LaClaire Nights: An After Hours Novel Page 7

  For the first time, the needle of guilt stabs me between the ribs at the thought of screwing a girl and dropping her. I comfort myself with the thought that I won’t be leaving her with nothing. The confidence I’m building in her is worth more than an unpredictable relationship. There’s no way I can let it become something more than it is.

  “Bryant, you’re crazy. I can’t take this. It’s too much.” Grace runs her hands over the sequined fabric of the canary cocktail dress.

  “Your eyes tell me you like it. Are they lying?” I lean back on the black leather couch, trying my best not to feel aroused in a public place. She looks damn hot in that thing. Imagining myself sliding the spaghetti straps one by one off her shoulders is even more appealing.

  “It doesn’t matter if I like it. It costs way too much.”

  I glance at the shop assistant hovering nearby, surrounded by an overwhelming scent of musk perfume. “Give us a moment, please.”

  Once she leaves, I get up from the couch and approach Grace, cup her hip with a hand. “I don’t mind buying you things. I have more money than I can spend. Take the dress.”

  She folds her arms over her chest. “I don’t need all these designer clothes. Where would I even wear them all?”

  “When was the last time somebody spoiled you?” I take a step back, not wanting to make her too uncomfortable.

  “Does it matter?” Her gaze slides from mine.

  “That’s all I needed to hear.” I return to the couch. “That dress is going home with you, whether you want it or not. Now try on the black one.”

  I’m well aware I’m getting carried away, but I’m finding it hard to hit the brakes. At least she can’t say I’m trying to buy her love because I’d made it clear from the start that all I want is sex.

  When Grace is done trying on all the clothes I’d insisted on seeing on her body, I take them from her arms and hand them to the delighted shop assistant. It’s not often someone walks in wanting to buy the most expensive dresses in the store. I’m buying Grace more than formal dresses. She said she wouldn’t have anywhere to wear the fancy clothes, so while she was in the changing room, I took the liberty of selecting a few pieces of everyday clothes as well, the kind that will flatter her body instead of hiding it.

  “What the hell is that?” She whispers into my ear as I pull out my credit card. Her eyes widen at the frilly panties and bras going through checkout.

  “A few little extras,” I whisper in her ear as the cash register dings. “I won’t take no for an answer. And don’t look so horrified. You’ll look great in them.” As I say the words, I can’t wait to unleash the sexy, wild side of Grace. I know from experience every woman has one.

  “So, do you ride on your ships on most cruises?” Grace asks when I toss the shopping bags into the backseat of the car.

  “No, I don’t.” I get behind the wheel and slam the car door shut. “But I make a point to be on the virgin voyages of all my cruise ships. This is my favorite so far.”

  Grace turns to look away, trying to hide the blush tinting her cheeks. Unable to hold back a smile, I pull away from the curb.

  “I don’t usually stay the entire journey. This is further than I’ve ever come.”

  “Oh.” She runs the palms of her hands over her thighs. “How far is this one taking you?”

  “All the way.” I had planned to end the journey in Cartagena, but I didn’t want to leave without getting what I want. “So, how are you liking Cartagena so far?”

  “It’s amazing here. I’m so glad we’re staying for another day.”

  “I can also think of fun things to do on the ship.” She knows what I’m referring to, so I don’t elaborate. I’ve seen enough of Cartagena. Now I want to see more of her. “Besides, with everyone roaming around Cartagena, the place will be a ghost ship. I was thinking I might drop by the spa for one of your famous massages. How does that sound?”

  “That can be arranged.” Her soft, velvety voice knocks my heart out of place.

  8

  Bryant

  I enter the spa to find Grace a nervous wreck. Her hair is piled high on top of her head, making her look even more fragile and innocent but also wildly sexy. But her eyes, they look everywhere but at me. Our gazes meet for only a few seconds at a time before she looks away.

  I wouldn’t want to be in her position right now. This is her job and she’s attending to the boss.

  “You don’t have to be nervous, you know.” I give her a peck on the cheek and close the door to the massage room, which is filled with the scent of her skin wrapped in massage oils. “Pretend I’m one of the guests.” I lean against the massage table and tug my T-shirt over my head, taking my time to allow her to appreciate the body that would soon come into contact with hers.

  The gasp coming from her is soft but I hear it even before the fabric of the shirt glides past my ears. It pleases me that she likes what she sees.

  “You look great, by the way.” I’m glad she has chosen to wear one of the outfits I bought her, off-white shorts with a navy tank top that shows a hint of cleavage. Enough for her to feel sexy but not uncomfortable.

  “Thanks for the compliment. And thanks for all the other clothes.” She bites her lower lip and starts arranging essential oils inside a woven basket as I remove the rest of my clothing.

  Not wanting to freak her out too much, I reach for the smallest towel—intentionally—and wrap it around my lower body.

  She looks up then, flushed and still averting her gaze. “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable on the table.” She picks up a small remote, presses a button. Soft nature music pours into the room. I allow the chirping birds and mountain stream to relax me as I follow her orders, making myself comfortable on the white leather massage table.

  “Has it been awfully busy in here so far?” I ask, not because I’m interested, but because I’m trying to act like another one of her clients, making conversation. “I hope you’re still enjoying your time here.”

  “It’s definitely different than my life on land.”

  She rubs what smells like sandalwood massage oil between her hands, and places them on my back. A bolt of lightning zaps through my entire body.

  “Back home, I worked in a small massage parlor.” Her fingers knead the tension from my shoulders. “We didn’t get many clients. Not like here. But I much prefer being busy.”

  My eyes drift shut. “Forgive me for thinking this, but I get the impression you belong in a world much bigger than the one you left behind. That your life in Arizona was a bit . . . restricted. Am I right?”

  “I don’t see what you mean.” The tone of her voice tells me she does.

  She looks like someone who needs a push in the direction of her destiny. So, while on her massage table, I choose to be her friend.

  “I’m great at observing people,” I continue. “Honestly, something tells me there are many things you want to do with your life, but something is stopping you. You want to be more, to do more. You crave a bigger life than the one you’ve come to accept.” I lift my head from the table and try to glance at her. Craning my neck hurts so I quit. “Everyone should be given the opportunity to be the best they can be. Promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?” She glides her soft hands to the middle of my back and I almost give up the pep talk to focus on other more important things.

  “Once this cruise is over, go and live. Become the person you were always destined to be. Do things that thrill but also frighten you. Live your life.”

  “Okay.”

  “Promise,” I push.

  “I promise.” I can tell by her clamped up expression that I hit a nerve.

  I’ve always been a good judge of character and even with her wall up, I still managed to see who she is. I’ve watched and listened, paid attention to her words. Those are some of the skills that get me far in business. I’ve never used them so much on a woman.

  I no longer talk as I enjoy the feel of her hands on my skin
, while allowing her to think about what I said.

  Her massage skills are as incredible as everyone said. I came here not expecting more than the beauty of having her hands on me, but now I find myself melting to her touch, which is slowly starting to turn me on. I wish those hands would glide lower and sweep across the rest of my body. I imagine them encircling my dick, taking the term massage to a whole other level.

  I want her. I need her. And I have no idea how the hell I’m going to go about convincing her she wants me too, as more than a friend.

  Unable to control myself, I shift to a seated position. Without wasting time thinking about right and wrong, I pull her toward me. Caught up in a desire-filled moment, I bring my lips to hers.

  At first, she stiffens with surprise and places her hands on my chest as though about to push me away. To my relief, she gives in and her oily fingers wrap around my neck, massaging the nape. As her mouth brushes mine and my tongue pushes its way between her lips, my entire body throbs with a desire for her so strong it makes me want to bellow with frustration at my lack of control.

  Fuck. What is this woman doing to me?

  In a moment of clarity I banish the desire-filled haze and pull back. “I’m sorry about that.” I bring the tips of my fingers to my lips, still tasting her kiss, craving more.

  With the palm of my hand, I rub the sweat off my brow. “Being around you is so . . . so intoxicating. I couldn’t help myself.” With any other woman, I wouldn’t have stopped. I would’ve carried right on, taken what I wanted, to bury myself deep into her. When the feeling is mutual, I never ask for permission and I make no excuses. Why the hell can’t I do it now? Why is she fucking with my mind so much?

  She, too, touches her lips as though she wishes my mouth were still on them. “Don’t worry about it.”

  I get off the massage table and lift my pants from the back of the chair. “The massage was amazing. Thank you.” I start to get dressed, feeling like a horny teenager. “But I think it’s best for me to leave now. Give us both time to, you know, to think.”

  “You might be right.” I can’t help noticing that her eyes have dimmed a little, no longer glinting like my mother’s ring. She gathers up the towels I was lying on and moves to the door. “I guess, I’ll see you around?”

  “Sure.” She leaves the room and I finish dressing in a rush. I feel different, ashamed somehow. Even though she did kiss me back, I feel as though I had pushed her into something she wasn’t ready for.

  These thoughts don’t belong in my mind. This isn’t me. I’m losing my mind and the only way I can steady my nerves is to get the hell out of here and to my cabin. I need a strong drink to help screw my head on straight before I lose my sanity, before I lose myself.

  My breath is held the entire journey from the spa to my room and I’m glad the ship is isolated because I’m in no mood to talk to anyone right now.

  Crashing into the apartment, I lean against the door, taking deep, ragged breaths. I spot my cell phone on the bed and go to pick it up. Two missed calls and a voice message. Both from Lance.

  As I toss it back onto the bed, my teeth are gritted so hard my jaw aches.

  Lance is the reason. The reason why I cannot let any woman enter my heart. Ever. Falling for Grace or anyone else would be a terrible mistake, one with consequences I’m not ready to face. But one nagging thought scares the shit out of me.

  What if it’s too late?

  9

  Grace

  I flop back onto my pillows. Gazing up at the ceiling, I can’t stop thinking about what happened in the spa today.

  I’m exhausted after all the clients that had suddenly showed up out of nowhere, and yet my head is spinning too much for me to relax.

  I had no idea that agreeing to massage Bryant would change my life forever. Because that’s what it did. First, it was the moment I touched his skin, my hands moving along the muscles on his back as though they belong there, as though they were made to touch his body. And then his kiss had taken me by surprise and left me reeling.

  Bryant had made it clear he’s only interested in one thing. Getting attached to him as I’ve already done, would be a mistake that could get my heart broken. But the moment his lips touched mine, I forgot all my fears. I’d risk anything to feel the way that kiss had made me feel.

  No wonder people risk everything to fall in love time and time again, even when forever isn’t guaranteed. No wonder people have one-night stands even though they could regret it minutes later. I understand why walls come crashing down when the right person comes along, the one who makes you forget your name. How would I ever move on from this?

  The past few days I’d thought a lot about his offer of sex with no strings, coming to the same conclusion each time, that it would be a dangerous game to play. But kissing him makes me want to reconsider. One taste of him had turned my brain to mush and brought a tingle between my legs that I still feel, hours after he left the spa. After he’d left, many clients had come and gone, but he had remained on my mind. I did my work as best I could, a professional all the way, but I wasn’t present in the room. I was with Bryant, wherever he was at the time.

  I get out of bed and gaze into the mirror, in need of two people to make this life-altering decision for me, even though one of them is a reflection.

  This is a decision I would have to live with for the rest of my life, one that could lead to tears, one that could leave me stripped naked and vulnerable yet again. But it’s a decision I have to make as soon as possible. But first, I need to wash the day off of myself, wash off the confusion. Relaxing my mind might help make it easier to decide what to do next.

  While the water runs, I undress in front of the long mirror behind the door, my clothes falling to the floor at my feet. I never liked looking at myself naked as it made me feel uncomfortable. But I want to see what his eyes would see if he saw me without clothes on. I need to find parts of me to like before he can like them. Maybe that’s why things went downhill with Dustin. I never liked myself. I didn’t see myself as a woman worth desiring. Coming on this cruise and spending time with Bryant has changed all that. In his eyes, I saw a different version of myself, the woman I have been hiding from for many years, the woman I can’t hold back any longer.

  My gaze moves to my lips, the lips he kissed. I slip my lower lip between my teeth, wanting to taste his kiss again. I need more than a taste. If I don’t, I might go crazy.

  My hair is covering my breasts so I move the locks out of the way. My boobs are neither too big nor too small, the perfect cup size. And the rest of my body is not as bad as my mind made me believe for years.

  If this is what Bryant would see, it isn’t so bad. Maybe if I appreciate my body and embrace my sexuality, I won’t end up being such a failure between the sheets. It’s hard to imagine being a failure with a man as experienced and devastatingly sexy as Bryant LaClaire.

  Later, as I lay in the hot bath, covered in foam, I can’t stop my hands from traveling from my flat stomach toward the south. I can’t stop them from sliding between my legs, searching for pleasure in places I used to ignore. Thoughts of Bryant electrify my mind and spark my imagination, awakening my body, driving me various shades of crazy.

  As something hot and unexpected builds up in my belly, my phone rings and I jump, sending water splashing everywhere. My heart is in my throat, my cheeks burning as though I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t be doing, something naughty. Mom would most likely call what I was doing a sin, searching for sexual pleasure when I’m unmarried.

  It’s her name flashing across my screen.

  I wipe foam off my hands and reach for the phone, leaning slightly out of the tub so it doesn’t fall into the water.

  “Hi, Mom, how are you?” I’m not in the mood to talk to her. Except, ignoring her only delays the inevitable. She’s my mom, sooner or later we’ll have to talk. Better to get it out of the way.

  “Grace Anderson, how dare you ask me that question when you
know full well how I am?” Her harsh tone tells me this is a call I should have avoided.

  Before she called, I was getting to a place where I liked myself, where I embraced my sensuality. I’m pretty sure after talking to her I’d feel shitty about myself all over again.

  “What’s wrong, Mom?” I form a fist over a small mountain of foam.

  “I’ve been sitting here for days, worried sick, waiting for my own daughter to call or message me. And what do you do? You pretend I don’t exist. I left you messages and not one reply. You could have been dead for all I know.”

  I put the phone on speaker and place it on the vanity stool next to the tub. While her voice fills the room, I dry myself off. Only then, do I pick up the phone and lower myself onto the stool, two fingers massaging my temple. Less than five minutes talking to her and I already feel a headache coming on. And she wonders why I ignore her calls?

  “Won’t you say anything?”

  “I think you’re overreacting. Sorry I didn’t call you back, but I’ve been busy. I just started a new job.”

  “Too busy to talk to your mother? Too busy to talk to your husband?”

  “Mom,” I say between gritted teeth. “Dustin is not my husband. Not anymore.”

  “He claims you are the one who filed for divorce and not him. How could you do such a thing?”

  “He’s right. I’m the one who asked for a divorce.” When he returned from the bar that night, we sat down to talk and he made it clear we made a mistake. So I told him maybe it’s best to correct the mistake then. He jumped on the idea without hesitation. “He hurt me. Things were said—”

  “How can he make it up to you if you refuse to take his calls? You’re the one who ended the marriage. Make things right.”

  I give her a bitter laugh. “Is he telling you he wants us to get back together?”

  “Not in those words exactly. But what else would he want? He said he’s been trying to reach you.” Her heavy breathing comes through the line. You can always tell how angry my mother is from the way she breathes. When she’s happy, you have to be close enough to know she’s breathing at all. “Marriage is not a bed of roses. Don’t allow things said in anger to ruin a good thing. Darling, you don’t want to make the same mistake I did.”