Wounded Birds (The Grayson Series Book 1) Page 3

  “I plan to taste those lips,” he says with confidence. “Just not now; it’s too soon. I want us to get better acquainted with each other.”

  My eyes grow wide and I’m shocked at his brassiness, but inside; I'm begging for him to take me and do as he pleases. Ugh! This is insane.

  “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself? You seem confident and straightforward. You like this on all your first dates? What if I’m not interested? Or maybe I just don’t want to?” I answer lifting my chin up with a smirk, laughing at myself as if there was any truth to my last two statements.

  He chuckles shaking his head, and I gaze into his eyes and their blazing with want. He leans down, and his warm breath caresses against my face making me tingle all over.

  “No, to your second question,” he says. “There is something about you. I just can’t place my finger on it.” He slides the pad of his thumb below my lower lip and says, “and Ariana. . . . You are interested. I’m an extremely patient and persistent man. I won’t stop until I get what I want.” He gently blows alongside my ear, and I crumple like a dried-up cookie.

  I let out a long breath and glance at the time. “It’s getting late. I need to go,” I rush out and quickly brush past him; my tote clutched tight against my chest, eyeing the exit. I burst through the glass doors, welcoming the cool, crisp air, hoping it will settle my raging hormones and racing heart.

  A limo is parked out-front. The driver opens the door and glances at Michael. “Mr. Grayson,” he calls out and nods.

  “Thank you, Joe, our first stop is Miss DiMarco’s,” he orders.

  “Thank you for the offer, but I’ll grab a cab,” I express with gratitude, squinting my eyes against the glaring sun, desperately needing some distance from this man.

  “I consider myself a gentleman. I’m taking you home. Please get in,” he says with a firm tone and gestures toward the waiting car.

  Double crap, I was so close to getting my equilibrium back. I let out a grunt and do as I’m asked, told, ordered, or however, you want to interpret his commands. I hear him chuckle as if he sensed my frustration, the smart-ass.

  After I situate myself on the seat, he glides his long beautiful legs in and slides closer to me. He drapes a garment over his lap, and it’s not his. Damn it, I can’t believe I forgot all about my coat. God, I feel like such a scatterbrain. His arm brushes against mine, making my heart palpitate. Joe closes the door and settles behind the steering wheel.

  “Where to, Mr. Grayson?” Joe asks.

  “Fifteen Central Park West.”

  “How did you know my address?” I whisper.

  “Sean.”

  “I should have guessed,” I mutter to myself, sinking deeper into the backseat. We pull away from the curb into the traffic. I gaze out the window and sense him watching me. I wish he would stop staring at me. He’s making me self-conscious.

  He reaches across the seat, drawing my chin toward him. Our eyes meet, and I’m lost in his emerald eyes. “I’d like to see you again,” he murmurs.

  “You would?” I ask, and my heart starts to accelerate. I’m going to have a heart attack before we even reach my apartment.

  He grins with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Why do you sound surprised? There is a strong chemistry between us. You can’t deny it,” he rasp out, so self-assured, tracing his finger over my bottom lip causing me to jerk back and my stomach to flutter while my heart is doing happy flips.

  I swallow hard and clear my throat. “Yes,” I say just above a whisper, and my leg begins to bounce.

  He chuckles and gently places his hand over my knee to stop it from moving. My breath hitches from the warm sensation bleeding into my skin.

  “I’d like to explore the energy we have. Are you free this evening?” He rests his arm over the seat right above me, expelling a soul-stirring vibration, which seeps beneath my clothing.

  This man doesn’t waste any time. “Yes, I am. What did you have in mind?” I ask and stare at his moist, luscious lips. I wish we would get to my apartment building already. I don’t know how long I can hold on to my self-control, and why the hell did I agree to see him again. Have I not learned that being around this man is a health hazard? That he makes my head spin, and adds a tremendous amount of stress on my poor heart. I must be suicidal, what other explanation would there be.

  “Does an opera sound appealing? La Traviata?” He places a gentle hand over my back. I flinch. He frowns, exhaling with a hint of irritation.

  “That would be lovely,” I answer and find myself gazing just below his chin, getting a glimpse of his thick, masculine neck behind the crisp, white collar of his shirt. I grow hungrier as I envision my face nuzzled right at the curve of his shoulder, nipping the tender skin with my teeth. Ahhh! This has to stop? I’m turning into a sexual predator, wanting, craving, and thirsting to feast on this man I hardly know like a wild cougar.

  “Wonderful. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty, and after, we’ll go for a late dinner.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  We reach the apartment building and pull into the circular driveway. The two buildings are constructed of limestone, adjoined to a center breezeway with an attendant at the main entrance and a concierge.

  Joe is already out holding the door open for both Michael and me.

  “Thank you for the ride,” I blurt out. Needing some space, I race out of the car and, unfortunately, he’s not far behind. God, Why couldn’t he just stay in the car?

  “Ariana,” he calls out.

  I ignore him, walking faster, but before I get to the doors, his fingers gingerly rest over my right arm, causing me to stop and melt under the palm of his hand. I turn to face him; he hands me my coat, which I forgot about again. Ugh! He kisses me softly on the cheek giving me the chills and chuckles. Damn him.

  “Until we meet again.” He grins with a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Yes,” I murmur, still spellbound by his presence and glued to the sidewalk, holding my breath and pray he doesn’t notice me perspiring. Thank God I’m wearing black.

  Right before stepping back into the limo, he turns giving me one last beaming grin and winks as he blows me a kiss through the autumn breeze.

  The vehicle pulls away, disappearing as they merge into the heavy traffic of New York City. I’m jolted out of my dreamy haze.

  “Good afternoon, Miss DiMarco,” the building’s attendant greets me and tips his hat. He’s such a kind man.

  “Good afternoon, Bobby. A lovely day, wouldn’t you say?”

  He nods with a brilliant smile and opens the door for me, and I walk into the lobby.

  “Good afternoon, Miss DiMarco. This package came in for you.”

  I stop and turn to face our security guard. “Good afternoon, Ryan. For me?” I ask, surprised.

  “Yes. It was left on the desk this morning.” He hands me the pretty navy blue box, embraced with a pale yellow satin ribbon. An envelope is taped over the wrapping. I pull the card out. I adore you on your show. Enjoy the homemade chocolate truffles. Regards, YL

  “Mmm, yummy.”

  “Must be from a fan,” Ryan expresses with a shy smile.

  I beam back and place the chocolates in my bag. “Thank you. Have a wonderful day.”

  I practically skip with excitement into the elevator and insert the key for the penthouse. I’m still stunned over my inheritance from my grandfather. He left me such a generous gift, along with his real estate in Monte Carlo.

  I tap my foot nervously against the floor of the elevator, wondering what came over me, and these unexplained erotic thoughts that ran through my mind, but for the first time in my life, I felt invigorated, adventurous, vivacious and lust. Ah! This is so wrong, how do I justify my actions? This has never happened to me before. I just hope I can get through the night without having these lusty visions. I take a deep breath, convincing myself that I can do this, keep my mind focused and from wandering off into an x-rated scene while keeping my cool. I close
my eyes and say a silent prayer that I will have full control of my thoughts, but in conclusion, I know damn well that isn’t going to happen. Because I don’t have a prayer in hell when it comes to Mr. Grayson.

  I jerk as the elevator stops. The polished cherry doors slide open into my foyer. I remove my heels and pad across the black-and-sand cool marble floor. A surprise has me skidding to a stop as I walk into the living room. Displayed inside is an array of beautiful tropical flowers dancing with radiant colors and expelling an alluring fragrance throughout the apartment. Where did all these come from? A gold shimmering envelope sitting up against one of the vases catches my eye. I rush over and tug the card out with anticipation.

  Dear Ariana,

  This was premeditated. I already knew from the way Sean spoke of you that our lunch together was going to be a memorable one for me. I hope for you, as well.

  I look forward to seeing you this evening.

  Should you have any questions, as I’m sure you will, I have enclosed a business card with my cell phone number written on the back.

  With warm regards,

  Michael J. Grayson

  I chuckle at the note and stare bewildered at all the exquisite flowers. I reach into my handbag for my phone and instead pull out the box of chocolates Ryan handed me earlier.

  I admire the decorative packaging. Mmm, I’ll need to indulge in these later. I set them down on a small table near the kitchen. I dig deeper into my bag until I find my cell. With eagerness, I dial his number.

  “Michael Grayson,” he answers on the first ring. God, even over the phone his voice sounds erotic.

  “Mr. Grayson,” I whisper, bubbling with excitement.

  “Don’t tell me; let me guess. You hate the flowers,” he teases.

  “That’s preposterous. I love them, thank you,” I say breathlessly.

  A sweet laugh escapes his lips. I can just imagine his smile lighting up like a Christmas tree. “I assume you approve, Miss DiMarco.”

  “Oh, yes.” I beam with delight, twirling around the living room, and fall sinking onto the plush sofa.

  His laugh echoes like sweet music to my soul.

  “How did you . . . how did you do all of this?” I’m tongue-tied and elated at the kind and generous gift.

  “I called Sean at the studio, and he was delighted to assist. He said a colleague, as well as a close friend of yours, has a set of keys to your apartment. Blake was more than happy to let the florist in.”

  “What if our lunch hadn’t turned out the way you planned?” I ask, kicking my legs up in the air with glee.

  “I’m seldom ever wrong. Sean spoke of you with admiration, and the moment you stepped into the restaurant; his statement was confirmed,” he answers.

  “I’m impressed, Mr. Grayson.” I say, feeling light-headed. “I don’t want to cut you short, but I have a date with a distinguished-looking young man this evening. I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.” I giggle.

  “As much as it saddens my heart to end our call, you must not keep the gentleman waiting. I’m sure he shows no mercy for lateness.” He chuckles.

  “Well, with that said, I should hang up. Parting is such sweet sorrow,” I recite.

  “I’m grateful the separation will be short.”

  “Why don’t you come by earlier? Is seven okay? I thought we could indulge in a drink before we leave for the opera.”

  “Terrific idea. I’ll be up at your apartment at seven.”

  “Perfect. See you anon, Michael.”

  “Not soon enough,” he murmurs and disconnects the call.

  I jump off the sofa, dancing with merriment across the room with mirth. When was the last time I ever felt this attracted to a man? Never! Not even Danny made my heart flutter the way Michael does, and then I stop spinning as the past decides to creep up on me like a thousand scorpions crawling over my skin, reminding me what marriage was like with my ex-husband. It was dark, grim, and painful. Damn. I’m so tired of living in fear. There were plenty of men wanting a relationship with me, but the thought of being with a man only brought out dreadful memories of Danny.

  My grandfather always used to say to me, “Ariana, follow your gut.” Which is what I intend to do. For some unknown reason, I trust Michael. My grandfather never did like Danny. He used to call him a serpent meaning snake in French. I should have followed my instinct back then, but I was too young and naive.

  I let out a loud whoop and jump up, pumping my fist in the air. I rush into the bedroom, taking the closet apart, wondering what to wear for this evening.

  I sigh with relief. A black garment grabs my attention. It has a mesh overlay of embroidered lace over a lustrous satin slip-dress.

  Instead of working, I turn on my surround sound and danced around my apartment with thoughts of Michael.

  Chapter 3

  Chocolate Truffles

  I walk into the living room in a sexy black dress, with a deep sweetheart neckline. I take note of the pretty package on the table waiting to be relished. I smile and open the little treasure chest filled with sweets. Inside are delicate truffles, each perched in its own gold, foil mini-cups robed in drippings of colorful chocolates—almonds, hazelnuts and coconut. Whoever this YL is, she put all her heart and soul into preparing these.

  I lick my lips and reach for another mouthwatering truffle, and moan. One lonely ball of sweetness sits in the box. I can’t believe I ate eleven truffles. They were; without a doubt, the most scrumptious little treats I’ve ever experienced. As much as it pains me, I should save the last one for Michael.

  I stare into the box, and something catches my eye. Hmm, what’s this tucked away below the foil, and before I pull it out, the intercom rings. I glance at the time. “My God, seven already.” I place the box down. I hurry over to answer. “Yes, Ryan.”

  “Mr. Michael Grayson is here to see you,” he answers.

  “Please send him up,” I reply, and I’m jolted with rapid pitter-patters of anxiety. I dart off to the bathroom and check my lipstick. The elevator bell sounds off, alerting me of Michael’s arrival.

  I hurry into the foyer, and Michael walks out, dressed to kill in his elegant black tuxedo; his silky hair parted to the side in thick waves. His eyes soft and glowing, leaving me breathless.

  “Ariana, you are exquisite,” he says, studying me with entrancing eyes.

  I blush. “Thank you, and you look dashing as always,” I reply.

  He moves closer, and I inhale his cologne. My eyes grow wide as the scent ignites every private part of my body to life. I look down at my feet and close my eyes for a brief moment visualizing my hands beneath his jacket stroking his warm solid chest as his heat filtrates into my skin.

  I start as he brushes his fingers under my chin, pulling it up, causing the goose bumps to rise. He bends down, and our mouths meet, and his soft, smooth lips kiss mine with pristine care. I feel my cheeks flush, and my body turned to Jell-O. What happened to ‘keep your cool,’ Ariana? I ask myself. That went right out the window.

  “Thank you. You have a certain glow when you blush,” he compliments with a slight chuckle and takes a gentle hold of my shoulders, which has me weak and quivering in the knees. I don’t think I’m going to survive the night.

  “Let’s go in for a drink.” I motion toward the living room, to keep from falling at his feet. I sway, losing balance, and Michael wraps his arm around my waist to steady me, making me gasp for breath from his touch.

  “Ariana,” he says, startled, looking nervous. “Are you okay?”

  I let out a breath I had no idea I was holding. “I’m fine, Michael, don’t worry. I place the blame on you,” I say, shocking the hell out of him.

  “Me?” His head jerks back; eyebrows raised, and mouth open with a stunned look.

  “Yes, you. You’re making me light-headed.” I laugh. “Now, let’s go get our drinks.” I gestured towards the room.

  His eyes widen. “I don’t know if you’re joking or serious, but you just blew me
over the edge,” he says and bursts out laughing, sending erotic music echoing throughout the room.

  Michael whistles as we enter the living room. “You have a beautiful home, Ariana.”

  “Thank you, a gift from my grandfather. It was overly generous of him.”

  “It’s breathtaking. How many rooms do you have? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “Four bedrooms and five bathrooms.” My home is spacious, filled with traditional furnishings. Persian rugs that I purchased when I visited Egypt are scattered throughout the apartment over polished, wood parquet floors. I hired a decorator. I have no sense of taste for interior décor. She did an outstanding job.

  The living room has three sets of French doors. The wet bar is a full-blown kitchen situated across the room with six stools. The commercial size kitchen is on the other side of the elevators. A favorite room of mine is the library, which is located between my bedroom and living room.

  We reach a set of French doors to the terrace, which bestows a spectacular view of Central Park. The sun begins to set beyond the horizon, treating us to a spectrum of orange, pink, and red hues and casting its luminous reflection over the Manhattan skyline.

  The terrace is landscaped with potted flowers and weeping cherry trees displaying an array of colorful leaves. The place is large enough to accommodate close to sixty people, as is the formal dining room.

  I’ve already set a bottle of wine and two glasses on a small hand-painted tile table facing the glass doors. “I thought it would be too chilly to sit outside.” I gestured toward the chair. We sit side by side, facing the stunning view of the sunset.

  I can’t help but stare at him, bewildered by the beauty of his well-defined features, his eyes so vibrant they penetrate right through you, and his seductive English accent that throws my equilibrium off balance.

  “Thank you again for the flowers; they’re exquisite.”

  “You’re welcome,” he murmurs. He reaches over and takes me by the hand, brushing his fingers over my knuckles. I’m enveloped by a warm, invigorating sensation, leaving me spellbound and my stomach to bubble over. I’m moved by his tender touch, yet it scares me, and I pull away.