hormonal teenagers. In fact, we never even meet each other’s eyes as the photographer and I speak about staging and various ideas while Grayson gets teased by his crew about the photo shoot in general.

But I hear the taunting comments. I see the raising of eyebrows and lifting of chins in my direction, and I know the engagement photo rumor is in full swing and will most likely be perpetuated by these guys.