He pressed his fingers more firmly against her core, firm enough that the sensation went from arousing to uncomfortable. “Grant—”
“Fine,” he said, stepping away so abruptly that Alexa stumbled back a step. Without another word, he opened the glass shower door and turned on the water.
Something that felt inexplicably like humiliation rolled through her as she awkwardly pulled her panties into place and smoothed down her skirt. Quickly, she bagged up the last of her makeup, knowing he didn’t like anything out of place. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad. It’s just my schedule . . .”
“I know,” he said, not sounding particularly convinced. Or appeased.
She walked to him and kissed his bare shoulder, torn between feeling guilty for upsetting him and feeling upset for having to apologize. “I promise to make it up to you tonight,” she said, making her words upbeat and playful. Flirtatious. Sometimes stroking his ego was enough to make his mood rebound and smooth things over.
He looked at her, one eyebrow arched, his expression fierce, masculine, intense. “Yeah?”
She smiled, wanting so much to make him happy again, needing so much to be enough for him. Just as she was. “Yeah. Okay?”
For a long moment, he just stared at her. Then, in one quick motion, he turned, grasped the back of her neck, and hauled her into him. The kiss was aggressive, claiming, possessive. His hold was tight, his mouth hard, his tongue penetrating. Grant liked to be rough, and she usually found pleasure in it, too. Though lately, that’s all their lovemaking ever was—rough, aggressive, quick. The slow, exploring, sensual sex they’d sometimes had earlier in their relationship had largely disappeared from his repertoire. Not that she’d complained. Because she couldn’t begin to imagine how she’d ask for something different in bed. There was almost no chance he’d take it as anything but criticism.
Alexa barely had time to react to it before Grant released her again. “You better.” The corners of his mouth tilted upward, like he was teasing, but his eyes were dead serious.
She ignored his eyes and kept up with the flirtation. “You know I will.”
He grinned, and it was the smile that had helped win her over to him years before, when he’d pursued her maybe harder than any man ever had. The more she’d held out—worrying over the fact that he owned the company she worked for, then as an administrative assistant for a sales manager several levels down the corporate chain—the more Grant seemed to want her. “I’ll look forward to that, Alexa.” He dropped his boxers and stepped into the shower, his gaze latched onto her.
“Good,” she said, giving him a smile and a sultry look. Playfully, she blew him a kiss. And then she was out of the bathroom and closing the door between them.
And feeling the oddest sensation of . . . relief.
Ugh. It was just the stress of dealing with her mother and knowing it wasn’t going to be easy, on top of being late to work and knowing how that was going to make the rest of her day a scramble to catch up. Nothing more. Besides, no one liked starting out their day in a tiff with their partner. She was just relieved that things seemed okay between them now.
In the foyer mirror, she fixed her lipstick, and then she grabbed her purse and made her way to the garage. The Acura SUV she drove was another of her many gifts from Grant. She’d never minded the old Toyota sedan she’d driven for years—in fact, she’d been proud of the fact that she’d bought it and paid it off entirely with her own money. But a year ago, she’d finally given into Grant’s insistence that she needed something safer and nicer and accepted his gift of a car.
As she backed out of the driveway, her phone dinged an incoming message. She braked and grabbed the cell, then brought the screen to life.
MAVERICK: Can’t stop thinking of you, Al. Want you to be okay.
On a gasp, she did a scan of the neighborhood around her, but didn’t see Maverick’s motorcycle or the old pickup he had. Or anything else that looked out of place in the upscale Slater Estates.
Heart racing in her chest, she stared at the text unsure what to do. Because she’d pushed him away, and here he was still trying to take care of her. After what’d happened in the bathroom just now, the point of comparison wasn’t a comfortable one. And it meant a lot. It meant . . . maybe even more than it should.
Which made it hard to know how to respond.
She should just delete the message and pretend she never got it. But instead she found herself wanting to keep it, wanting to be able to reread it, wanting to know it was there. She slipped her phone back in her purse and put her car into reverse again.