Page 8 of Sweet Pucking Revenge (2-Hour Quickies #6)

Maggie

"A thousand dollars a night?" I stare at the Bellagio suite's fountain view, the afternoon sun painting everything gold. "Grayson, this is insane."

"Your parents need to believe their daughter's being treated right." He adjusts the sleeve of his charcoal Armani suit—one that makes his shoulders look impossibly broad and his eyes more gray than blue. "Besides, what's the point of NHL money if you can't splash out sometimes?"

I try not to stare, but it's hard not to. The suit fits him perfectly, like it was made for him. Well, I guess it was. The open collar of his white shirt makes him look both elegant and irresistible. Heat pools in my belly as I remember how that chest feels under my hands.

It's unfair how a man can look this good without even trying, but what's even more unfair is how much I want to mess up that perfect suit right now.

"The dress alone—"

"Is worth every penny. Or every hundred, I should say." Dorian breezes in, arms full of camera gear, eyes widening like he’s seen the second coming. “If I had boobs like yours, I’d live in that dress. Vera Wang? Please. Satin the color of sin, a neckline deep enough to cause accidents, and that slit? Darling, legs for days. Sex and elegance got drunk in Vegas and made that baby. Though I still say the Marchesa would’ve made your ass look even more expensive. ”

I laugh, but when I glance at Grayson, the sound catches in my throat.

His gaze is locked on me—hot, unblinking, hungry. Like he’d peel this dress off with his teeth if we weren’t being watched.

The muscle in his jaw ticks once. Then he drags his eyes up to mine, and it’s not fair how much heat a look like that can hold.

I feel it between my thighs.

“Grayson?” I say, breathless, half teasing.

He clears his throat, adjusting his cuffs again like he didn’t just mentally undress me.

“You, uh… clean up nice,” he mutters, and turns to help Dorian unpack the gear.

But I saw.

I definitely saw.

And my skin’s still tingling from the way he looked at me like I was the main course at a five-star feast.

Dorian starts setting up lights, whispering as he passes me, "Why do you care? He's paying for the whole enchilada anyway."

"Not helping," I mutter, but can't help smiling. The suite is ridiculous—all crystal and silk and panoramic views. The kind of place Kyle would have claimed was too showy… unless I was the one paying for it.

Ugh, enough thinking of the pendejo.

"Okay!" Dorian claps. "Let's start with some casual shots. Pretend you're just enjoying a romantic evening. Grayson, hold her like she's precious."

“That’s not hard,” Grayson murmurs, his voice low and rough as his arms slide around me, pulling me flush against his chest. The heat of his body sears through the silk, and my breath catches when I feel just how hard he really is.

For the next hour, we move through Dorian's vision. Laughing by the window. Sharing champagne on the balcony.

“Now pretend you’re dancing,” Dorian says. “I’m channeling my inner Scorsese here, people.”

He draws me in, one hand at my back, the other claiming mine. We sway together, and I rest my head on his chest, breathing in his cologne.

“You’ve taken lessons,” I say.

“Years of weaving through defense. Guess it translates.”

I smile. Then he pulls back just enough to grin. “Hold up. We need proper mood music.”

"Any requests?" Dorian pulls out his phone.

"'The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face,'" Grayson says softly.

When I look surprised, he adds, "My mom used to play that song. Said it was the most romantic song ever written."

The first notes fill the room, deep and soulful. Grayson pulls me close, one hand spanning my back, the other taking mine. We sway together, and I rest my head on his chest, breathing in his cologne.

He hums along quietly, his breath warm against my ear, softly singing the lyrics in my ear: The first time, ever I saw your face… I thought the sun rose in your eyes... And the moon and the stars… Were the gifts you gave… To the dark, and the endless sky.

I forget we're pretending. Forget Dorian's even there.

There's just this—his heartbeat under my cheek, his arms holding me like I'm precious, the way we fit together perfectly.

He keeps singing in my ear: And the first time, ever I kissed your mouth…

I felt the earth move in my hands… Like the trembling heart… Of a captive bird.

When he dips me, the city lights sparkle behind his head like stars, and the look in his eyes makes my breath catch. And the first time, ever I lay with you… I felt your heart so close to mine…

The line between pretending and reality blurs more with each passing moment.

"Beautiful!" Dorian adjusts his lens. "Now Grayson, whisper something in her ear. Something that makes her blush."

"Your eyes shine like binary code," he murmurs, and I laugh because of course he remembered my passion.

"Perfect! That's the joy we need. Maggie, touch his face like he's everything."

I do, and Grayson's eyes darken. His hand covers mine, turning to kiss my palm, and suddenly it doesn't feel like acting at all.

"Now the dinner setup!" Dorian directs us to the private dining room where room service has created a feast. The spread is pure romance—champagne on ice, chocolate-covered fruit, delicate pastries.

"Feed each other strawberries or something equally cliché," Dorian instructs.

"This is ridiculous," I giggle as Grayson selects a perfect berry, but my laughter dies when his fingers brush my lips.

The chocolate melts on my tongue, and his eyes darken watching me taste it.

My heart races as he wipes a drop of chocolate from the corner of my mouth with his thumb, the touch lingering longer than necessary.

Two can play this game. I choose a strawberry, letting my fingers trail down his wrist as I offer it.

His pupils dilate as he takes a bite, and suddenly the room feels too warm, too intimate.

I can't tell if Dorian's still recording and taking pictures.

Can't focus on anything except Grayson's mouth and how badly I want to taste the chocolate on his lips.

"Ridiculously perfect," Dorian eventually corrects. "Your father will eat this up. Now, Grayson, look at her like she hung the moon."

"Already am," he says, and my heart stutters.

The sun sets as we work, painting the sky in colors that make Dorian squeal about perfect lighting. Each setup feels more intimate than the last. Grayson's touch grows more certain, his looks more intense.

"Time for the main event!" Dorian herds us to the balcony where the fountains dance below. "Places, everyone. Rolling in three... two..."

Grayson takes my hands, and something shifts in his expression. This isn't the relaxed man from our previous shots. He looks... nervous.

"Maggie," he starts, then swallows hard. "When I first saw you in that red dress at the Bellagio, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. But then you started talking about algorithms and magic tricks, and I realized beauty wasn't even your most impressive quality."

My eyes sting. This isn't the rehearsed speech we planned.

"You're brilliant," he continues, voice rough. "Passionate. You light up every room you enter. You deserve someone who sees that. Who sees all of you."

He drops to one knee, and my heart stops.

"Cut!" Dorian yells. "Grayson, where's the ring?"

"Right." Grayson blinks like he's waking up. "Sorry. Got caught up in the moment."

"Start again!" Dorian repositions. "Rolling!"

But when Grayson takes my hands again, everything feels different. More real. More dangerous.

"Margarita Flores," he says softly, "you deserve the world. And I want to spend my life trying to give it to you."

He reaches into his pocket and my breath catches. The ring box opens, revealing a stunning vintage piece that makes Dorian gasp.

"My grandmother's," Grayson explains, hands shaking slightly. "She'd want you to have it. If... if you want it."

"Are you sure?" I whisper, understanding the weight of this gesture.

His eyes lock on mine. "I've never been more sure of anything."

"Cut!" Dorian's voice breaks. "Sorry, just... need a minute. My mascara..."

But neither of us moves. Grayson's still on one knee, still holding the ring, still looking at me like I'm everything.

"Yes," I say, because how could I not? Because I want to believe this is real—just for tonight..

He slides the ring on my finger—a perfect fit, like it was meant to be there. When he stands and pulls me close, his kiss isn't for the camera.

"Beautiful!" Dorian sniffs. "I'm not crying, it's just my Venus in retrograde or whatever."

We break apart, both slightly dazed. The ring catches the last light of sunset, heavy with meaning and possibility.

"I think we got it," Dorian says softly, lowering his camera. "I'll just... go edit these. Leave you two to... whatever this is."

The door clicks behind him, and we're alone with the weight of what just happened.

Grayson cups my face in his hands. "You okay?"

"I don't know." My fingers curl into his lapels. "That felt..."

"Real?"

When he kisses me, it's not like our staged kisses for the camera.

It's deep and desperate, full of everything we can't say.

I arch into him, and his arms band around me like he's afraid I'll disappear.

The ring catches in his hair as I pull him closer, closer, until there's no space left for pretending.

"That was..." I touch the ring, his grandmother's ring.

"Yeah." Grayson's thumb traces my cheek. "It was."

"We should probably..."

"Probably."

But neither of us moves. The fountains dance below, and his arms feel like home, and everything about this is both completely wrong and absolutely right.

This is dangerous.

This is everything.

And I'm not sure I'm pretending anymore.