Libby Jackson wants one thing: the fairytale. She’s even got her prince all picked out. The glitch? Grant is the brother of her dead fiancé. A sticky situation, at best.
When her best friend and former employer tells her she’s wallowed in her grief long enough and begs her to come back to Baltimore, Libby realizes that Moss Point—and Grant—feels more like home than anywhere she’s ever been.
But will Grant ever see her as more than just a friend?
Grant Mitchell is known for biding his time and calculating the risks. But Libby is more than just another client, another venture. Has he waited too late to take a risk where Libby is concerned? He thought she was content healing in Moss Point. But when he finds out Libby’s decided to leave, the gloves are coming off. Grant isn’t letting her go without one hell of a fight.
Is what they share enough to convince her to stay?
Grant pulled up the file for the old Whitfield place and pondered, not for the first time since he’d acquired the property, how to proceed. He clicked through the images, recalling Libby’s response to every single room.
Her infectious smile, her enthusiasm. She’d loved the place at first sight almost as much as he had.
“Oh, Grant, it’s absolutely hideous!” She’d wiggled her eye
-brows playfully and rubbed her hands together while giving him a mischievous grin. “But, oh…the possibilities.”
Like a child, she’d flung her arms wide and all but twirled from room to room. “The eighties wallpaper has to go, of course. And I know you, you’ll knock out a wall or two to open things up. But the bones of the place are fabulous. All this space. The detail work on this old mantle…”
She’d paused, hands on hips, at the oversized sliding glass doors leading out to a bi-level deck in need of some serious TLC. “Lord have mercy, Ryan could have a field day in this back yard! Get all his creative, landscaping genius juices flowing. Maybe a small kidney- shaped pool with natural stones, and pavers laid out to create an outside bar-and-grill sort of space for entertaining. Can’t you just picture it?”
He could. God, how he could. With her smack-dab at the center of it all, right by his side. Surrounded by family. Creating their own.
She’d glanced at her cell and grimaced. “Shoot! I’ve got to run or I’m going to be late. Let me know what you decide.”
Just as she’d reached the door, she’d turned and her megawatt smile had nearly bowled him over. “Potential. Everything about this old place just screams potential, Grant. I love it! Good luck on making an offer.”
Then she’d rushed off, leaving him charmed, dazed. Horny. God, if he could’ve bottled her vitality, her zest. Hell, if he could survive having it unleashed—his mind went wild, imagining her channeling all that passion into other, more salacious avenues.
It was one thing to fall for someone, and quite another when you were fortunate enough to fall for The One who shared not only your ideals but also your vision and dreams for the future. He’d waited a hell of a long time to find Mrs. Right—so long he’d almost given up hope.
The road had been rocky and treacherous. In fact, there were still some hurdles to overcome. She wasn’t his. Not yet. But Grant had a plan.
Securing the old Whitfield property was the first step.
That done, he could move into phase two: Seduce Libby. Unless he’d completely missed the mark, she had been fighting the attraction between them nearly as long and as hard as he had.
Her jealous streak the other day, at the hospital, had taken him by surprise. It had been on the tip of his tongue to dispute her comments about his preference for perky, touchy-feely blondes. In fact, he’d been fantasizing how best to wipe that smug grin from her tempting lips when Aaron came in.
How would she react if she knew the truth? When, not if, he corrected.
His office door whipped open and a cool gust of moist air swept through, bringing with it the very woman he’d just been reminiscing about.
He quickly closed out the file on his laptop before she caught a glimpse and ruined his surprise.
“Wow! It’s really kicking up out there.” Libby shoved back the hood of her coat and shook out the rain-tipped ends of her dark waves. “Jen said to tell you she dropped in and checked on Max. Oh, and he could use more food. Of course, then, considering the weather and your habits, the kiddos talked her into kidnapping him for the night, so…”
Max, his seven-year-old, eighty-plus-pound black Lab, was more likely to lick you to death than to growl at you. Storms—as with most dogs, he’d learned over the years—were Max’s kryptonite. He might look fierce but a little thunder and lightning was all it took to send him scattering for cover. If Max was lucky, Grant was under said covers. But not tonight.
Most days, he brought Max to the office with him, depending on his schedule. But, again, not today. He’d had several back-to-back off-site meetings. Luckily, his sister-in-law, Jen knew him well—he often burned the midnight oil.
Libby held up a white plastic bag bearing an all-too-familiar logo. “Your dad sent dinner.”
“What the hell?”
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”
“Kidnapping my dog. Dad sending you out in this mess. You should be safely tucked away at home instead of out running around in this shit, just to bring me dinner.” He ran a hand over his face, only now realizing how late it actually was. “Has my entire family gone off the rails?”
“I’m going to assume that’s a rhetorical question,” Libby deadpanned. “And, despite what you and every other Mitchell male may think, I’m not made of spun glass.”
He looked at her long and hard; God, she was gorgeous. Something shifted in the air between them. “Thank God for it, Libby, or I fear you’d have snapped a long time ago.”
She clenched her delicate jaw, jerking her chin up, and narrowed her amber-tinted eyes.
He knew that look. Hell, he knew all her looks. Over the last few years, Grant had learned to decipher the subtle nuances of Libby’s expressions. This one said “not going there.”
Libby placed his dinner on his desk, careful to avoid the blueprints covering most of its surface. She sidestepped him and grabbed a bottled water from the minifridge he kept stocked.
For a few quiet beats, she simply twisted and untwisted the lid while staring out the window behind him. Grant took the opportunity to kick back and absorb the sight of her.
And she was a vision, with her alabaster skin and long wavy hair the color of dark chocolate. Huge whiskey-colored eyes rimmed in thick, dark lashes, and that defiant tilt of her chin. Those lusciously full lips. Her shape was obscured by a bright yellow slicker over dark jeans and brown knee-high leather boots, but Grant had no trouble recalling her lush body—every mouthwatering curve.
Libby Jackson had fueled his every erotic dream since the day they’d met.
Forget dinner. He’d rather nibble on Libby.
Late Saturday morning the furnace kicked on. Libby stirred at the sound and woke to find the sun shining in through the blinds. Grant’s big body spooned hers from behind. His blatant erection nestled just below her ass. The man, apparently, did not have an off switch.
Not that she minded.
No matter how many times they’d come together during the night—she’d lost count—she wanted him again.
Her hips moved of their own accord, the temptation too great.
One large hand cupped her breast and squeezed as he rocked against her. He nipped lightly at the curve of her neck.
“Mmm… Shift a little, baby,” he whispered.
In sync with his desires, she draped her thigh over his, opening up enough for his cock to slide deep.
“That’s it. God, Libby, you’re so wet.”
“Only for you,” she admitted.
Grant licked at her nipple before drawing the taut bud deep. “Touch yourself, Libby. Rub that sweet little clit. Show me how you like it. I want to feel you come all over my cock.”
By now she was used to his dirty, sexy talk. In fact, she loved it, loved how it made her burn impossibly hotter for him.
It didn’t take long for the sweet pressure to build. Between her fingers rubbing furiously over her clit, Grant’s hands on her breasts, and his cock hitting her G-spot with such perfect precision, her orgasm was the most intense yet.
Her entire body shook as she screamed his name. He held her, soothing her through the aftermath.
“Libby, love, you are incredible.”
She couldn’t help but laugh as she reached behind herself to cup his balls. “Me? I’m not the one still hard.”
His hips thrust forward, pulling a groan from her as he slid said still-hard cock through her swollen flesh. Little aftershocks tingled deep in her core as he kept up the lazy rhythm.
“Can’t be helped when this pussy feels so fucking good. Tastes so fucking good.”
Gently, he pulled out and got to his knees. He cupped her butt and pulled her to the edge of the couch cushions, draping her legs over his shoulders. And dove right back into her pussy with his hot tongue.
She gripped his hair hard. Her vulva was still so sensitive, but no way was she complaining. She didn’t want him to stop. Ever. He skimmed his hands along the insides of her thighs, sliding in until his thumbs met and separated her labia, holding her wide while he ate at her.
Arousal poured out of her; his mouth was so hot and wet on her, licking it up.
“Grant! Yes, right there. Please.” He added two fingers, stroking her in a come-hither motion, as he sucked at her clit. Nipped it gently.
“That’s it, Libby. Give it to me.”
Unashamed, she held his head and ground her pussy on his face. Her release barreled down on her like a freight train. She couldn’t even form words, coherent thoughts. Her whole body trembled with pleasure.
Grant cupped her mons and sucked at her breasts. “God, Libby, I can’t get enough of you.”
Before she could completely come down from the high of her orgasm, Grant was picking her up and carrying her to the shower.
The office bathroom was small but luxurious. Crisp white tiles, brushed nickel finish on the faucet, the hardware, set against a backdrop of robin-egg blue walls. He set her on her feet and adjusted the spray, cranking up the hot water. While he got things ready, she chanced a glance in the mirror. And winced.
Holy… Who was this woman staring back at her?
Grant’s stubble had left her skin raw looking in patches. There were faint bruises starting to form where he’d stolen tiny love bites from around her breasts and her hips. Her breasts were sore, the nipples red and swollen. Much like her lips.
She’d never felt so used—magnificently so. Or so desired.
Her eyes met Grant’s in the mirror, and she was astonished to see his brow creased in a frown. His expression held pure venom.