Then Came You (The Wilde Sisters #2) (10 page)

Damn. Why did he have to remind her about her common sense? If anything happened between the two of them it would be only temporary. Not that she was looking for permanent.

“I kind of have this love-hate relationship with you.” The look of shock on his face made her laugh. “Okay. Maybe not such strong emotions. How about like and dislike? One minute you’re sweet and kind and gorgeous and the next minute you’re too caught up in work and image but still working the gorgeous angle.”

“Is being gorgeous good or bad?”

“You seem to work it in no matter what you do. You can’t help it. You’re pretty.”

“Guys don’t want to be pretty.”

“Yeah. They do. But you’re hot, too. Pretty and hot.”

“Can’t you just call me pretty hot and call it good?”

“See, and then you throw in a dash of humor and I’m a goner.”

“Goner? Really?” Grayson set his hands on her waist and tugged her closer. She shivered from the heat, from the chill, from the anticipation.

“It was easier when I thought you were a jerk,” she whispered, her mouth dangerously close to his.

“Why is that?” he whispered back, his breath mingling with hers.

She swallowed, her throat tight and hoarse, and licked her lips. “Because then I wasn’t tempted to do this.” Thyme stood on her tiptoes and gently pressed her lips against his.

He tasted like wine and strawberries. And a touch of chocolate. It may have been the sight of Grayson biting into a chocolate-covered strawberry after dinner that drove her girly parts to break out in a cha-cha-cha. Who knew and who cared? His hands gently caressed her sides as she wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled his head down toward hers.

His lips were soft and gentle, like she knew they’d be, and gave and took equally. She parted her lips and invited him in and their tongues mated and danced as if they’d met hundreds of times before. The urge to tackle him to the floor and grind her body into his was overwhelming, but she held back. She didn’t want to wrinkle the silk dress.

Hell, she couldn’t care less about the dress. It was the tiny speck of dignity she tried to hold on to that kept their kiss at a PG rating. Grayson’s hands never strayed from their appropriate place on her sides, even though her breasts tingled, begging him to touch, squeeze, bite.

But he didn’t. Unfortunately, he drew back and rested his forehead against hers. “Still think it’s easier if I’m a jerk?”

“Much,” she said breathlessly.

Grayson folded her in his perfect arms and drew her against his warm body. Too bad he was wearing clothes. She’d deal. For now. They stayed wrapped in a tight embrace, feeding off the heat from each other, and watched the sun completely set on the horizon.

Thyme finally broke the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

“Uh oh. This doesn’t sound good.”

“What did you tell your mother? About how we met?”

“Yeah. I forgot to thank you for setting me up with that one. I’m not a very good liar.”

“Good to know.”

“I told her you were in Boston one weekend visiting friends and I ran into you at the Marriott.”

“You mean you don’t have a hotel in Boston?”

“Not yet.”

“Go on.”

“I was down there a few months ago working on a contract so I figured that would be a believable story.”

“So you saw me across a crowded bar, fell instantly in love, and begged me to come to Aruba?”

“My mother would never believe I did anything so impulsive.”

“Ah, but when you saw me, it was like the world suddenly shifted on its axis.”

“Hey, who’s the one who had to make up this story?”

“Sorry. Go on.”

“Yes, we were in the bar. I had finished my meeting—”

“With who?”

“What?” Grayson pulled back and looked down at Thyme. “You ask too many questions.”

“I need the visual. You know, in case Eva asks me about it.”

Grayson shook his head but complied. “Max Harrington.”

“Is he cute?”

Grayson let go and scrubbed his hands across his face. Thyme knew she was being a pain, but if she didn’t lighten up the moment she’d profess her undying love to him and beg him to live with her in Maine and make lots of babies together.

Woah. Where did that come from? Lots of
practice
to make babies, sure. But no babies. Nope. Not in her future. And no commitment. Just lots and lots of sex. With Grayson.

“If you find a hundred pounds overweight and a comb-over cute, then yeah. Max is your guy.”

“Ten-four. Go on.”

“Gee. Thanks.” Grayson pulled away and rested his elbows on the railing, looking out into the ebony sky. “Anyway, once Max left, you came over to my table, offered to buy me a drink, introduced yourself and your friends, and we ended up hitting it off.”

“How many friends did I bring?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“Guys don’t remember things like that.”

“Errr! Wrong answer. You were so caught up in my beauty that you didn’t notice anyone else but me. There could have been a dozen friends with me or just two. You can’t remember because I was the only one you had eyes for.”

“Nice. You can tell my mother that when she drills you in the morning. And speaking of Eva, she sent me a text during dinner. She’s keeping Maddie at her place so she doesn’t have to stay up. You can call her in the morning when you wake.”

In other words, Eva was giving them privacy to have sex all night long.

***

Grayson

Never in his life had he experienced a kiss like that. It felt…real. The women in his past had felt fake under his touch. Plastic. As if letting their guard down to get intimate would ruin their image, their hair, their makeup. How could he have survived the past fifteen years dating such cold women? Were there men who actually found that attractive?

Hell, he did. Or he used to. Before Thyme dropped from the heavens and fell into his lap. Oh, if she landed in his lap right now she’d be in for a surprise. Grayson had to pull away before she felt—literally—how much he wanted her. It wasn’t gentlemanly to turn so hard after one kiss.

Grayson studied Thyme, his gaze following the edge of her silhouette. The dim lighting from inside the yacht cast shadows on her face, outlining her cute pug nose and haloing her mane of hair.

Comparing her to animals seemed fitting since she turned him into a horny dog. She had no idea how beautiful she was. If he told her now she’d laugh at him and accuse him of trying to butter her up before he stripped her naked and ravished her body.

Which wouldn’t be entirely untrue. However, telling her she was beautiful wouldn’t be a ruse. The woman had researched him. Who knew what information Google turned up? He’d picked up on many of her slips over the past few weeks. Did she research him to find ammunition? To prove he wouldn’t be a good father to Maddie? Or was she curious about him for personal reasons?

The latter, he hoped. During her research she inevitably came across pictures or articles of him with other women. Sophia-picked women. All matching him for height, but only half his weight. All air-brushed inside and out. They were nice enough women. Sophia wouldn’t pair him with a gold digger or a piranha, but they were women mostly concerned about what Grayson Montgomery or Buchanan Designs could do for them.

And of course Thyme measured herself against them. What she needed to know was that he’d never been remotely as interested in any of them as he was in her. She’d never believe it. Someone in her past made her feel worthless. He didn’t know much about her, but it sounded like her two older sisters were compensating for neglectful parents.

Maybe if he showed her how beautiful he thought her instead of telling her, she’d come to believe it.

“We should be docking within the hour. Can I get you anything else to eat? To drink?”

“Trying to get me fat and drunk, Montgomery?”

He sighed and shook his head. It didn’t seem like he could say or do anything without putting her on the defensive. “No, I’m being polite. I could go for another drink but I’m driving tonight.”

“I can drive us if you want to get sloppy drunk.” Thyme shrugged and smiled dubiously at him.

Shaking his head, he laughed softly. “You keep me on my toes, Thyme Wilde. I can never tell if you’re serious, joking, or despise me.”

“Despise?” Thyme pulled her head back in shock. “Never. You’re too nice. Too polished. Too…gorgeous—” she wiggled her eyebrows “—to despise.”

“So do you seriously want me to get sloppy drunk tonight? I don’t even know what that means.”

“Which is exactly why you should. When was the last time you got drunk, Grayson Montgomery?”

“I don’t get drunk.”

“Why?”

“What kind of question is that? You’re making it sound like a bad thing.”

“Only if there’s a bad reason.”

“You’re confusing and frustrating, Thyme. Most women frown upon men going out and getting drunk every weekend, but you’re making it sound like I have a problem since I’ve never been drunk.”

“Now you’re over-analyzing. All I asked was why you’ve never been drunk. What are you afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid of anything.”

Thyme crossed her arms and leaned her back against the railing, scrutinizing Grayson up and down. “Ten bucks says you’re too chicken to get drunk tonight.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Chicken.”

Grayson stared at her and clenched his fists. She barked out a laugh and walked over to the bench and sat. “Come sit.” She patted the cushion next to her. “What you need is a little Thyme therapy. I was a receptionist in a social worker’s office a few years ago. The stuff I heard.” She whistled. “It’d blow you away. Anyway, I think I know what your problem is.”

“Oh please, do tell.” Hell, when did he start using sarcasm?

Since he met Thyme.

“You need to be in control, but you’re not overbearing. I’ve met your mother. She’s adorable, so I know you’re not the spawn of some dictator. She seems too kind to have a Napoleon husband, so I’d say Dad is fairly decent, if not far removed, as well. Eva’s never mentioned any other children, so I know you’re an only child.” Thyme tapped her finger against her front tooth and wiggled her foot.

Grayson wanted to lick her teeth and then do the same thing to her toes. The woman needed to stop flaunting herself in front of him.

“You’ve never been drunk because it’s undignified and you were brought up on manners and etiquette. Second, because you need to be in control of your body. There may be a third reason as well. Something about image. I know the women you date are superficial but there’s a layer of superficialness in you as well. Hence the reason you don’t want your mom to know about an illegitimate child. Which I think she’ll respond to with open arms.” Thyme sat up straighter, obviously pleased with her psychoanalysis. “How’d I do?”

She hit a little too close to home and he hated how weak and controlled he’d become. The stereotypical spoiled, spineless rich kid. Grayson looked away, a feeble attempt to hide the turmoil going on in his head, and stared up into the night sky. The captain had anchored the yacht far enough out so the lights from the island could barely be seen, with only the innocent glow of the moon bouncing off the water lighting a path across the ocean.

For nearly his entire life he’d been the product of his family’s name, never making a statement for himself. Not that Grayson wanted to be in the limelight or make a statement. He just wanted to be…Grayson. To figure out what his ideals were. His dream. His course.

The words of Emerson and Thoreau came rushing to the forefront of his mind. The transcendentalists had it right. One needed to escape from the clutches of his environment and spend time in nature to figure out what truly mattered. He’d conformed to society’s ideas of what was right and wrong, of how to speak, what to do, what to wear, who to date. Grayson had become a product of his culture and lost his intuition, his self-reliance, his true self.

He studied the reflection of the bright moonbeams shining across the small waves in a romantic ripple like a well-orchestrated dance. The simple beauty of it that he’d never taken the time to study, to appreciate, to romanticize.

“Grayson?”

He wanted to fall into the comfort of Thyme’s voice, of her arms. When he faced her again, this time with a lazy yet heated stare, her curious eyes studied him. The mood had shifted from playful to serious and he wasn’t sure which scared him more. He’d never been a playful person, more comfortable in serious settings, but the intensity between them was too strong. Even Thyme shifted in her seat, obviously confused at his sudden mood change.

“Can I ask you something?” Thyme’s eyebrow quirked as her gaze traveled down the front of his shirt, stopping at his waistline.

“Sure.” The mischievous gleam in her eyes now had him stirring in his seat.

“How did you get your tan lines?”

The sudden shift had him more confused than the last political debate he’d attended. “Excuse me?”