The Design(47)

I stabbed my keycard into my apartment building and pulled the door open. The metal handle hit the concrete wall with a dull thud, but I didn’t care. The concrete was the least of my worries.

I’d gone to happy hour for Grayson—just like I’d done so many things for Grayson over the last few weeks—and he hadn’t even been there.

Why wasn’t he there?





“Cammie?”





Chapter Sixteen





Grayson stood a few yards down the hallway, half cast in shadows. He was blocking my apartment, leaning back with his hands tucked into his suit pants and his foot propped against the door. The single overhead light was enough to make out the pieces of him that I found irresistible: the strong jaw, the defined cheekbones, the dark brows, and the James Dean attitude.

He’d been waiting for me.

“You missed happy hour,” I said, pulling out my key ring to unlock the door. My hands shook with nerves, but I doubted he could see that in the dim lighting.

“Did you walk home by yourself?” he asked. A polite person would have given me space to unlock the door, but he crowded me, making it so I had to brush against him to reach the lock.

“I’m home. Does it matter how I got here?” I asked, turning the key in the lock.

“Where’s Hannah?” he asked.

I turned to glance up at him and froze when I realized how close we were to one another. If he bent down an inch or if I stood on my toes, our mouths would meet and my heart would splinter into two parts: one that belonged to me and one that would always belong to Grayson.

“Back at the bar,” I answered, turning my knob.

“Good.”

Grayson pressed one hand to my lower back and used his other hand to push open my apartment door. I didn’t have time to think as he ushered me past the threshold, into my dark apartment.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

My question was met with the sound of my door locking back into place. Clearly he intended on staying. I stepped into the living room, trying to create a safety zone between the two of us.

I shook my head and turned to face him.

“Wait, how do you know where I live?”

He was inspecting my apartment, turning in a slow circle as he pulled his suit jacket off and tossed it onto the arm of my couch.

“Well you can go if you’re just going to be weird and quiet,” I said after he’d ignored my question.

He turned to me and smirked. His dark eyes captivated me, shaking my confidence. When I continued to speak, my voice was shaky and softer than it’d been a moment before.

“I’m tired, Grayson. And stupid Alan gave me extra work so I have to wake up at like four in the morning…”

My sentence trailed off as Grayson stepped forward and reached for my hands. He gripped them between his palms and pulled me back toward the hallway that branched off to the two bedrooms.

“You asked me what I was doing here,” he said.

I nodded, mute. My eyes focused on his lips as he spoke, maybe because they were at eye level or maybe because I knew they were the key to my demise.

“Do you want to know?” he asked with an arched brow.

I tried to nod, but Grayson was quicker. He gripped my chin and raised it just before he bent and stole a kiss. I closed my eyes and inhaled the moment as my fingers dug into his biceps. His lips were feather soft but his kiss was rough, full of desire and impatience for things to come.

My body moved instinctively, pressing against him and pushing him in the direction of my doorway. His hands drifted up into my hair, twisting the strands between his fingers and using them to tilt my head to the side so that he could deepen our kiss.

We backed up into my bedroom together slowly, clumsily. I jabbed him with my elbow. Our knees crashed together as we tried to sync our steps. He tripped over a pair of my heels in the hallway and I laughed, carefully stepping over them before we fell through my open bedroom door.

He kicked the bedroom door closed behind us and we were finally, blissfully alone in my room. Thin shafts of light streamed in from the window beside my bed, and Grayson didn’t bother with turning on the light switch.

“Do you want this?” he asked, reaching for the hem of my blouse, already working it up over my stomach before I could reply.

My mouth dropped.

Who the hell was this person and how was I supposed to keep up?

“I… think so,” I answered, proud of the truth.

I wanted to do this. God, I wanted to do anything with this man. But to say I was scared of the aftermath was an understatement. It was impossible to lose myself in the moment as he gently tugged my blouse over my head. My mind worked overtime, firing off question after question.

Why did he suddenly want me?