“Donovan was only joking about that. He knows I’m not really interested in starting a music production company.”
“All that hobnobbing in Hollywood, and you aren’t interested in investing in the entertainment business?”
“I’ll stick with science and technology investments for now. You didn’t answer my question. Have you ever considered performing professionally?”
She shrugged and looked away from him. “I’m sure every young girl dreams at some point of being a famous singer. I did my share of posturing in front of my bedroom mirror with a hairbrush for my microphone. But I grew up.”
“You seemed to enjoy singing at the reception.”
“I like to sing occasionally,” she agreed offhandedly, setting her cup on the table beside his. “Not necessarily the songs Chloe selected, of course.”
“Oh?” He broke off another bite of the brownie and held it to her lips. “What type of songs do you prefer?”
Distracted by the conversation, she took the brownie. Again there was that pleasant frisson of sensation when her lips moved against his fingers. He watched her swallow before she answered vaguely, “A little of this, a little of that. Do you sing?”
“Teenage boys don’t perform with hairbrushes. We stood in the shower with a bar of soap pretending to be rock stars. In high school choir, I sang tenor—got a standing ovation for ‘Danny Boy.’”
She had tensed a bit when he’d pressed her about her singing. He was glad to see that his self-mockery relaxed her again. “I bet that was something,” she murmured.
“I made musical history.” He brushed a strand of hair away from her face, letting his fingers linger to stroke her cheek. “I hope you’ll sing for me again sometime.”
A wave of pink stained the delicate skin he touched. “Well…you never know,” she murmured. “Um, do you want some more coffee or…or something?”
His fingers were tangled in her hair now, his other hand rising to her cheek. “I definitely want something,” he said, his mouth close to hers. “But not coffee.”
He heard her breath catch. Wide and wary, her eyes met his. He was glad to see that they were clear, no longer clouded by champagne or residual wedding sentimentality. She knew exactly what he meant, and she was fully aware of what was happening—or could very easily happen—between them. She knew, as well, that he was leaving the next move up to her. He sat very still, their gazes locked, his mouth an inch above hers, just waiting for her signal. Would she pull him closer, or push him away?
He groaned in satisfaction when she lifted her mouth to his.
Grace wasn’t thinking entirely clearly, but she couldn’t blame it on the champagne. The effects of that had mostly worn off now. This lapse was due entirely to having Bryan’s arms around her, his mouth on hers.
Common sense told her to put a stop to this right now, to pull herself out of his arms and send him on his way before things got out of hand. And she would do just that, she promised herself. In a minute.
Her fingers slid into his thick, black hair. He kissed her until she could hardly breathe, and then he turned his attention to other parts of her, kissing her temple, her cheek, the hollow behind her ear, and then trailing his lips down her neck to her bare shoulder.
He lightly nipped the skin there and she shivered. He was so very good at this.
He kissed the hollow of her throat, where her pulse raced so rapidly that he couldn’t possibly have misinterpreted her excitement. She knew it would be a waste of energy to pretend she wasn’t attracted to him, or that she didn’t respond to his kisses and touches. Only a fool would have believed her will-power wasn’t very shaky when it came to him—and Bryan Falcon was no fool.
Emotions that had been simmering inside her for hours erupted to the surface, melting her control. All day she had been entirely too aware of Bryan. She had felt his eyes on her as she’d walked up the aisle ahead of her sister, and all during the ceremony. He’d watched her as she sang at the reception and as she mingled with the other guests. And when they had danced, he’d held her within the bounds of propriety, but close enough to remind her how it felt to be pressed fully against him.
It felt fabulous.
His mouth was on hers again, moving more urgently this time. His hands raced over her, stimulating every nerve ending, leaving her quivering and aching for more.
They weren’t in his car this time. No one was watching them, and there was little chance of anyone interrupting them. Bryan was making his feelings clear about how he would like the evening to end. It was up to her to decide if she wanted to spend the rest of the night alone.
Her hands cupping his face, she drew back to look at him. His face was a bit flushed, his dark hair tumbled from her hands, his eyes glittering and heavy-lidded. She felt the tension in him, the faint quiver of muscles held tightly under control. She was sprawled half across his lap, and the hardness against her thigh told her how strongly he, too, had been affected by their kisses.
There was no doubt in her mind that he wanted her, at least for tonight. And there was no question that she wanted him, either—or that she had wanted him for longer than she cared to admit.
She wasn’t sure she had the strength to send him away this time. Not tonight. But if she was very careful, she should be able to give into impulse just this once without having her life forever changed or her heart broken. It was simply a matter of keeping in mind that she and Bryan were together for only a little while. That there was no future for them. Only tonight.
Tonight would have to be enough.
Still framing his face in her hands, she leaned forward to kiss him lightly. “Have I ever shown you the rest of my apartment?” she asked.
“No.” His voice was husky. “I don’t believe you have.”