Page 40

It isn’t until Charles is pulling into the garage that I realize my big romantic gesture is screwed before it even begins.

I got so distracted by the two stops I forced Charles to make before driving to Dalton’s penthouse that I forgot about the building’s Fort Knox-level security.

By the time we’re down the ramp to the barricade and its three armed guards, I’m cursing myself into near oblivion.

Charles stops, rolling down his window and mine.

The first guard smiles at Charles, striking up polite conversation.

Guess she’s familiar with The Vortex’s personal driver.

The second guy eyeballs me with an expression that could rival the Terminator.

“Name.” It’s a demand, not a request.

I lick my lips. “Jenna Grant.”

He flicks through a list on an iPad and panic sets in.

My heart reeling at an erratic pace. I’d intended to show up all romantic gesture swoony-bullshit-style and now I’m going to get detained for trespassing and have to call Dalton to bail me out.

Nothing says hello I want to be with you, like calling for bail money.

“Guest of.” The guard asks, not looking up from the screen.

“Excuse me?” I stammer.

“Who are you here to see?”

“Oh, a… Dalton Ward. Penthouse.” I add, like the location of his apartment makes any difference in the fact that I’m showing up unannounced at midnight.

“ID.” The man thrusts his hand out. I catch an eye roll as I dump half the contents of my purse in the back seat before finding my ID. He looks over it with the intensity of an airport customs agent, lips pursing.

I’m so sure he’s going to ask me to step out of the car that my hand is on the handle when he hands the ID back with a frown and a temporary access card for the elevator.

“Your ID expires soon. If you come back, make sure you get it renewed before then.” He taps the side of the car like it’s a good girl. Then motions to the guy in the booth. “All clear.”

“Wait, what?” The shock in my voice causes his eyebrow to quirk, and I’m babbling before I can think better of it. “I didn’t think… I mean, I forgot to make an appointment.”

“As of four and a half weeks ago, you have a standing invitation from Mr Ward.”

Four and a half weeks ago? That must have been right after our date. An ache blooms in my chest. He put me on the list, hoping I would come back. As Charles drives through the opening gate, I pray Dalton doesn’t regret that decision.

The elevator ride is excruciatingly slow and yet over way too fast. When the lift comes to a stop, the doors don’t open.

There’s a moment of pure panic before I realize this is Dalton’s front door.

With all the security in this place, there must be a locking mechanism that keeps the doors closed until he grants the rider access.

Such a far cry from the elevator in my building that breaks down half the time and smells like pee.

I stare at the silver doors, still resolutely shut.

How the hell do you knock on an elevator door?

A glance up reveals a camera in the corner, its red eye winking.

I imagine Dalton on the other side of a screen staring back, finger hovering over the button to let me in or send my ass back down to the garage and a waiting security detail.

This is such a stupid idea.

I fumble with the gift clutched in my hand, seconds ticking by like sludge. I’m about to give up, punch the return button myself, when there’s a ping and the doors slide open to reveal a half-naked, sweating and seething Dalton.

There’s an audible hiss as he takes in the dress I’m wearing. The dress from our date. My skin prickles under his gaze, and I know we’re both thinking of everything we did together the last time I wore it.

Which, of course, is the point.

Dark grey sweatpants hang off his hips in the most indecent way, highlighting every curve and muscular line of his body.

His chest is heaving and both of his wrists are taped like a boxer.

I catch sight of a punching bag dangling in the living room.

The huge black form still swinging from a recent assault.

It would seem I’m not the only one with pent up aggression about tonight’s shit show.

Though I can’t be sure, I swear he mutters “that fucking dress” before clearing his throat.

“What are you doing here, Jenna?” His voice is low, gruff, like it hurts to ask that question. Knuckles turning white as he grips the frame, Dalton’s hand falls on the side of the elevator door, trapping me inside as he leans into my space. I stand my ground.

“Are you going to invite me in?” My chin juts out like I’m not afraid of rejection and my knees aren’t shaking beneath the glamorous gown.

“No. I’m trying to be a gentleman here and walk away. Because if you walk in here right now, I will…” Dalton searches my eyes, his breathing still too fast.

“You’ll what?” I take a step towards him.

“If you walk in here, I will take you up to my room and worship every inch of your body until you’re begging me to find release.

If you come in here, I won’t be able to walk away again, Jenna.

No more Cinderella bullshit. Fuck crazy exes and threats and bosses.

There will be strings, and I want them knotted up with you in every way possible until we can’t untie ourselves from each other. ”

A breath whooshes out.

“I was hoping you might say that.” I thrust an open palm between us, revealing what I picked up at the second stop. Dalton stares down at the semi-neatly wadded bundle in my hand. An incredulous smile cracks the hard facade he’s been trying to uphold.

“Is that… a wad of string?” He reaches for it, fingers caressing the cream fibers.

“It’s twine. More of a symbolic gesture.

It’s all Duane Reed had at this time of night.

” I shrug, feeling absurd. How the hell do romance writers make this stuff look all sweet and heart-warming?

Right now, I feel anything but romantic.

More like desperate. I move to close my fingers over the half-pulled-apart lump of gift wrap. “Stupid really?—”

Before I say another word, Dalton’s in the elevator, body crashing into mine and pinning me against the back wall. His fingers close over the ball of twine, claiming it before I can take it back.

“It’s fucking perfect.” He says against my lips.

My body goes electric under his touch. I press into him, his cock hard against my hip, his chest crushing mine, and it’s not enough.

I want to be closer, need to be closer to this man.

The dress is suffocating. Damn it, I need to feel his skin against mine, to know this is real.

It takes every ounce of effort I have to pull away.

“Please invite me in, Dalton,” I say again, breathless.

“You’re sure?” He asks one more time, green eyes boring into mine. I realize for the first time, he’s just as afraid of getting hurt as I am.

“I want to see where this goes. But only if you do too.” I admit. It’s not a declaration of love, though I’m barreling down that path so fast it’s terrifying. But it’s an honest answer. One we both deserve.

A low growl of approval rumbles from his throat as Dalton’s hands slide down my ass to grab the backs of my thighs, lifting me onto his hips.

My legs wrap around him, and our lips once again find each other.

I trace his jaw to the sensitive spot below his ear that I know will elicit a moan.

Dalton doesn’t disappoint, his hands tightening on my thighs.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” Dalton says, tilting his neck to give me better access as he navigates the living room.

“I’m pretty sure I do,” I whisper against his ear.

It’s only after Dalton sweeps out a leg, knocking two dining chairs aside, that I realize we’re not headed to his room.

“Bed?” I get out between kisses as he sets my ass on the smooth wood surface, reclaiming my mouth.

“Too far.” Dalton murmurs between kisses. He’s ripping the boxing tape off his hands and then they’re spreading my legs wider around his hips, pushing back the folds of the dress until his fingers find my clit.

He’s right, the bedroom is way too far away.

I buck under his touch, hands sliding down his bare arms for support.

“Windows?” The word comes out in a hiss as Dalton’s fingers push aside the fabric to slip inside me. First one, then another, while his thumb still circles the throbbing bundle of nerves.

Dalton disengages just long enough to bark an order. “Privacy mode.”

The windows on the lower level frost and he finds that sweet spot stroking the inside of my walls.

I fling my hands back, bracing against the table.

Dalton’s eyes blaze when my hips chase the movement and I could give a fuck who sees us—sees me as I wind closer toward coming undone.

Dalton holds the pace, keeping me clinging to the edge.

His name comes out as a breathless plea, “Dalton…”

“Come for me.” He demands, drinking in my writhing body, and I do.

I buck back against the table, riding his hand as the tension unspools, taking with it every doubt about a potential rejection when I scream his name.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Jenna.” Dalton’s kisses are feather-light as he strokes me down. The smile on his lips is butter soft, like witnessing my release is his favorite thing in the world. All I want in return is to see this man lose control the way I just did.

Taking the back of his neck, I pull him down for another kiss. Sweet and gentle, but this is only an interlude. I’m so not done. I slide one hand down the warm skin of his chest, over each perfect ab to cup his dick through the tented sweatpants.

Dalton leans into me with a groan that has my core clenching, ready for more.

“I want you,” I admit.

The man needs no further instruction.