Come Fly With Me (6 page)

His hands sprawled on either side of her head as he used his body to press her against the door. While the feeling should have been claustrophobic, Grier only wanted more as the desperate urge to take everything he could give beat through her.

Heat curled through her belly—warm and welcome—when his large, capable hands shifted from the door to cover her hips. Mick pulled her against him and the unmistakable proof of his arousal where it pressed against her stomach only heightened the moment. Brilliant sparks of pure, feminine appreciation lit her up.

She dropped her coat and purse between them as she reached to wrap her arms around his neck. His pulse beat heavy under her hands and the hair at his nape was soft as her fingers threaded through the longish strands.

A light moan rose up in her throat as he continued the relentless sensual assault, as his lips plundered hers with an urgent, restless need. With unerring precision, his tongue tangled with hers over and over, dragging one erotic sensation after another from their joining.

No matter how much she argued with herself to stay away from him, this
thing
between them—a desperate, urgent need that clawed and grabbed and
demanded
—simply would not be sated. One single night with him had not been enough.

Mick lifted his head as that wicked smile once again returned to his lips. The fact that his eyes were a bright, glazed blue gave her some solace that he was as affected as she was by what burned between them.

“So you’re fine?”

“I’m fine.” The words were soft and breathy and slightly strangled, completely belying her quick assurance.

He took another step back. “I can see that.”

“Really, Mick, I am.” Her words gained strength and it was only the evidence that she’d regained some of her equilibrium that kept her from pulling him right back against her.

He took one more step back as his smile faded. “I meant every word of that text I sent you on New Year’s Eve. I’m not walking away from what’s between us. I will, however”—he leaned in and pressed one hard, quick kiss to her lips—“let you get some sleep.”

Long after he’d disappeared back through the stairwell, Grier stood there, her back still pressed to the door with her coat and purse at her feet. She knew Mick wasn’t walking away.

But what would happen when she eventually did?

G
rier hit mile two of her run as Jon Bon Jovi’s luscious voice came through her earbuds. Although she wasn’t so sure he was accurate about being able to go home, she’d never argue the fact that he was sweet accompaniment to her daily torture routine.

With Jon’s voice keeping her pace at a fast clip, she allowed her gaze to roam the room. The Indigo Blue boasted an impressive workout facility, practically putting her gym back in New York to shame. Even if all of it was likely another gift from Roman, the hotel owner’s absent son and current high-scoring forward of the NHL, she had to admire the gleaming rows of well-kept machines and ruthlessly organized weight racks.

The strains of Bon Jovi gave way to some Donna Summer, followed by Pink as Grier cranked up the incline.

If you’re gonna sweat, you might as well make it worthwhile,
the annoying voice in her head whispered, pushing her on. She’d had the same workout routine for more than a decade and it never failed to piss her off that she’d yet to find a song combination that made the incline portion of her run palatable.

But God bless Pink for almost getting her there.

The strains of Trouble floated over her consciousness as she sweated toward mile three and with the music came thoughts of Mick.

The man was trouble, all right. Two point eight seconds in his company and she was ready to drool. Five more seconds and she was wrapped in his arms, her brains leaching out of her head.

How did that happen?

And why did it have to happen at the worst possible moment in her life?

The waving of a hand caught her up short and Grier almost fumbled on the machine as Sloan’s eyes grew wide.

“I’m sorry!”

Grier waved back as she righted her footing and reached for her earbuds. “What are you doing here?”

“Nearly killing you on your run, apparently. I’m sorry.”

“You just snuck up on me, that’s all.” Grier lowered the treadmill’s incline, then the speed, until she was moving at a brisk walk.

“How is it possible you’re here at six thirty in the morning? After flying all day yesterday?”

“I could say the same for you.”

“You’re a machine.”

“No, I’m just awfully fond of pancakes.”

Sloan’s gaze perked up in carb-inspired anticipation. “Does that mean you’ll go to the diner and get some with me?”

“Sure, just so long as you get your lazy ass on that treadmill over there.”

“Hey.” Sloan’s eyes widened in mock offense. “My lazy ass has already been up and active this morning.”

“Sex doesn’t count.”

“It burns calories.”

Grier pointed to the machine. “That burns more and you’ve got a wedding dress to fit into. Hop to it, fuck bunny.”

“As always, you’re far too astute for your own good.”

“That’s what you get for having an anal mathematician for a best friend. I can calculate calories from twenty paces.”

The two of them fell into companionable silence as Sloan started her workout. Grier appreciated the time together. Although they’d been apart for only a little more than a week, she’d missed her friend.

And knew it was only the beginning, as Sloan would be moving to Indigo permanently now that she was marrying Walker.

“You all right?”

Grier glanced up from the neon face of her machine. “Yeah, why?”

“I don’t know. You just looked really sad all of a sudden.”

“I’m fine, really.”

The moments ticked by, punctuated by the heavy
thwapping
of the running belts of both treadmills, before Sloan spoke again. “You looked a little uncomfortable last night. I mean, when you got over being really happy to see Mick and all.”

Grier heard the thread of concern through Sloan’s
teasing tone and wondered if she was that obvious. “I’m not going to ignore the man.”

“Oh no? It seemed you were doing a pretty good job of it over the past few weeks.”

“It was the holidays. I’m sure it’s a busy time for him, with delivering packages and stuff. And then I was out of town.”

“And you were avoiding him,” Sloan said, contributing to the litany of excuses.

“I was not.”

Sloan hit the speed on her machine with a heavy laugh. “Since delivering packages was the best you could come up with on short notice, I’m calling your bluff. You may be an awesome mathematician, but you’re a lousy liar.”

“All I meant was that he was busy.”

Sloan nodded her head as her breathing grew heavier with the effects of her run. Despite the increased effort, it couldn’t counterbalance the wicked gleam in her blue gaze. “And I’m in awe of your thoughtful understanding.”

Grier hopped off the treadmill as her machine registered four miles, then crossed the room toward the weight rack. Although she usually followed the treadmill with the elliptical, the heavy weights would be a pleasant diversion from the hot seat.

“He’s interested in you,” Sloan added in a reasonable voice.

“Did you and Avery practice this?”

“And you’re interested in him.”

Grier reached for matched ten-pound weights and
began a slow repetition of biceps curls. “I’d also skip a workout every day if it didn’t mean an ass the size of Washington. Just because I want something doesn’t mean I can have it.”

“So why are you making this so hard?”

“Because it is hard, Sloan. It’s really hard. And my life’s not going to wrap up in a nice neat bow, smack in the middle of Indigo, like yours is.”

As soon as the words were out, Grier wished she could pull them back.

Wanted to pull them back.

Even though she was sort of relieved they were out.

She could only thank a decade and a half of friendship that instead of causing a rift, Sloan saw straight through to what was underneath the biting remark. With quick movements, she stopped her machine and was across the room. She took the weights and settled them back on the rack before turning around, her gaze full of understanding.

“You want to tell me what this is really all about?”

“We’re talking about Mick and me.”

“Yes, but what else? You and Mick have nothing to do with me.”

The slight sense of relief she’d felt was rapidly beginning to feel petty and small, but she owed it to Sloan to see her words through.

“It’s just slowly dawning on me that you’re staying here. And I’m happy for you. So happy.” Grier slashed a hand at her cheeks, irritated that not only was she making an ass of herself, but she was crying, too.

“We’ll still be friends.”

“Of course we will be. I’ll hunt you down and hurt you if we aren’t. But I’m not going to see you all the time and that fact is just beginning to register.”

Sloan beckoned her over to sit on a nearby weight bench. “You’re the sister of my heart, Grier. Nothing will change that. Not Walker. Not Alaska. Nothing.”

“I know.” A heavy sob escaped her as she nodded her head. “I do know that.”

Sloan wrapped an arm around her. “And I’m sorry that you’re in pain right now. That life is just so freaking shitty sometimes.”

She laid her head on her friend’s shoulder, the acceptance and understanding going a long way toward making the pain just a little more palatable. “Thanks.”

“Especially when mine’s so not shitty,” Sloan whispered.

At that, Grier lifted her head. “Oh, Sloan. I’m happy for you. So very happy for you. Don’t think for a single minute I’d take that away from you.”

A matched set of tears lit her oldest friend’s eyes as Sloan dashed them away. “I just see how sad you’ve been and it makes
me
sad. I want to take it away and I want something better for you. Especially when I see that something better standing right in front of you, interested in getting to know you.”

“Don’t you see? That’s why it’s the wrong time. How can I possibly start something with a person when my life is so fouled up?”

“Maybe it’s exactly the right time.”

Grier took a large sniff and couldn’t hold back the small smile. “You’re stubborn.”

A lone eyebrow lifted above a watery blue iris. “You’re seriously saying that to me?”

“If the Manolo fits…”

Sloan grabbed her in a tight hug. “I love you. I really, really love you.”

“I love you back,” Grier whispered, her grip equally fierce.

“All right then. I think we can say good-bye to the torture devices and hello to pancakes.”

Grier dropped her arms and pointed toward the now-abandoned treadmills. “Just so long as you remember why I’m allowed to have bacon with mine and you’re not.”

“Hey. I exercised.”

“You did, like, a half mile on that thing. And we all know what happens to girls who slack on their gym time.”

Sloan wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled them determinedly toward the door. “What’s that?”

“Their wedding dresses have to be let out.”

“You are so evil, Grier Thompson.”

Even if she hadn’t found the right music to help her through those damn running inclines, Grier couldn’t argue with their benefits.

And there was one benefit that sat pretty high on the list: the pure, unadulterated satisfaction that came from a large stack of fluffy pancakes loaded with melted butter and syrup.

“I think there are men at that back booth who would propose to you based on that breakfast alone.” Sloan pointed a fork at her.

Grier turned to see a good number of the town’s bachelors filling the booths along the back wall of the diner. She offered a little wave and smiled when several hale and hearty shouts returned the greeting.

“They’re completely adorable.”

Sloan gave the back wall another quick look before returning her focus back to her own stack. “Yeah, they really are.”

“I heard several guys made love matches at the grandmothers’ competition last month.”

“A few. I’ve got interviews scheduled with the two that seem to still be going strong.”

“There are three still going strong.”

The voice floated over their booth with all the precision of a general’s command and Grier looked up to see Sophie, Mary and Julia standing in a line next to their booth.

“Mrs. Montgomery.” Sloan quickly stood and gave her future grandmother-in-law a quick kiss. “Won’t you all join us?”

“We’d love to.”

Grier fought the internal eye roll at the quick agreement. While she loved the grandmothers, their not-so-subtle insistence on getting their grandsons married off made them a bit scary when all assembled as a coordinated trio.

Which they clearly were this morning.

Grier jumped up quickly to allow Julia and Mary into her side of the booth and grabbed a chair from a nearby four-top to flank the end of their table. Once they were settled, fresh steaming mugs of coffee all
around, the questions began. Grier was grateful she’d already eaten the majority of her breakfast or the inquisition would have ruined her appetite.

“How were your flights, girls?”

Grier took round one. “Fine, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy. Long, but uneventful.”

“My, my.” Julia patted Mary’s arm. “To be that young and unaffected. It now takes me a week to recover from a flight.”

“Unless it’s Mick’s flying. My grandson flies as smooth as the melted butter I’m going to have on my pancakes.”

Grier saw Sloan’s eyebrows rise slightly but kept her voice level. “He’s an excellent pilot, Mrs. O’Shaughnessy.”

“What do you girls have planned for today?”

Grier was grateful she didn’t have to voice the reality of her plans for the day—absolutely nothing—when Sloan jumped in. “Not much. I’ve got a few things to catch up with on my articles, but other than that, just shaking off a bit of lingering jet lag.”

“Well then, you can finish up your work and both of you can join us later at the meeting center.”