Weekend Wife (Sassy in the City 1)

The world seemed to recede as he swept his gaze over my lips and back up to my eyes. “Leah.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t even like breakfast food.”

Huh? “What do you mean?” Oh my God, was that my voice? I could hear the breathy arousal in my words. My heart was racing as I tried to puzzle out what he was saying, fully aware and super excited that we were about to have a moment. One of those “cameras zooms in as they stare into each other’s eyes on a city street” moments. “You eat pancakes every week.”

“I come to the diner every Wednesday to see you.”

“Oh. You do?” I was legit going to swoon. Because, what? I had no idea. None. Zero. “But… you don’t flirt back.”

“Because I am trying to resist temptation.” His thumb ran over my bottom lip. “Or, I was anyway.”

He was very close to me. I could count his beard hairs if I wanted to. Which I didn’t. I wanted to kiss him.

He beat me to it.

Grant lowered his head and kissed me first.

I’ve kissed men for plays. I’ve kissed men on impulse. I’ve waited for kisses, trying to be mature. I’ve had mediocre kisses and meh kisses and great kisses.

This kiss was phenomenal.

It started off strong, and only got better. It was chocolate martinis and crepes in Paris. It was decadent and rich and had my eyes falling closed and my mouth drifting open.

Grant’s tongue swept inside to tease at mine, his fingers caressing my cheeks. I could smell his cologne, feel the press of his chest against mine, hear the crush of our clothes. My body felt like liquid, oozing into him, nipples hardening, a sharp ache blooming between my thighs.

I raised my arms, entwining them around the back of his neck, and went on tiptoes to better align my lips with his. The kiss deepened, went on and on, soft breath and questing tongues. Grant made a sound in the back of his throat, a groan of both arousal and frustration.

He broke away and I dropped back down to my heels, panting, staring up at him.

What the hell was that?

“Am I still taking you upstairs?” he asked, his voice gruff.

I could feel his hard cock brushing against my stomach. His seemingly large cock, thick, like his shoulders.

Um, the answer would be yes.

I knew what he was asking. This would probably go further than a kiss if he went into my apartment. I had absolutely zero hesitation. “Yes.”

The tension in his shoulders released and the corner of his mouth turned up in a naughty, sly smile. “I can’t wait to hear your definition of filthy.”

Whoa. I just might be in over my head. I liked it. No, I loved it.

Now this was spicing up a day. This was drama. This was an entrance, stage left.

“I can’t wait to hear my definition of filthy either,” I said.

Without warning, he bent over and picked me up in his arms, my poodle skirt bunching up in front of my chest, the unexpected movement making me dizzy. He started toward the stairs and the front door he’d been propping open with his foot slammed shut with a heavy thud.

Grant Caldwell the third was taking me upstairs. Grant Caldwell the third hated pancakes and had been coming to the diner just to see me. I might think it was a load of complete bullshit except I had seen him eat. It was like the pancakes had personally insulted him.

Even if he hadn’t been coming to the diner just to see me, what difference did it make? He clearly wanted me now and I wanted him.

He took the stairs like Rocky without the jabs. He didn’t even slow down as he climbed flight after flight. Someone did Crossfit and it wasn’t me.

“That was impressive,” I said when we finally got to my floor and I pointed to my apartment door. “503.”