when all this happened and when I found out, I offered Crawford ten times what he paid for it, but he just loves having it to lord over me. I should have been there, I could have prevented this.” He sounds angry, not at Crawford, but himself.
“It sounds like you did everything you could,” I say gently.
“It’s not enough,” he says sharply, and then softens. “Grace, I’m so sorry. I’m being incredibly rude, spilling all my dark family secrets.”
“You’re not. I love that you tried so hard to get your family heirloom back. You care about what’s right, and not many guys think that way.”
St. Clair squeezes my hand, and I remember, he’s still holding it. Then he brings it to his lips, and drops a light kiss on my knuckles. It’s just a moment of contact, but I shiver, remembering those lips on mine.
And more…
As a rush of heat spreads low in my belly, I force myself to shake away the memory before I get too distracted.
Charles doesn’t let go of my hand and we walk a little further, the buildings full of brick and wood, old, sturdy construction. “We don’t have this kind of age to the buildings in California,” I say, looking around. “Everything feels so stately here.”
He smiles. “Stately sounds boring.”
“You know, sophisticated. Cultured, full of art everywhere you turn.” We come across a small courtyard with a fountain. Statues of three young women stand in stone in the pool, water cascading out of their heads. “Like, how pretty is this? There are little pockets of beauty all over this city.”
St. Clair pauses, and then a wicked grin spreads across his handsome face. “Let’s take a dip, shall we?”
“What?” I gasp. “No! Isn’t that illegal?”
St. Clair laughs at me as he loosens his tie and takes off his shoes. “Who cares?”
Then, before I can process that he’s actually serious, he climbs over the fountain rim and wades into the water.
“Come on,” he calls, beckoning me. “You’re missing all the fun!”
He stands back, under the spray of the fountain. Water soaks through his shirt, plastering it to his body, and drips in rivulets off his wet hair.
He looks like a masterpiece himself: honed from the finest marble, designed by an expert.
“Grace!” St. Clair insists. He scoops up some water and splashes it at me, but I jump back with a smile, just in time. “Are you going to stand around watching all night?”
I would if I could, but the temptation is too much. I want to feel what it’s like to be so spontaneous and reckless. Giggling, I take off my shoes, and gingerly step into the water.
“It’s cold!” I shriek.
“Come here.” He grabs me and pulls me deeper, under the spray. The water cascades over us and we’re drenched in seconds. I cling to him, laughing, and then slowly, my laughter fades.
He’s looking at me with a raw hunger in his eyes. Desire. I’ve never seen anything like it before.
“Hi,” I whisper, looking up into his eyes. Water drips down his perfect cheekbones, over his mouth. I can’t help but stare.
“Hi.” He moves a wet strand of hair off my forehead and our eyes lock as he leans in to kiss me. Slow and hot and deep. I melt into it, and he yanks me closer, until I’m crushed against his wet, chiseled body.
God, it feels good. I spread my lips and let his tongue invade. He groans and bites at my lower lip, his need fueling my desire. I grab his wet shirt and drag him closer, wanting more, wanting that crackling, full body skin to skin contact. I don’t know how long we’re there, caught up in this epic kiss, but suddenly, there’s the loud blare of a horn.
“Yeah! Get in there!” a holler comes. I break away from Charles to see a car of guys all whooping and cheering as they pass.
I flush red, embarrassed, but St. Clair just laughs and waves back.
I catch my breath, reeling. I could kiss him all night. I hesitate for half a moment and then look him in the eye. “Do you want to come back to my apartment?” I whisper.
“I’m not sure I can wait that long.” He kisses my ear lobe, plants lingering kisses on my neck, his lips warm against my wet skin. “My place is closer.” He rubs his thumbs across my neckline, sending a shiver of longing that spreads out and pools between my thighs.
I try to keep it together. “Sounds good.”
“Let’s