All of Me Page 8

  Charlie’s expression of mock horror eased some of the tension he’d been holding on to earlier, until the meaning of her words settled in to agitate him more.

  “Have there been a lot of newbies?”

  He wanted to snatch the words back as they left his mouth. He really didn’t care about her previous or present sexual partners. But as he thought about Charlie with another man, his stomach seemed to drop. He knew he was lying to himself. Grant didn’t want to think about another man having access to her glorious body.

  “My mother always said, never ask a question you don’t want the answer to.” She raised a single eyebrow and Grant knew he had pissed her off somehow. Her body vibrated with a controlled anger.

  Grant pushed her a little more. “What makes you think I don’t want to know the answer?” Honestly, if anger was going to be the only expression of passion he received from her, he would rather have anger. It at least meant she felt something for him. Not the detached demeanor she constantly exhibited.

  “Trust me, Grant. No man ever wants to hear the answer to that question.” Bending down to pick up Stella, she continued. “Dinner is almost done. I’ll take Stella with me while you freshen up. I’m sure you want to change out of your work clothes. I’ll have a beer ready for you when you get done.” Turning from him, she walked back toward the kitchen.

  Watching Stella wave at him over her mother’s shoulder, Grant had to squash down his desire to yell. He was not accustomed to people dismissing him or having his questions go unanswered. Even though a small voice told him it was none of his business, he couldn’t help the purely primitive feeling of possession that overwhelmed him when it came to Charlie and Stella.

  Stomping out of the living room and into the hallway, Grant made his way to the guest room/office. Opening the small wardrobe in the corner, Grant pulled out a pair of jeans and an old college T-shirt. As he changed out of his work clothes and threw them haphazardly onto the bed, he tried to control his anger.

  Sitting on the edge of the mission-style bed, Grant ran his fingers through his hair. With his elbows resting on his thighs, he thought about the situation he was in. He was sitting in the house of the mother of his child, where he had clothes and other personal items but no other connection to the woman of the house. Grant really didn’t know how much more of this he could take. Maybe he should just pack up and go back to New York. His whole life was there—friends, family, and the headquarters to his family’s business. He knew plenty of women who would jump at the chance to be in his bed.

  But as Grant sat at the edge of the bed in a place he never really felt could be his home, he couldn’t imagine leaving. He didn’t want to miss the first time Stella took a step on her own. Or when she said Mama or Daddy. And, if he had to be honest with himself, he didn’t want to miss the woman who had made all it possible for him. No matter how she kept him at arm’s length, Grant knew he loved her. Even thinking the words caused a ripping pain in his chest. He had to admit that had been the motivation in searching her out in the first place. Of course, then it had been the early flames of an emotion that now burned inside him.

  “Dinner’s ready.”

  Grant saw Charlie standing in the doorway with Stella resting on her hip. He knew it was just his longing for a connection between them that made him place concern in her voice and on her features. Standing up and stretching, Grant started walking toward the pair.

  “Well, good, because I’m pretty hungry. Are you hungry, peanut? Let’s see what yummy stuff Mommy has made for us.”

  He took Stella from Charlie’s arms and brought her in for a hug that caused his pain to slip away when he felt his daughter’s chubby little arms wrap around his neck and one of her wet kisses on his cheek.

  “Thank you, peanut.”

  Once in the dining room, he put Stella in her high chair and looked at the table appreciatively. Charlie really was a great cook. He enjoyed how she liked to have themed dinner meals. He could see that tonight’s theme was Middle Eastern dishes.

  “I thought we could try a Moroccan theme tonight,” Charlie said, coming up behind Grant.

  Sitting down in the seat that gave him access to Stella’s high chair, Grant watched as Charlie sat opposite him. “It looks delicious. Thank you.”

  Spooning in the baby food that Stella was just now beginning to eat regularly, Grant watched from the corner of his eye as Charlie put food on a plate for him. Setting it in front of him, she repeated the process for herself.

  “Here, let me take over. I know you must be pretty tired,” she said, taking the baby food from him.

  Grant was about to protest when his stomach let out an audible growl. He was pretty hungry and realized he hadn’t eaten much all day. He had been in meeting after meeting and had been in such a hurry to catch his flight he’d only had some fruit. Once on the plane, he’d been so absorbed in going over some figures that he didn’t really take in the options of food on his first-class flight.

  As he spooned up the rice and lamb dish, he decided it was worth it. The flavors of the food exploded in his mouth. Grant was convinced he had experienced more types of food in the short time of living in Los Angeles with Charlie as his cook than in his entire life. He had to admit he was pretty much a creature of habit when it came to food. Also, he was one of those people who ate to live, but being around Charlie, who lived to eat, he was discovering an entirely new appreciation for food.

  “I’m going to take your groans for approval versus disgust. Do you think your daddy likes the food, peanut? Um. I don’t know. Not as much as you like yours, huh. Yummy.” Charlie chuckled as she spooned another mouthful into the baby’s mouth.

  Taking a swig from his beer, Grant washed down some of the food so he could speak.

  “Does your mommy need to have people tell her how great her food is all the time?” he teased.

  Sticking her tongue out at him, Charlie softly chuckled and began spooning more food into their daughter’s mouth. Grant quickly refocused his attention on eating because if he didn’t, he would be swept away with how seeing Charlie’s delicate tongue caused him to think about a time in the past when she had stuck it out at him.

  Leaning over his plate, Grant let his mind wander to a morning they spent in his hotel room eating room service in bed after another one of their marathon sessions of sex. Charlie had a craving for pastries, and he had room service bring some up for her. As he watched her sitting in the bed naked, licking the cream from the pastry off her fingers, Grant found his body becoming aroused with every lick.

  As if sensing his physical state, she had begun to exaggerate the motions of removing the cream from her fingers. With each slow lick, he imagined her tongue doing the same thing to parts of his body rather then her own fingers. By the time she began to eat another dessert, Grant couldn’t take it anymore. Feeling as if he was going to burst, he pushed the plate of food to the floor in a crash. Grabbing the delicate dessert from her hand, he threw it across the room and flipped her on her back. For a moment he just looked into her laughing face and eyes. It was only now, while sitting at the table in Los Angeles listening to her coax their daughter into eating her food, that Grant realized that was when he began to love her.

  “A penny for your thoughts.”

  Grant startled when Charlie’s voice tore him from his memories.

  “I think they are worth much more then a penny,” he grunted before shoveling more food into his mouth.

  He was afraid to look up at her in that moment because he knew his eyes burned with desire. A desire he didn’t know how much longer he was going to be able to keep buried deep inside him.

  Chapter Eight

  As she watched Grant eating his food with bent head, Charlie’s heart squeezed. When she’d gone to tell him dinner was ready and saw him sitting on the guest bed with his face cupped in his hands looking shattered, she didn’t know how to reach out to him. But now Charlie had the confirmation for something she had been feeling for quite
a while.

  Grant was tired.

  Not the tired of a busy workload, nor the tired of having the baby being fussy and not being able to soothe her. Charlie knew Grant was tired of it all. She was actually surprised he had lasted as long as he did. She knew one of his main reasons had been Stella. Grant’s sense of duty and honor would never let him abandon his child. But she could see that the struggle to juggle his life was taking a toll. Yet every time Charlie tried to broach the subject, Grant became irritated or frustrated. Continuing to spoon the last bits of Stella’s food in her mouth, Charlie began to think of ways she could talk to him about revisiting their child-rearing ideas.

  After cleaning up residual food from Stella’s mouth, Charlie put a pacifier in her mouth and turned to her own food. Charlie had always enjoyed cooking, but it wasn’t until she had Stella that she saw the advantages of a home-cooked meal. One, it saved on money and two, the energy it took to have dinner out with a baby could easily be used preparing her own meals. Unfortunately, the more she cooked, the more Charlie realized just how small her kitchen was. The narrow walkway and minimal counter space made it difficult for her to negotiate complex cooking projects. As Charlie began to branch out, she realized she just didn’t have the space for all the cooking tools she would need for her culinary experiments.

  Grant had suggested she get a bigger house, but her pride wouldn’t let him buy her one. With her own house she felt less like a kept woman. Each day as Stella required more stuff, she realized her house wasn’t as perfect as she’d always thought. She’d planned to mention it to Grant but now she held her tongue.

  “I’m going to get another beer. Do you need anything from the kitchen?” he asked, getting up from his seat.

  “No. I’m good, thanks. If you’re done with your food, I made some cookies. I broke with theme though. They’re oatmeal raisin.”

  Charlie was pleased when she saw a small smile form at the corners of Grant’s mouth.

  “Honey, you can break with themes whenever you want if oatmeal raisin cookies are your reason.”

  Sighing, Charlie watched as Grant walked through the door that connected her small dining room to the kitchen. She really wanted to know why Grant could run so hot and cold. Just seconds ago she was sure he was tired and resentful for having to be here with her, and with a quirk of a smile he seemed to be the relaxed, assured man she met in Italy. She really didn’t have much time to reflect on his mood before Stella began to make agitated movements in her high chair. Getting up from her seat and lifting her daughter up, she knew it was time for Stella to go to bed.

  “Grant, do you mind cleaning up while I give Stella a quick bath and put her down to bed?” she yelled toward the kitchen.

  Walking to the doorway with a beer in one hand and taking a bite from a cookie, Grant nodded. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.”

  ***

  Grant allowed himself a few minutes to admire Charlie’s retreating figure before starting to clean the table. Carrying dishes back into the kitchen, Grant set to work tidying up. Moving around in the small kitchen, Grant didn’t know how Charlie had the patience to work in such a small space. Dishing leftovers into containers he would take home for lunch tomorrow, Grant grimaced at the thought of having to do dishes by hand. When he’d offered to have a dishwasher installed, Charlie had responded dryly to the comment—“Sure. Where?”

  Grant placed the dishes in the soapy water to soak before he walked into the living room and turned on Charlie’s sound system. The one advantage of the house was that her brothers had hooked up speakers to key parts of the house so sound could be heard throughout.

  Walking back to the kitchen, Grant finished tidying up. Done faster then he thought, he grabbed his unfinished beer and walked toward the back of the house where the bedrooms were situated. When he got to Stella’s room, Grant peeked in to see Charlie gingerly lowering Stella into her crib. Smiling, Grant realized Charlie didn’t have to be so careful, as Stella was pretty much already down for the count.

  When he’d spoken with the few men he knew who had kids, Grant quickly found out he and Charlie were lucky Stella was such an easy sleeper. Even if music was blaring in the front of the house, once Stella was asleep it would take an act of God to get her up. He stood in the doorway and continued to smile at mother and child. Charlie kissed Stella’s face before she raised the side bar of the crib. Walking toward the crib, Grant placed his hand softly on Charlie’s back.

  She looked up at him and made room for him to give Stella a kiss goodnight. He took in the clean baby smells as he leaned down. Grant never thought something could smell so delicious to him. He mimicked Charlie's small kisses on their daughter’s face and leaned away from the crib. Charlie lifted the side railing and looked one last time at her sleeping daughter, then turned to smile at Grant. He smiled back and realized with bittersweet recognition these were the moments he lived for. Moments like these when he could pretend they were a loving couple watching their small child sleeping. Bliss.

  Walking past him toward the doorway, Charlie grabbed the handheld baby monitor and turned the dimmer down on the lights. Turning, she walked back toward the living room. Giving his daughter one last look, Grant followed Charlie. He entered the living room shortly after her and watched as she sat on the overstuffed couch she loved and curled her legs under her. Grant took a swig of his beer and suddenly felt awkward.

  “Thanks for cleaning up,” Charlie said, smiling.

  Taking another drink of his beer, Grant answered, “No problem. You do the cooking and I do the cleaning.”

  “Did you get enough cookies?”

  “Yep. Oh, and I packed some of the food away for lunch tomorrow. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Oh, gosh, no. I couldn’t eat all that food.”

  ***

  Watching Grant stand in the middle of the room drinking his beer, Charlie’s feelings of awkwardness began to intensify.

  “Grant, can you please sit down? You’re making me nervous.” Charlie winced at how hard her voice sounded even to herself.

  Blushing sheepishly, Grant went to sit in the antique chair. With soft music playing in the background, Charlie began to feel increasingly nervous watching Grant sit across from her drinking his beer. Taking one last swig, he stood.

  “Well, it’s getting late. I better get my stuff together and head out.”

  “It’s not even eight yet. Want to watch a movie? I can make some popcorn.”

  Charlie was actually surprised by her own statement, so when she saw Grant raise his eyebrows in a visual illustration of her own feelings, she felt a slight blush begin on her cheeks.

  “Um, sure. Okay.”

  “Cool. You can look through my DVD collection while I make popcorn.”

  She scurried from the room before he could change his mind. She focused her attention on making popcorn and putting cookies on a plate because if she didn’t her nerves would get the better of her. This would probably be a good time for them to have a talk, clearly define what they meant to each other, but instead she wanted to coast on the fantasy that had been created while she watched Grant kiss a sleeping Stella goodnight. In this fantasy, she and Grant were a loving couple having quiet time while their child slept. In this fantasy, she didn’t bottle up her feelings of love and could snuggle freely with Grant on the couch.

  She rested her head against a cabinet and tried to steady her racing heart. She pulled herself from the fantasy in her mind before it could spiral to the place she really wanted to be. Not just snuggled against Grant against the couch, but pressed firmly against him as he fit snugly inside her. Charlie moaned as her body heated and her panties became damp.

  “I hope you don’t mind. I was kind of in a mood for horror,” Grant called out from the living room, and instead of pulling her back from the brink, the sound of the deep timbre of his voice excited her more.

  “I love a good horror movie,” she yelled back as she poured the popcorn into a bowl.

&nb
sp; She hesitated at the refrigerator. Would it look too obvious if she kept giving him alcohol? she wondered. Scrunching her face, she chastised her neurotic self and took a beer out of the fridge. What she needed was a cold beer or a shot of whiskey, but she didn’t feel like doing a pump and dump before Stella’s next feeding. It was probably for the best, considering a drunken man’s words were a sober man’s thoughts.

  Sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, Grant had the remote in his hand. Placing the tray next to him and sitting on the couch, Charlie looked at the flat screen on the opposite wall.

  “Oh, this is my favorite zombie movie,” she said, reaching down for her beer and a handful of popcorn. “You didn’t want to sit on the couch?” she asked the back of Grant’s head.

  Turning around to look at her, Grant had a bit of an embarrassed look on his face. “Actually my back is a little stiff from the plane ride, and the couch is too soft for it right now.”

  “Oh. Do you want me to rub it for you?”

  Once she had spoken, Charlie immediately regretted the words. The blank look on Grant’s face told her that was the last thing he wanted from her.

  “Or not.”

  “Um, actually that would be great. Should I just lay on the floor?”

  “Yeah. You’re too tall for the couch. I’ll just use this quick technique Craig taught me.”

  Charlie tried to keep the excitement out of her voice now that Grant had agreed to the massage. She was such a fucking pervert. She’d gotten herself all hot and bothered and was going to use this as an excuse to fondle him. She would be disgusted with herself if the thought of his taut muscles under her fingertips didn’t cause her body to throb in anticipation.

  “Should I take off my shirt?” Grant said.

  Charlie tried to control her breathing as he placed his hands on the edges of his shirt. He was acting perfectly normal, and she had turned into some sex-crazed addict overnight. Okay, it wasn’t overnight, but the fact she was practically vibrating with excitement would have been shameful—if she had any shame.