Page 38 of Charm (Billionaire Buck Boys #7)
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Holden
Greer pops the last olive into her mouth, smiling as she chews. “This was delicious.”
She’s right about that. Usually, I pick up a sandwich and a coffee on my way home after pulling an all-nighter at the office, but today called for something different.
Not only because I had Greer by my side when I walked into my apartment, but Declan is a dad, and that’s put me in a feel good mood all day.
I may be exhausted, but I’m still awake, and the happiest I’ve been since I left East Hampton.
“I agree.” I pour another splash of champagne into her flute before doing the same in mine. “We should toast.”
“Again?” She picks up her glass. “I lost track, but I think you’ve already toasted to Gilbert Wells at least four times.”
She’s likely right, but the next toast isn’t in celebration of Declan and Abby’s son. This toast is all about her.
I grab my glass and raise it in the air. “To you, Greer.”
“To me?” She holds off on clinking her glass against the side of mine. “For what?”
“For existing.” I go the extra step and lightly tap my glass against hers.
I down the entire contents in one gulp. There’s just something about champagne that makes it go down so fucking easy.
Her glass is still in the air. I can’t help but notice her hand is now trembling.
“What’s wrong?” I ask softly.
“We can’t go back to where we were in East Hampton, Holden.”
She made it clear before we said our goodbyes after our weekend together that I was a part of her past. Now, I’m not.
“We can’t,” I agree. “Is there a chance we can move forward as something more than what we are now?”
“What are we now?” The question rushes out of her.
Before I can formulate a response, she’s sliding off the chair she’s been sitting on next to my dining table.
I stand, too.
Her gaze drops to the jeans and T-shirt I’m wearing.
I bought the shirt last year from a vendor who was selling her wares at a market in Brooklyn.
Kirby desperately wanted a pink one in her size because it was adorned with a picture of a rainbow.
She chose a matching one for me that is blue.
I don’t wear it often, but it’s comfortable.
“We’re two people who like each other.” I test the waters. “We’re two people who liked fucking each other.”
Her eyes widen. “Holden!”
“I’m not lying.” I chuckle. “We had fun, Greer. Let’s have more fun.”
She shakes her head. “While you’re trying to steal my business away from me? No, thank you.”
I step closer to where she’s standing. I’m close enough that I could circle her waist with my hands, but I don’t. Instead, I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m trying to buy your business at a very fair price. Our offer is incredibly generous.”
She doesn’t argue that point.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” I confess.
She drags her top teeth over her bottom lip. “You’re not making this easy for me.”
“I’m not making what easy for you?” I push because I want her to explain what she’s feeling. I need to know if she wants me as much as I want her.
She pushes her hair over her shoulder. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Do you want me to admit that I’m wildly attracted to you? Because I think you’re already well aware of that fact.”
“Wildly attracted?” I repeat the key phrase in what she just said.
She stomps away from me, leaving a faint hint of her perfume in her wake. It’s floral and will forever remind me of our time at the beach.
I follow behind her because I have no choice in the matter. My feet may be doing the work, but my desire for her is the fuel behind every step I’m taking in my effort to catch her before she storms out of my home.
“Greer,” I say her name loud enough that it stops her in her tracks. “We need to talk about this. Ignoring what we both want won’t make it disappear.”
She turns abruptly to face me. There’s a fire in her eyes that I haven’t seen in weeks. “What do we both want?”
I’d ask her what she thinks we want, but she needs to hear it from me first, so I’ll happily oblige. “To kiss, to touch. You want me to fuck you again.”
She shakes her head, but her stuttered breaths tell a different story, as do her rushed words. “You don’t know that.”
I narrow the distance left between us with measured steps. As soon as I’m close enough, I reach out to touch her chin. “Tell me I’m wrong. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want me. Tell me you don’t think about what it felt like to be with me.”
“I can’t,” she whispers. “I can’t tell you I don’t want you.”
That’s all I need to hear. Leaning forward, I drag the pad of my thumb over her bottom lip, waiting for her to signal this is not what she wants.
She leans forward too, tilts her head, and slowly closes her eyes.
I take what she’s offering to me and claim her pillow-soft lips in a deep, slow kiss.