Anywhere You Are (22 page)

His eyes were dark. Dangerous. “Now take off your clothes. And do it slowly. I want to watch.”

Grace's eyes widened. Clearly, there was a whole side to Marc she didn't know about. But she desperately wanted to.

Slowly, the way she thought he'd like, she unbuttoned the dress shirt, revealing her body inch by inch.

With his eyes on her, every movement, every sensation, seemed amplified. Touching and being touched. Present in the feelings in a way she'd never been before.

His eyes darkened further and she felt his gaze
everywhere.
In her nipples, now puckered into tiny points, and definitely in her sex, where an insistent need had taken up residence.

She was down to the final few buttons now. Deliberately, she undid them one by one, then shrugged the shirt from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

She reveled in the look of appreciation on his face, in the way he shifted on the bed, clearly as aroused as she was by the show she was putting on for him. There was only one thing left to go, and by the time she slipped her very tiny, very wet panties from her body, she was so aroused she could barely breathe.

“Gorgeous,” he whispered.

“I—” she started, with a mouth so dry it was a miracle she could even speak. “I want to see you, too.”

“Later. First, come here and lie down.”

She did as he demanded, never having felt so exposed in her life.

He splayed her out for his perusal, then took his time admiring her from head to toe.

Her nipples, already pebbled, grew tighter still.

He moved onto the bed and lay down next to her, giving her some of his weight.

His weight felt so good, she wrapped her arms around him to draw him closer, but he pried them away, only to push them up and over her head. “Keep them there,” he entreated, not giving her what she craved—namely him. “Just let me show you.”

She didn't trust her own emotions, but she trusted him, so she did as he asked, shifting a little to make her shoulders more comfortable and then stilling. When he realized she was going to obey, his gaze warmed. “Like that. Good.”

Then he kissed her again, and it felt so different this time. It was darker. Deeper, as if she were going to burst at the seams if he didn't do something more—and quick.

She was desperate for him to touch something. Anything. But he simply kept up the same, maddeningly slow exploration of her mouth.

Instinctively, Grace knew what he was doing. He was priming her, making her acutely aware of how naked and vulnerable she was beneath him, her mouth open, her nipples hard little points brushing against the cotton of his undershirt, her needy sex throbbing along with her heartbeat.

His breath was a caress, his mouth a wordless plea for her surrender.

Yes. She wanted to give it to him. Give him everything he asked if only he'd keep making her feel this way.

Wanted. Desired above all things.

He ran the back of his hand down her neck, over her collarbone, and softly, reverently, cupped her breast in his hand. It was too much. The control. The way he was savoring her like she was some kind of delicacy.

“Marc, I—”

“Don't think,” he said. “Feel.”

Then he kissed her again and she focused only on the sensations. His hand, big and warm on her breast, the sweep of his tongue against hers, his solid length pressed against her side.

She relaxed and he deepened the kiss, rubbing a thumb over the taut tip of her nipple. Sensation jolted through her. Such a simple touch, yet she felt it everywhere—the small of her back. The tips of her ears. The apex of her thighs.

And when he replaced his thumb with his mouth, taking his sweet time to draw deep and then to play, she almost lost her composure.

“Marc,” she gasped, quivering with anticipation.

He sucked on her other breast just as ardently, then moved back to the first one. There was no way she could rush this—rush him. Not this time. And he was killing her, absolutely killing her with need.

“Marc,
please,
” she groaned. But he wouldn't let up. Just kept taking her higher and higher with no relief in sight.

By the time he gently pushed open her legs, every nerve ending felt as if it were going to explode.

He slid down her body, spread her wide, and took one long lick.

That was all it took. One single touch on her clit to make her explode. She went up in flames, coming so hard, so fast, she screamed his name. It was the best orgasm of her life and the pleasure seemed to roll on and on and on.

Everything went black for a moment, and when she came to, he was still between her legs, watching her with a satisfied smile on his handsome face.

“That was—” She licked her lips, not really knowing how to put words to what she'd just experienced. “Amazing.” Not the best descriptor, but after having her mind blown, it was all she could come up with.

She reached for him, but he stopped her with a shake of his head.

“You think I'm done with you?” There was amusement in his voice.

“Well, yes,” she said. “We did it your way, didn't we?”

“Oh, honey,” he said, his voice dark. “We're just getting started.”

Before she could say anything else, he gripped her thighs, bent his head, and went to work.

He took the time to ramp her up again, to take her higher and higher until she was almost delirious with the need for release.

Then, and only then, did he stop,pulling his shirt over his head and tugging off his briefs, revealing a hard thickness that had to be seen to be believed.

How he managed to keep his need in check was the biggest mystery of all. Her hands were shaking, but his were steady as a rock as he eased a condom over his length and returned to his place between her thighs.

“Please tell me we can go fast now,” she managed to choke out, her whole body on edge, screaming for release. One touch. One little touch was all it would take to set her off.

Marc shook his head. “No,” he said with a wicked smile. “Now the real fun begins.”

Lifting her knees, Marc entered her
slowly.

“God,” she gasped. Pressure and need, pain and pleasure so acute her eyes actually crossed.

They'd done this before, but it had never been this intimate, and she'd never felt this connected to him—or to anyone. He'd exposed her, revealed all the dark bits she didn't want anyone else to see except him. Only him.

“Stay with me,” he said, his lips close to hers, right before he withdrew, then pressed in again, even more slowly than he had the first time, filling her so completely she couldn't feel where she ended and he began.

“I've never—” she gasped, closing her eyes against the onslaught. It was too much intensity. Too much emotion. Too much everything. “I can't.”

“You can,” he insisted, pulling out, then ever so slowly sliding back in, “and you will.”

She was hanging on by such a thread it was as if everything was in slow motion, every fiber of her being straining toward something that was just out of reach.

She'd never understood exactly how much control the man had until this very moment. And how little she possessed.

She'd never be the same again.

Then he sealed his mouth against hers and thrust with just enough pressure to tip her over the edge. As her world fell apart in a wash of color and light, Marc went right over with her, stroking, soothing, and holding her in the stillness when at last she came back to earth.

The last Monday in July dawned clear and hot. After Marc had left her that morning to head into Manhattan for some meetings, she'd dressed, braved the trip home to work in her greenhouse—no paparazzi sightings, thank goodness—then gone on a long walk in the marsh with her constant companion, Big Blue.

She'd created some great sketches, including one of a rare pied-billed grebe, which she was looking forward to completing in her studio. Blue had learned how to stay absolutely silent when she had a subject in her sights, which as far as she was concerned made him the perfect dog.

Now it was time for lunch with Carolyn Rivington, whom she'd planned to meet in downtown Eastbridge at a new dog-friendly café that had just opened.

She and Blue were waiting on the sidewalk when Carolyn approached, looking effortlessly sophisticated in her oxford shirt, slim pencil skirt, and elegant pumps.

“Grace,” Carolyn said warmly, reaching out for a hug.

“It's so good to see you,” Grace said, hugging her back.

Carolyn drew back and looked at Big Blue. “And who do we have here?”

“Big Blue, say hello.”

Blue barked.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Carolyn said with a smile. “And great name.”

“It's actually not his real name,” Grace admitted. “But it definitely suits him better than his given one.”

“What's his given name?”

Grace forced her lips not to twitch. “Mr. Pipplepotts.”

That elicited a big laugh from Carolyn. “I'm glad you changed it.”

They were seated quickly at a table outside. It didn't take long for them to peruse the menu and place their orders. When the server had come back with their drinks—iced tea for each of them—Grace eyed Carolyn.

“You look happy,” she told her friend. “You are, aren't you?”

Carolyn held out her left hand to gaze at the giant rock adorning her ring finger. “Yes,” she sighed. “Though if you'd told me a month ago that I'd get a happy ending, I'd have said you were crazy.”

“Things have a way of working out, don't they?”

“What's going on with you?”

Grace hesitated. It was hard to share, especially since she'd spent the last couple of years deliberately keeping her business quiet.

But if anyone would understand the choices she had to make, it would be Carolyn. After all, she'd been the subject of the gossip rags before her dad lost their family fortune in a Ponzi scheme. And Carolyn's name had appeared in the papers again when it came out that her father had stolen her inheritance, along with that of her two sisters. It had been a monumental disaster, and though it couldn't have been easy, Carolyn faced all the negative publicity with grace and courage.

So she unloaded, telling Carolyn about the offers she'd been given and how she had a choice to make—a big one—about her future. Carolyn listened carefully, without interruption, taking sips of tea as Grace told her story.

When Grace was finished, Carolyn uncrossed her legs and leaned forward.

“So the way I see it,” Carolyn said, “is that you can either keep painting under your pseudonym and maybe never get the recognition you want, either for yourself or for your environmental project, or you can paint under your real name and get both.”

“That about sums it up,” Grace said. “So what would you do?”

Carolyn shook her head. “It's not about what I would do. It's about what you're willing to give up to get what you want. In your case, I'm guessing it's privacy. So you have a choice to make. How much do you value your privacy, and how much do you value your cause?”

“You sound like Marc,” Grace muttered.

“Marc? Are you talking about Marcus Colby?”

Grace couldn't help but flush. “Yes,” she finally admitted, while taking careful note of Carolyn's complete lack of surprise. “But you already knew that, didn't you?”

“I've known for a while,” Carolyn said. “But since you obviously didn't want to share, I didn't say anything.”

“Thank you,” Grace said, meaning it. “I didn't mean to keep you in the dark. It's just that Marc's such a private person, and I figured the fewer people who knew, the better.”

“How's he taking this whole publication thing? I mean, I'm sure he has some ideas as to how you should work the contract.”

Grace slid her gaze away from Carolyn's. “The thing is,” she said, “I didn't exactly mention what was going to be involved.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because he's already pissed off about all the publicity.”

Carolyn took a sip of iced tea. “The thing I've always admired about you, Grace, is that you've never let anything get in your way. You work hard. You play hard.” She leaned back in her seat and crossed an arm over her chest. “And you love hard.”

“So what are you saying? That I shouldn't give up the deal?”

“What I'm saying is that you have a rare talent and even more important, a platform that people are drawn to. If I had a cause I was passionate about, and people cared what I had to say, I'd use it.”

“Even if it destroyed a relationship?”

“If what you have isn't strong enough to withstand that,” Carolyn said, “it's not strong enough at all.”

Later that afternoon, Grace pulled up on the street outside a familiar SoHo loft. She paid the cabbie and gave him a generous tip for not asking for her autograph even though he'd clearly recognized her.

On the sidewalk, she looked up at the building. From the outside, it seemed so small, so unassuming. But if walls could talk, Lord only knows what tales they'd tell.

Using her key, she let herself in and vaulted up the stairs to the second floor. Music blared from the living room, so that's where she headed. Unsurprisingly, her dad was there, his back to her with the speakers cranked way up, his head nodding to the beat.

She tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around, a smile lighting up his face when he realized it was her.

“Hang on!” he yelled. With his remote, he turned down the volume. “Gracie, love,” he said, pulling her down for a kiss. “Your mum and I were just talking about you.”

“Only good things, I hope,” she said, dumping her satchel on the floor next to his feet and coming around the couch to sit next to him.

When he wrapped an arm around her neck and pulled her in, Grace went willingly. No matter how old she was, she'd always relish the feeling of being hugged by her dad.

“Only good things, what?” Sophie called out as she walked into the room, looking fabulous as usual, in a blue silk jumpsuit and high heels. As soon as she spied Grace, her eyes widened in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to visit,” Grace said.

“Why didn't you call?”

Grace shrugged. “No time.” She'd come into the city on a whim, and by the time she'd gotten to Grand Central Station, it seemed kind of silly. “It's awfully quiet here today.”

“There's no filming today,” her mom said. “And your brothers are out.” She came to the couch and sat down right next to Grace, so that she was sandwiched between her two parents.

Spying her sketchpad in her satchel, her mother plucked it out and started flipping through the pictures. In times past, Grace would have snatched it back, but this time, she let her mother take her time as she studied each picture in turn.

“You really do have an extraordinary talent.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

Sophie shook her head. “All this time, I thought you were wasting yourself.” She flipped through another few pictures, then shut the book. “But you were following your passion. I know how that is.”

“It's important to me,” Grace said, her voice resolute.

“I see that now. I just didn't want to believe it.”

“But why?” She had to know. Had to understand.

Sophie ran the back of her hand over Grace's cheek. “You're so beautiful, darling.”

“I'm too short to be beautiful,” she said with a laugh.

“You're perfect just the way you are.”

She gave her mom a questioning look. “Where's this coming from? I mean, the last time we spoke, you pressured me to give it up and come back on the show.”

“Your father and I have…had words.”

She glanced over at her dad, who gave her a nod. “Oh?”

Sophie gave Jerry a meaningful glance. “Jer showed me how ridiculous I was being, that I was pushing you away with my requests instead of bringing you closer.”

“You were,” Grace admitted.

“You have to know I only wanted what was best for you.”

“Sophie,” Jer said, his tone one of warning.

“But in doing that, I lost sight of who you were.” Sophie sighed. “I have to respect that you are who you are, and let you follow your own path.”

“I've been waiting so long to hear you say that, Mom.”

“Thank your father,” Sophie said. “He's the one who got me to see that what I want might not necessarily be what you want.”

“I know how unhappy you've been,” her dad said. “But I also know how much your mum loves you. Neither of you was happy. It was time to end whatever it was that was going on between you.”

“All I ever wanted was for you to see me as something more than a commodity,” Grace told her mom.

“I do, darling. I always did.”

“Oh, Mom.” She hugged her mom tight, and almost cried when her dad wrapped his arms around both of them.

“My two girls,” he said. “I love you both so much.”

For all his bluster and swagger onstage, her dad was a huge softie when it came to the emotional stuff. “Love you, Gracie,” he said, kissing her on the head. “Your mum and I are very proud of you. And if you never get published, well, it's their loss.”

“About that,” Grace said. “I have news. And a favor to ask.”

“Anything,” her mom said.

So Grace took a deep breath and told them what she wanted. And this time, her parents listened.