Page 42 of Wine & Dine

17

First place

[Dolores]

Garrett signs the bill, and we leave. We could have danced. I would have loved to dance with him again, but the First Wives looked hungry, and Garrett is a delicious dessert. With his hand on my lower back, he guides me out of the restaurant without one glance at any of them.

We pass Cain Callahan one more time. “Smart man,” he mutters without looking up at us. Garrett chuckles beside me and flips his middle finger. I don’t think he should tempt fate. Cain looks like one seriously rough guy, but I’ve seen worse. Devil’s Edge in Georgia contains some scary characters in their MC.

We continue down the hall, remaining quiet since Garrett made his statement.

You’re definitely a first for me.

He’s a first for me as well. I’ve never known men with not only so much wealth but who are also so considerate. He’s like a dreamy candy bar. Crisp and decadent on the outside, but nuggety good on the inside. I don’t know how to respond when he compliments me. It’s like I’m tongue-tied or distrusting, which isn’t really true. I trust Garrett more than I trust most people. Maybe because I know he has nothing to lose in me. I’ll go home, and he’ll carry on. I trust him to do such a thing.

As for me, I’ve been thinking more and more about how I need to make a decision. I need to set a date and figure out what’s next. All this talk of restaurants and wineries has me reconsidering my diner. I suppose I could get a loan and begin renovations to rejuvenate the place. A pick-me-up to the diner might be just what the restaurant needs. It’s certainly been what I needed as a human being. After a month in California, I’m starting to feel like a new person—a new me—a better me.

Garrett opens the hotel door for us, and I walk in first. As I near the bed, I slip out of my shoes—the red slippers Garrett bought me. I turn to make a comment about our sleeping arrangements when Garrett tackles me to the mattress.

I land on my back with his arm over my waist as he lies on his side. We laugh as we bounce but then settle into silence. My head rolls to look at him, drinking him in like the delicious wine we drank throughout the evening. I’m tipsy and warm but not drunk. I’m inebriated on him, instead, and the honesty of what he told me. The excitement of his future investment. The way he looks at me.

“Let me hold you tonight,” he says, his voice low and rough. A bit shaky. He’s referring to my breakdown the day before Thanksgiving. I’ve been too embarrassed to mention it, and he’s been gracious enough not to speak of it either.

“I thought you didn’t do cuddling,” I tease, remembering him telling me such at one point.

“I like holding you.” His raw honesty makes me want to kiss him. All we’ve done for days is kiss, and I’m so worked up by his mouth. He’s left me steaming and aching for three nights in a row, and the second he leaves the condo, I’ve been at myself for relief. I imagine his hands on my breasts and his fingers over my clit. I think of his tongue in either place.

The thought immediately makes me wet.

“I’ll change first,” I say, and Garrett releases me. I sit up, feeling shaky and shy. He’s held me before, so tonight should be no different. But it will be. Sexual anticipation fills the air. I wish I had something nicer than the scoop neck nightgown I found at Target. I hadn’t considered a sleeping partner in the evenings when I bought it. I chuckle at the thought and then assess myself in the bathroom mirror.

The silver hair makes me look older, yet I feel years younger. My eyes glisten from both alcohol and contentment. Garrett Fox makes me…happy. My hands roam over the cotton material. My fingers curl and cup my breasts, pressing them upward. Not as perky as they used to be, but they’re still round and lush, and pebbled as I squeeze. I don’t know how I’ll sleep next to Garrett.

I like holding you.

I like him holding me.

When I return to the room, Garrett has his suit jacket removed and dress shirt missing. His pants hang on his hips as he’s loosened his belt. His abs are sculpted at his waist, and the hint of hair leading downward teases me.

My eyes leap up to his. He’s been equally taking me in, roaming down my short nightshirt which drifts off one shoulder. My peaked nipples on display. One hand smooths down my hip. I’m nervous when he looks at me like this.

“I’ll be right out,” he mutters, passing me for the bathroom. I slip into bed. The sheets are luxurious against my skin, which prickles and tingles. Knowing Garrett was waiting for me, I didn’t touch myself in the bathroom, not to mention I feared any murmur I made would hint at what I was doing. Now, I’m suffering under the weight of the duvet and the silkiness of the sheet against my legs, oversensitive to the slightest touch on my skin.

Garrett steps back into the main room and flips off the light. I hear the rustle of his pants as he removes them, and then he crawls into bed behind me. I hold my breath, waiting for him to touch me. His hand slips over my waist, and he nuzzles his nose into the nape of my neck.

This is not going to be enough. Not tonight.

“Can I ask you something?” We’ve started wiggling against one another. His bent knee straightens so his foot slides down my calf between my legs. My backside lightly rubs over his stiffening erection.

“Sure.” My voice squeaks.

“When you were in my bed…alone…what were you thinking about? What did you imagine me doing to you?”

Oh, God. His knee bends, separating my legs and drawing close to my center. His fingers spread across my abdomen, and his nose swirls at my neck. I take the risk and cover his hand with mine. Guiding his palm to my outer thigh, I slowly lead him upward, bunching up the material of my nightgown as we move with collective hands.

Garrett groans.

When he meets my bare hip, his hand curls over the bone and squeezes. My leg adjusts, and his upper thigh connects with my center. I arch my back, forcing the faintest rub against his leg and pressure against the firm length at my backside. I squirm. I can’t help myself. My body has its own intentions.