The morning had gone by quickly for Stella and I. I had finished the other two stocks of pottery by noon, and had taken them to the FedEx to ship. Stella and I had had lunch at an Italian deli, and I had made sure to buy a woven basket for the picnic I had promised her. We would have it tomorrow, because we had already eaten a good deal of spaghetti.
I took her to the movie theatre to watch the latest cartoon film after we had eaten, and we arrived at the apartment building at around six in the afternoon. The daylight was nearing it's end.
"Will there be other kids at Aunt Rianne's house tomorrow?" Stella asked.
"Yeah, there will be other kids. Our cousin Elise is your age, and her brother Jonathan is seven. There's also Margery, who's only three, and her brother Kyle who's ten."
"Oh, yeah. I've met Elise and Jonathan, but not Margery or Kyle. They came to my other house one time."
"Did you like them?"
"Ahuh. Elise and me played with my dolls, but Jonathan didn't want to," she said.
I laughed. "Well, I sure hope not. Jonathan will probably be hanging out with Kyle tomorrow, so he won't have to be bored when you girls play with the dolls."
"Can I take mine so that we can play?"
"Of course," I told her, and we stepped out of the elevator.
Stella was excited for tomorrow, because she would be able to socialize with someone her age for a change. My mother had called during our luncheon in one of her sporadic moments to tell me she would be hosting a small family gathering at her house, so that the Chicago part of our family would see Stella again, and a few relatives would even meet her for the first time. Never mind that it was a last minute invitation, and that people usually planned things in advance, because there was simply no such thing as "usually" with my mother. When she decided she would do something, she would do it, and in her own way. The word reasoning was not to be found in Rianne's vocabulary.
She was quirky, erratic, and I loved her to pieces for being so happily crazy.
Tomorrow would be fun, I thought. Imagining the Irish ceili, or dance, that we would most probably have. And the food. God, I couldn't wait to have some of Aunt Jillie's shepherd's pie and Uncle Ron's soda bread. Best stuff ever. It was nice to eat someone else's food for a change, and it was even nicer to eat food that wasn't made by strangers at a deli.
"What about you? What will you be doing?" she asked me as we walked down the hall.
"Me? Oh. I'll be stuffing my face, dancing, chatting, and drinking ale. Then we'll all gather around as Grandpa Liam tells his stories over and over."
"What's ale?"
"Something you can't have," I said, poking her nose with my finger.
"You can't have this either, Stella."
I looked up to find the source of the voice, knowing that it would be his. He was propped against my door, with a bottle of wine in his hand. He grinned at Stella as he tossed and caught the bottle, before settling his eyes on me.
"What are you doing, Grant?" I asked incredulously.
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm waiting outside your door with a gift." He grinned, his blue eyes alight with mischief.
"What is it?" Stella asked him.
"Wine, Stella. Lovely, glorious wine."
"How long have you been standing outside my door?" I asked.
"Luckily only fifteen minutes. I told myself I'd wait twenty minutes to see if you returned, and leave if you didn't... only to try again later."
I simply gawked at him, coming into action when he started to laugh in that sexy, wholehearted way of his.
I narrowed my eyes, and said the first thing that came to mind. "Only creeps stand outside people's doors for twenty minutes."
Stella started to giggle under her breath. And Grant's smile twisted to the side into a knowing smirk.
"Is that the best you've got?" he asked, challenging me.
I didn't take the bait. "Perhaps. But it's still a pretty good argument."
He must have noticed that I wasn't joking, because he kept his face composed. And very softly, he said, "Don't pretend you're afraid of me. You know that you aren't."
I let out a sigh of defeat. "Obviously. Or we wouldn't be standing here."
That made him smile, and my heart just about danced inside of my chest. I walked with Stella to the door and stood beside him as I fumbled with the key, trying casually to turn the lock and appear unaffected by his closeness. But Grant shifted his body so that he hovered over the space between us, threatening to close it. I could feel the warmth, and the heaviness of his body as he casually leant against the wall to wait for me.
He was too close, and I liked it too damned much. It was the feeling; the feminine humming inside of me that overwhelmed me so because I hadn't been tempted to feel it for such a long time. The humming was like a radar, turning itself on whenever he was near so that I could not even pretend that I had not noticed him. And it was on high alert now, as his baby blue eyes stared into mine.
"You can't go on ignoring me much longer," he whispered, so close to my ear that I was certain I was the only one who had heard.
I opened the door and slid inside, away from him.
"Can I watch another movie? The one that goes before the one we watched today, please?" Stella asked. I almost begged her not to leave.
"Sure, honey. And afterward you need to have a shower, and some dinner. What will it be? Mac and cheese or chicken nuggets?"
"Whatever you have!" she smiled, "but I like chicken nuggets."
I laughed and kissed the top of her curly red head. I could feel Grant staring, but I tried my hardest to ignore it and went to Stella's room, where I took the said film and slipped it into the dvd player that was perched atop her dresser.
"I'm going to leave the door open so that you call me if you need anything."
She nodded and fixed her eyes on the small moving screen.
Walking to the space where I knew he would be, I breathed in, and out, and tried to relax. It wasn't working.
I came into his view and felt the moment his eyes fell on me, crossing my arms over my chest as if to garner strength with the posture. "Ignoring you?" I repeated, "How have I been ignoring you? You're standing inside my apartment, which means I let you in. That doesn't seem like ignoring to me." Even as I spoke I knew that I was stalling; that I was beating around the meaning of his words.
"Tessa." Grant walked over to me and kept his distance, but the feeling of his eyes on my own was enough to make me feel as if there was no space to separate us. They kept me rooted, and I was unable to step back, even as the opposing fibers of my body yelled at me to run, and some for me to stay. "You talk to me, and you let me inside your apartment because you felt you had no other choice. But you're ignoring me." He seemed at war with himself, until he let his hand gently cup the side of my face.
I let out the breath I was holding, tilting my head into his hand just to feel some more, and to take a bit of that warmth inside. It was such a contrast against my chilled skin that I shivered from the pleasure of it.
"This." he murmured, coming ever so closer. "You're ignoring this." His other hand skimmed over my jaw, before tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. "Why?"
"Be-Because I don't want it." The lie stung my lips.
He shook his head with a disbelieving smile. "I guess I'm just going to have to change your mind."
I closed my eyes, brought my hands to his hands, and for a moment I let myself feel the brush of his skin underneath my palms. Then I opened my eyes and took them away from me. "Good luck with that."
I walked to the kitchen, feeling the heat of his stare on my retreating form. "Woman," he sighed, and let a strained laugh escape his mouth.
I smiled to myself, and put the chicken nuggets in the oven.
"Where are your glasses?" he asked.
"In the cabinet right beside the refrigerator. And there's some cheese in the fridge, too, if you'd like some."
"I would. Now all we need is to dim the lights and light a few candles."
I laughed and looked at him, watching the back of his body as he perused my refrigerator. The denim of his jeans clung to his narrow hips, and over his shapely butt and legs. He had a cute butt, I thought, blushing to myself.
"Why do I feel like you're staring?" he asked, turning his head to catch me. He cocked his head to the side and raised a dark brow.
I shrugged, pursing my lips to keep from smiling. "Because I was."
"You're making this hard on yourself, you know? The whole 'I don't want it' act, what with you staring at my butt."
"I wasn't staring at your butt!" I laughed. "Okay, maybe I was. Just because 'I don't want it' doesn't mean that I can't admire a good male form when I see one. I am a woman."
"And God, am I aware of that," he muttered, earning himself a laugh that emerged from the core of my belly, and bubbled over unrestrainedly.
He watched me, and an effortless smile rolled over his features. "Absolutely beautiful," he murmured.
I covered my mouth with my hand, and later slid that same hand to my hair to self consciously grasp the tendrils between my fingers.
"Oh my god," I mumbled under my breath. He was the one making this extremely difficult. "The wine! Serve the wine."
Grant started to pour as he fought a contented grin. "Maybe you shouldn't drink yourself to the influence. You might come onto me." He was joking, and I couldn't help but grin like an idiot at his sense of humor. He could say you had spinach in your teeth, and still charm your socks off. Or something else off, for that matter.
"Now, we wouldn't want that," I said, taking a tray from the overhead cabinets. I walked to him with a composed face, and took the bag of cubed cheese from where he'd set it on the counter. After setting the contents of the bag on the tray, I let my fingers slide over the base of the wine glass, and took myself a sip of the red liquid.
Our eyes held, and his face was no longer smiling. Instead he looked at me softly, with darkening eyes that could stop any woman's heart.
"Tastes amazing," I whispered, my voice suddenly thick. I wondered if my eyes had taken their turn for the darkness, and exhibited the same want that had curled in his own.
"Barolo, aged twenty years."
I looked at him incredulously, my lips parted with surprise. "And you're wasting it on me?"
"Waste? Definitely not a waste. Especially not when I'm planning on seducing you, Miss O'Brien." He smiled softly at me, hiding nothing.
I looked away for a second before settling my eyes on his face, trying to contain the smile of utter amusement and disbelief. "Some people actually find that bluntness arousing."
"Do you?" he raised a brow.
"Yes."
And I sidestepped him as I started to walk to the living room with my glass and the tray in hand.
"Hell, seems I do, too," he mumbled. I chuckled as I sat down on the couch with my knees bent at the side, and my legs tucked safely underneath me. The tray of cheese was set on the coffee table, and the control remote sat right beside it. I had the feeling we weren't going to turn on the television.
Grant sat beside me, his back rested against the armrest while he bent one leg and rested it over his thigh. He took up such space on the small three-seat couch that there was only a fraction of it to separate us from touching. I angled myself a little, so that I could see him better, and took another sip from my glass.
He surveyed me. "Tell me about yourself."
"What do you want to know?" I asked, changing posture as I crossed my legs underneath the other and rested my back on the armrest just as he had done. I could look straight at him now, like he could at me.
"What you like, who you are. Anything you want to tell me."
I frowned. "I'm a pottery artist and newspaper journalist. Didn't I already tell you this?"
He rolled his eyes in good humor, and shook his head. "Not what you are. Who you are."
"I don't know!" I laughed, "I'm a twenty three year old woman who likes creating pottery and putting words together while she sips on coffee or herbal tees. And who frequently does yoga with her beloved scented candles."
He smiled at that, "Scented candles, eh?"
I nodded happily. "What? They're soothing and warm. Now it's your turn to tell me about yourself."
"What do you want to know?" he mimicked.
"You're a successful artist. What's your story?"
"Mm," he stared pensively at the ceiling before looking back at me, "My story. It's nothing interesting really, but you could say I played the part of a "starving artist" for a while. When I graduated from high school I went into getting a degree in law enforcement, and I was doing really well. I liked cop work, too, but I had always been at my best when painting. Doesn't really go hand in hand, does it? A cop-artist." he smiled, and with a smile of my own I willed him to go on.
"So I kept training, and I had to stop creating art for a while because I had no time. I was going crazy, Tessa. Extremely mad. I literally dropped the academy, with no plans at all whatsoever, and hid myself for weeks at a time. I would go for hours with nothing to eat, and not because I had no food, but because I just wasn't hungry. So many ideas had grown inside me during the time without art, that I simply couldn't stop. I had nine portraits done in two weeks. I remember my mother telling me that I had to do something with my talent, so I started to think that maybe she was right."
"I took pictures of my work and printed them, sticking them all in this little folder with plastic covers, and I took the folder to a small gallery in my hometown. There were only two art galleries in the town center, and I had to drive nearly forty minutes from the family house and to the town. At the first and only gallery I went to, I asked to speak to the owner. She was pretty, young and blonde and dressed in those spiffy tailored suits, and I'm not stretching the truth when I say she was smitten by me. She saw my work and fell in love with it, saying she wanted it displayed at the gallery, and if it proved successful, she would have me displayed in her family's main gallery at the state capital. Then she took my phone number from my identification sheet and called me. We were together for a while," he grinned.
"Ah. So you used her."
"I would never," Grant said, his eyes somber.
"For some reason, I believe you. So what happened with her?"
"I liked her, but not enough, and I decided not to lead her on when she started to ask for more. I didn't think it would be fair to her," he shrugged.
"You're right. It wouldn't have been. So if I'm not mistaken, after you broke up with her, she still displayed your art at the main gallery?"
"Yes, she did," he answered.
"So she loved you."
He smiled charmingly. "Or she seriously appreciated my talent."
"Sure. That too." I rolled my eyes and gave him a knowing smirk.
He laughed at me. "Alright. She liked me a lot, and she even thought that she loved me, but I don't think she had learned how to differentiate love from attraction yet. That's all."
"Many people make that mistake," I said, staring at the dark liquid in my glass. My mind drifted for only a second, yet in that second a kaleidoscope of memories played out in my head. I tore myself away from them, and snapped my eyes to Grant's, as if willing them to keep me rooted to the safety of the present. Of one thing I was certain, Grant made me feel safe, and it was through him at that very moment that I managed not to succumb.
Grant lifted his body from the armrest where it had rested, and crossed his legs so that he propped his forearms over his thighs. He took a gulp of his wine and set the glass down on the coffee table, then settled into his position to face me.
He was closer, and my heart was beating ever so faster. But not from fear, no, not from fear. I only wanted him to touch me, even with the slightest touch.
He might have read the need in my eyes, because he took my hand into one of his own, and traced the outline of my smallest finger. His eyes looked down at our hands, and I watched him, admiring the structure of his strong shoulders and the sleek blackness of his hair.
When he brought his eyes to mine, I inhaled sharply at their intensity, marveling at their beauty.
"Have you ever been in love?" he asked me.
"No," I answered, shaking my head gently. For once, I was entirely honest, and as usual, Grant could tell. Not much seemed to ever escape his eyes.
He was pleased by my answer. I could read it in his features.
"Have you?" I asked.
Grant looked straight into my eyes, holding them for a minute as if lost in thought, and a soft smile played with his lips. "I don't know. I honestly don't know."
And the oven dinged.