Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,122

like this. Not the rolling landscape of sand and sun, but the right angle of jaw lightly dusted with shadow, the bold slant of cheekbones, the heavy sweep of brow and lashes, the lavish spread of soft lips and white teeth.

“Grip, could you turn a little to your left for me?” the photographer asks from behind his rapidly clicking camera. “That’s it, and just prop your foot up?”

Grip bends his knee, setting his foot against the quad bike he’s leaning on. Wide rips in his dark wash jeans flash the sculpture of muscles in his thighs. The slashes in his Straight Outta Compton T-shirt give glimpses of the bronzed skin wrapped around his ridged torso. Even in the hour we’ve been out here on the glorious Red Dune, the sun has bronzed him, heated the rich, caramel-colored skin to a deeper hue. “We almost done?” Grip asks for maybe the tenth time. “It’s hot as hell out here.”

“Sorry.” Meryl scrunches her expression into an apology. “Paul, how close are we to getting what we need?”

“Just a little bit longer,” Paul says distractedly, still snapping photos. “I want to get a few more before the light changes.”

“If by light you mean that sun beating down on my head for the last hour,” Grip says, a grin tipping one side of his mouth. “I’m ready for it to change.”

“Sorry.” I say. “Almost there.”

His eyes flick to me briefly, sliding over my arms and shoulders in the tank top I’ve tucked into my black jeans. He hasn’t looked at me, has barely spoken to me since we landed in Dubai. As much as I’ve pushed him away, avoided him, I miss looking into his eyes and seeing the things we don’t say to each other, but feel, even though I’ve never voiced those feelings to him, and probably never will. One day I’ll look into his eyes and they’ll be void of whatever he felt for me before. It’ll be gone because I killed it. Maybe it’s already dead.

“And we’re done.” Paul lowers his camera and squints up into the bright sun overhead. “Just in time.”

Grip relaxes against the ATV, running big hands over his head. His hair has grown just a little since he cut out the locs. Still not long enough to pull.

Right. Must stop thinking of someone else’s man in terms of pulling his hair when he comes inside me since . . . he never will.

“Any chance I could take this thing out?” Grip asks the guide who brought us out here, patting the huge ATV.

“To-to ride, yes?” the man asks in his stilted English, his expression uncertain.

“Yeah.” Grip’s smile is all persuasion. “Come on. I’ll sign a waiver or whatever anyone else would do.”

“Alone?” the guide asks with a frown.

“I was gonna take her with me.” I’m knock-me-over-with-a- feather shocked when Grip tips his head at me. Since he’s barely acknowledged me in days. “You down to ride, Bristol?”

Maybe it’s the desert heat suddenly beading sweat on my neck, sand in my throat so I can’t breathe easily. Maybe I didn’t eat enough at lunch, and I’m lightheaded. More likely, it’s Grip’s gorgeous eyes waiting on me, resting on me when he’s barely looked at me in what feels like forever.

“Um, well . . . I guess so.” I search his face for some clue in this puzzle.

“Good.” He nods and turns to the guide. “There’s a set path, right?”

“Yes, but . . .” The poor little man still isn’t sure, but sighs and relents. His supervisor probably told him to give the rich Americans whatever they want. Being guests of the prince probably doesn’t hurt our case. “I’ll get papers.”

“And you’ll take them back?” Grip points to Meryl and Paul. “Yes, of course.”

I glance at Meryl because I feel her glancing at me.

“So I guess I’ll see you guys back at the hotel,” I direct my comment to Meryl and her curious eyes. “The party is at eight o’clock.”

“I’m not sure how to dress for a royal Sweet Sixteen Party,” Meryl says, splitting her attention between me and Grip, who’s signing paperwork.

“I’d skip it if I could. I’m so ready to go home tomorrow.”

“I guess I’ll have everything I need for the story,” Meryl says. “I think it’s going to be awesome, especially with Grip hitting number one, and this gorgeous setting for the cover.”

“Yep.” I listen to Meryl with half an ear as Grip walks over. “Thanks for everything, Meryl.”

Grip’s slow smile makes a little bit