Twisted Perfection (Perfection #1)(36)

My grandmother had decorated it and they’d lived here the last few years of my grandmother’s life. When she’d been diagnosed with terminal cancer they had sold their sprawling mansion in Seaside and moved back here. After she’d passed away my grandfather had moved into my parents’ house and lived there for three months before he died of a heart attack.

I liked the warmth of the place. I hadn’t spent much time thinking of changing things. It wasn’t like I entertained here. I worked too much for that lifestyle.

Della ran her hand along the worn pale leather couch and spun around slowly looking at the details my grandmother had taken great care to leave behind. She had loved to paint. Seeing the canvases she’d painted out on that porch while she enjoyed the last years she had on earth always gave me a sense of peace.

“The paintings are beautiful. So bright and cheerful,” Della said as she stood in front of one that was my grandfather’s favorite. When I’d tried to give it to him he’d refused to take it. He’d said she wanted it here in this place.

“That’s a hole at the golf course,” she said. I was impressed that she’d recognized it.

“My grandfather’s favorite. His only hole in one was at that hole. It’s the fifteenth.”

Della smiled. “And you have it here on your wall.”

“My grandmother painted it. She painted all of these.”

Della’s eyes went wide and she started looking around at the other paintings on the wall. “She was very talented.”

I had to agree. She was. Yet she’d given up her dreams for my grandfather’s. I’d always heard my mother’s bitter comments about her not being the doormat that my grandmother was. But I never saw my grandmother as a doormat. She was quiet and reserved but she’d controlled so much more than anyone understood. She had owned my grandfather’s heart. As cold and unfeeling as many assumed it was, she had owned it. And she’d cherished it.

“It’s not what I expected… not from a single guy,” she said in almost a whisper. “I love it.”

“Come see the view,” I said, opening the doors leading out onto the porch. Della walked out and went straight to the railing. The ocean breeze caught her hair and it danced around her shoulders. I liked seeing her out here. I stepped back inside and went to grab a bottle of wine and two glasses.

Della

“Here,” Woods said, walking up behind me.

I turned to look at him and he was holding a glass of red wine. I took it and hoped my inexperience in the red wine department wasn’t too apparent on my face when I took a sip. I was positive this was expensive but I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference in cheap or good wine. I’d had very little.

“Thank you,” I managed to reply without sounding as unsure as I felt.

“Come sit down. We can see the view just as good from over here,” he said, nodding toward two teak lounge chairs.

I walked over and sank down onto the thick quilted cushion and stretched my legs out in front of me.

Woods scooted the lounger beside me closer with his leg then lowered himself down onto it. He moved the armrest that separated us. If I shifted even an inch I would brush up against him. It was tempting.

“I didn’t ask if you liked red wine,” he said.

He was probably noticing my small sips. I was deciding that I did like it. I wasn’t sure how it would affect me though.

“I wasn’t positive I liked it or not. I’ve not really had much of it in the past. But this is good.”

He smirked and took a drink. I really shouldn’t stare at him but the muscles in his throat moved as he swallowed and it was mesmerizing. Woods set his glass down on the table on the other side of his chair but he didn’t take his eyes off me.

“I’d planned to be good tonight. But I can’t. Not with you looking at me like that,” Woods said as he took the glass from my hand and put it down beside his. “I think I’ll be okay if I can just have a little. Just a small taste. It’s been too long and I can’t seem to think about anything other than how much I want to kiss you,” he brushed his finger over my lips, “and the many parts of you I want to touch,” he said, slipping one of his hands around my waist. Then his hand slid down further until it was cupping my butt. “Fuck baby, you aren’t wearing any panties under these shorts.”

The reminder of the thin fabric being the only barrier down there to soak up the moisture his words were causing concerned me. I did not want a damp spot on my shorts. That would be humiliating.

“Come here,” he ordered, picking me up by the waist and pulling me onto his lap. I didn’t want to straddle him. What if I was already wet down there? His hand closed over my thigh and I shivered, unable to stop him from moving my leg over his lap until my crotch was hovering over him. I was going to ruin these shorts.

Woods’ hands slipped into my hair and pulled my head down until his lips covered mine. The moment his tongue eased into my mouth and flicked against mine I no longer cared about the possible shorts fiasco I might have to deal with later. I just wanted more of him. He cupped my face with one hand and then ran the tip of his very talented tongue over the roof of my mouth causing me to sink down onto him. The hard ridge of his erection pressed firmly against the burning ache that was alive and ready. I knew how good Woods felt inside me and my body was screaming for more.