Grip Trilogy Box Set

“No,” I fling over my shoulder. Only a few steps to go and I’ll be in his loft and then out the door.

“They don’t satisfy you.” He plays the comment like a trump card. “Sexually, I mean.”

My hand is on the knob to his loft, but I look up at him, anger overtaking the fear and confusion of the last few moments.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” I snap. “To presume you know anything about my sex life.”

“Oh, but I do.” He takes the few steps separating us until he’s right in front of me, his hard body pressing me against the door. “Remember last year when you bought your cottage and invited us all over for dinner?”

I have no idea where he’s going with this, but I can’t pretend I’m not curious. I just stare at him, knowing he doesn’t need my permission to go on.

“Everyone was playing cards, and then I left the room and was gone for a long time.” He presses his forearm to the door behind me and over my head until our bodies are practically flush. “Remember?”

“You said my chili sent you to the bathroom,” I say breathlessly.

I'm not a great cook and was surprised the chili turned out halfway decent. Grip was the only one who complained.

“I’m sorry about that.” He grins at me, his eyes lighting with temporary mischief. “I lied. Your chili was pretty good. It really was. No, I wasn’t in the

bathroom. I went to your bedroom. Ya know. To explore.”

“My bedroom?” I can’t believe him. “How dare you?”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures. I have no problem playing dirty. I welcome it actually. But I stumbled upon something in the drawer by your bed that was very telling.”

There are two drawers in my bedside table. One holds journals and a few items that would tell him too much about my feelings. That drawer remains locked, so he wouldn’t have seen what was inside. But the other drawer . . .

“I’ve never seen so many vibrators in one place.” Grip’s grin is half-teasing, half-cruel. “Residential, of course. You’ve got your own black market sex store in there.”

My face heats, and I cannot even form words. Embarrassment chokes me.

“I figure anyone with that many vibrators can’t be coming on the regular. With a guy, I mean,” he clarifies unnecessarily.

“Stop it.” I fire the words at him, so angry, so humiliated I want to slap him.

“It’s okay.” With gentle fingers he brushes the heavy hair back from my forehead. “I think I understand the problem. It isn’t you. It’s them.”

I push away from the wall, only to be blocked and gently but firmly pressed back against the door.

“Guys, we can be so clumsy.” He shakes his head and sighs. “You know? Quick. Selfish.”

He trails fingers down my arm to link our fingers.

“See, I bet they start here,” he whispers, slipping his hand between us until his fingers lightly drift across the space just below my belly where my thighs juncture. My panties soak with the promise of his fingers. My breath catches at the brief contact where I crave him most.

“When they should start . . .” His hand glides up and over my belly and between my breasts. Over the curve of my shoulder and neck until he reaches his destination. He finally taps my temple three times. “Here. They should start here and work their way down because your mind is your most erogenous zone, Bris. I look forward to making you come with my words alone.”

I fumble with the knob behind my back until the door swings open. I take several steps into the apartment. I can think more clearly now that I’m away from that tower of muscle, bone, and heat standing pressed against me. The strong girl who has resisted him all these years is regaining her composure.

“Whatever you think you know about me,” I yell, not bothering to turn around. “About my sex life, about anything—you have no idea.”

I stride over to the couch and retrieve my bag, determined to get out of here with the hard shell still around my soft places. When I’m at the front door, I glance back, surprised to see Grip still in the stair- well where I left him, the door standing wide open. Our eyes clash one last time, and there’s a coalition of sadness and frustration and want in his gaze. I can’t afford to look too long, so I make a dash for the door, hoping against hope that he won’t come after me.

I’m nearly at my car by the time I realize I’m perversely saddened he didn’t follow.

Chapter 3

GRIP