The Reality of You (19 page)

Her coated lips
turned down in a disdainful frown and she turned to Reese. “The Midwest?” she
questioned as if that part of the country were akin to hell.

Well, la de frickin’
da. I wasn’t going to get into it with this woman. I decided to play polite and
kept eating, especially since the question hadn’t been directed at me, rather
at Reese, along with the horror that he’d date someone from the Midwest. Such a
backwater place, but they did sell
Estée
 
Lauder there…

Reese’s brows drew
together. “How about we skip your geographic abhorrence and simply eat. The
sooner this meal is over, the better,” he huffed and stuffed a forkful of salad
into his mouth.

She frowned but
didn’t reply. The next several courses were eaten quietly. The braised chicken
cutlets, the grilled purple potatoes, and the poached trout were delicious. The
silence and tension sucked.

Big time.

Reese’s expression
remained tight. Grandma’s tighter. I kept stuffing food in my face— at least
that was normal. Most uncomfortable dinner.

Ever.

Of course, Grandma
couldn’t keep herself contained for over fifteen minutes.

“Tell me, Ms.
Porter, what do your parents do?”

Reese pinched the
bridge of his nose.

I almost swallowed
an entire purple potato. A huge gulp of wine helped it down. “My mother is a RN.
My father is a school custodian.”

Grandma looked like
she might choke on shock. “You’re father cleans toil—”

“Enough!” Reese
shouted. “I have had enough. I don’t give a damn what you think. Your rude
interrogation is fucking meaningless.” He turned to me, shaking his head. “I’d
like to apologize for my grandmother’s behavior.”

Grandma turned red
faced and began to sputter. “Well…well—”

Okay, my escape
became imminent. I used Reese’s outburst and Grandma’s stuttering as a cue.

I grabbed my plate
and stood. “No need to apologize. I’ll just go and get dessert.”

Chapter 21

Grandmas
were supposed to be warm and caring along with soft and nice. Reese’s grandma
was the complete opposite. Really, the woman bordered on evil.
 
She was like a snooty society dame from one
of the historical romances I’d read come to life. I hadn’t believed women like
her truly existed.

Until now.

Unsurprisingly, I
took my time arranging the desserts on a large platter. One needed to be
careful with gourmet truffles. Nor did I want to ruin the perfectly swirled
frosting on top of the pieces of chocolate pecan cake. And the lemon tarts had
fresh fruit perfectly placed on top that I didn’t want to dislodge. I moved
each delicacy to the tray unhurriedly with timed—a long time—precision.

Then I stood staring
at the tray, trying to think of another way to prolong my trip to the dining
room. Yes, getting dinner over with would have been best, but the tension in
that room had me wanting to claw at something—unfortunately, probably Grandma.

As I glanced around
the kitchen, an idea hit me.

Coffee!

I could make coffee
and watch a pot drip to fullness.

Of course, just my
luck, after searching each cupboard, I couldn’t find the damn coffee. So with
dread, I made my way down the hall and back into the dining room to ask Reese,
who had made coffee this morning, where it was located. But before I entered
the room, loud and angry voices had my steps slowing.

“Certainly, I had to
come,” Grandma said in a steely voice.

Ahead of my brain,
my feet stopped.

 
“You’ve never brought a woman here in the
past. Why
her
? This can’t be
serious,” she said, her tone becoming frantic. “She is so far beneath you that
it is preposterous. You must find someone else.”

I almost laughed.
No, this wasn’t serious. Reese had just invited me to get away from Kara.
Grandma needed to stop before she hyperventilated into a stroke. Over nothing.

“The days of
controlling me are long over,” Reese said.

“If you’re
grandfather were alive, he would get your attention,” Grandma said smugly. “You
would listen to reason.”

 
“Reason?” Reese echoed in a low tone, so low I
almost hadn’t caught it. “Shouting, demanding, harassment, and backhanding
equate to reason?”

A gasp almost
escaped me as my chest tightened. Other than that tightening, I was frozen with
shock at the implications of his words.

Something—from the
sound of it, a hand—smacked on the table. “He always wanted the best for you,
but even with the man cold in his grave, you continue to fabricate vicious
lies?”

“The best for
me
?” Reese said in a menacing tone.

The sound of a chair
scraping as if one of them—considering the cane, Reese most likely—were getting
up had me backpedaling—and as a former soccer player, I could backpedal like no
one’s business—into the kitchen, which cut off all unintentional eavesdropping.

I quickly composed
my shocked features into boredom and started rearranging chocolate truffles,
but all I could think of inside was,
Holy
shit! Holy shit! Holy shit!
at the assumption of Reese possibly being
abused as a kid—from his words, both verbally and physically.

Head down, eyes on
chocolate truffles, I heard Reese stride into the kitchen. I took a deep breath
and hoped that I could act nonchalant.

Lifting my head, I
said, “Hey, I was about to bring dessert.”

Countenance drawn,
gaze raw, Reese set the empty bottle of wine in his hand on the counter and
stalked toward me.

Freaked out by his
harsh expression, I took a step back. It didn’t stop him from grabbing my
shoulders, pinning me to the fridge, and kissing me hard, almost brutally.
Whoza. I lay pinned to the fridge from shock instead of his hands. That kiss
had been hot.

He wrenched away as
quickly as he had come, his face a little less drawn. After a long intake of
air, he said, “Let’s have dessert upstairs.”

“Um…okay.”

His behavior was a
bit bipolar, but then I imagined mine would be too with a grandmother like his.

“There’s a door to
the back enclosed balcony next to mine.” He took a step back, reaching into his
pocket and drawing out his phone. “I’ll get a new bottle of wine, have Paul
help that woman to her room, and clean up.”

I reached for the
tray but paused both at the “that woman” comment and Paul cleaning up. “I can
clean up,” I said, thinking about Paul enjoying a comfortable night off in his
apartment above the massive garage.

“Paul gets paid
well, very well, to cater to my wishes. It’s his job. He likes his job,” he
said in a tone that dismissed any argument.

“All right.” I
grabbed the tray and forced a weak smile.

This evening, the
last ten minutes specifically, had been a windstorm. Emotionally, I’d been
blown from one end of New York State to the other and back again. There was no
fight left in me.

Upstairs, past
Reese’s room, I went to the balcony door and flipped on the light switch. A
soft glow came from a row of lights in the ceiling along the back wall. A
mishmash of whicker and antique furniture filled the long, narrow,
glass-enclosed space. A white-and-green-striped rug, tall, green vases with
potted plants, and pale-green pillows on the furniture made it obvious that a
decorator had styled the room. But the star of the room was the ocean, visible
even in the dark with the bright lights shining from the private dock.

I set the tray on a
round table in between two seating areas. Sitting and waiting, I studied the
room more, noticing slightly messy piles of books and magazines on some of the
tables. Curiosity had me up in seconds. Both the magazines and books were about
business, marketing, data analytics, digital advertising, and employee
motivation. I curled a lip at the other stacks on other tables. Though he
seemed to be shifting into a new man the more time I spent with him, Puerto
Rican Reese was apparently part of the real Reese.

Yet a thick, worn
paperback on a coffee table—the only ‘normal’ book, it seemed, in the
room—captured my attention. I walked over to it, reading the title:
Our Mutual Friend
. I turned it over and
scanned the description. Apparently, it was a classic by Dickens that warned
about the perils and allure of money. Something I would never read, but now I
became interested in why a billionaire would not only read, but reread it.
Before I could open the book to the first page, Reese sauntered into the room.

“Hey,” I said,
dropping the book back on the table and then putting my hands behind my back
like I was a child caught doing something wrong.

Quirking a brow,
Reese set the wine and glasses on the round table. “I’d like to apologize for
my grandmother’s behavior again. Her opinions are quite antiquated and nothing
like mine.”

“No worries.” I sat
down as he poured the wine. “I like the Midwest and love my parents. Your
grandmother’s opinions mean little to me.”

He sat down and
handed me a glass of wine. His eyes held a glint of humor. “Like your roommate,
shall we put the whole incident behind us?”

“Please,” I said,
clinking my glass with his.

We ate dessert and
sipped wine. Conversation remained light. Though sometime between sitting on
that stool at Berbunk and today, conversation between us had grown natural,
easy, and enjoyable, tonight he was quieter, on the edge of moody, reminding me
of the Reese in Puerto Rico, which left me slightly uncomfortable. But when he
fed me a truffle, his fingers lingering on my bottom lip, desire threw me the
normal Reese curveball of edginess. And yes, Fangirl squealed at the brush of
his fingers on my skin.

He noticed my knee
bobbing. “Nervous again?”

Stopping my knee, I
rolled my eyes, but the sensual gleam in his gaze did not help the growing
anxiety. Dang nabbit, I had hoped that, after this morning, I wouldn’t turn
into such an idiot the moment he got close. So much for hope.

His jaw tightened as
he watched me fidget. He set his wine glass down, eyes burning into me as he
came out of his chair to kneel in front of mine. Like with the smack of a
soccer ball to the chest, my lungs paused pumping air as he settled his hands
on my knees.

His gaze blazed a
warm hazel. “I love that little breathy sound you make when you’re nervous
and
excited.”

Huh? I hadn’t
realized I’d made any sound. His hands roamed to the top of my thighs and a
rush of air came out of me.

The lines of his
face turned hard with concentration.

My fingers gripped
the chair’s arms.
 

His hands skimmed up
the last few inches and one pressed between my legs. The slight pressure had my
breath hitching. The other hand slid between my breasts. “Which can I have?” he
murmured.

My mind went into an
instant whirl. One of his hands gently pushed against my heart, the other
cupped my growing heat. He seemed to be in a mood I couldn’t quite comprehend.
And the question scared me.

He tapped lightly on
my chest. “Too weak willed?” he asked, his smirk sardonic.

That was
not
funny. I flinched back and pushed
myself up. More than seduction, it felt like he was toying with me, which had
me feeling more desolate than scared.

“Thought you’d
choose the other,” he said, suddenly grasping my waist.
 

I just found my
footing when his hands unbuttoned my jeans and yanked them down. My panties
followed.

Shocked, I tried to
bend down. “What the—”

His mouth on my clit
halted all words and brainwaves. Jeans and underwear pooled at my feet. His
hands held my hips and his thumbs held me open while his tongue devoured me. My
knees trembled and almost buckled, but my hands instinctively curled around his
shoulders then into his thick, dark hair.

Holy fuck, he knew
what he doing down yonder. Long, lovely strokes followed by clit-searing
swirls. I soon burned like the fire that had put me to sleep last night. But I
was the furthest thing from tired, panting and rocking to the rhythm his tongue
set, every one of my cells overflowing with energy and anticipation. When his
fingers entered the party—or more specifically, me—I was done. Came with a
sizzle that left me feeling liquefied and empty headed—my usual state around
him.
 

I stood there like a
limp rag until I came out of the orgasmic fog he’d put me in. I opened my eyes
to find him staring at me. Even after an orgasm, the look on his face had my
breath hitching. I watched him removing my pants and underwear, tugging them
from my feet, which left me in a long sweater that reached the bottom of my
ass. My hands gripped the bottom of my sweater as he slowly stood. There was
only one reason to remove my pants completely.

Reese grinned, a
full-out, male-ego-ridden grin. “Thought that might settle your nerves.”

I’d seen the male
ego previously, but I’d never seen him grin while wearing it. It caused me to
lose a few more much-needed brain cells.

“Nervousness obliterated
by orgasm?” I blurted.

“Exactly,” he said
smugly. He reached for my hand and the button of his pants before he turned to
sit on the chair.

My breath stopped as
he sat down. Yeah, the idea of riding him on the chair gave me excited goose
bumps that went down my spine right to the spot his mouth had just been. But
when he tugged me forward, I put a hand out.

“Wait.”

Reese’s gaze lifted
from between my legs to question me.

“I want you naked,”
I quickly added then blushed like an idiot, shocked that I’d made such a
demand.

His eyes became
liquid lust. “I think my cock just turned to granite.”

Fangirl passed out
from his words as a heavy wave of heat hit me. There was something so hot about
proper, perfect Reese saying those types of words.

He reached for his
wine glass. I was sure my face had turned as dark burgundy as the wine. He took
a long drink. His chest rose in a deep breath.

“So you want me
naked?”

Though embarrassed,
I nodded. Want was a powerful thing.

A ghost of a smile
flickered across his lips before he stood. “Then by all means, let’s give you
what you want.”

He grabbed my hand,
and in less than five seconds, we were in his room. He kicked the door shut
behind us and stopped short of the bed. Letting go of my hand, he stared down
at me with an expectant expression.

I blinked up at him.

His lids lowered,
heavy and seductive. “Feel free to start the disrobing at any time.”