Page 32 of High Value Target
There was a standing ovation, and Jean Paul Laurent blew kisses to the crowd.
For just a moment, before the three turned to walk back up the runway, Tinsley locked eyes with Grady. Her smile faded. It only lasted a moment before they turned and exited the stage.
Grady pulled his tie and suit coat off and strolled out the French doors off his room onto the second-floor gallery that faced the back of the Wyatt estate. It was almost midnight; the sky was full of a million stars, and he was exhausted.
He sat in one of the cushy chairs of the Wyatt’s expensive outdoor furniture, put his feet up and lit a cigarette. He rarely smoked, but it had been a long day. The estate was finally quiet, and Tinsley was tucked safely in her bed. Mission accomplished.
His gaze roomed over the moonlight glittering on the pool and the stables in the distance. All was quiet. He noticed a light on in one of the tiny windows, and sat up, frowning. It clicked off.
“Who the hell—?” he whispered.
“That’s Sal,” a voice to his right said, making him jump. He whirled around to see Tinsley leaning in the open door to her room.
“You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry.” She smiled and came forward.
His gaze swept over her. She was dressed in a pair of pajamas consisting of loose fitting knit pants that rode low on her hips and a tank top with thin straps and obviously no bra underneath. It was all in a soft peach that accentuated her golden tan skin. Her hair was still damp from her earlier shower. “Got a light?”
He dug into his pocket. “Didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t.” She leaned over the flame of his lighter, toking on what obviously was a hand-rolled joint. She inhaled deeply, firing it up. “Cigarettes, that is.”
Grady clicked his lighter closed, and she held the joint out to him.
“Have some.”
He waved it off, crushing his own smoke out.
“Let me guess. You’re stillworking.” She made quotation signs in the air with her fingers.
“I’m always working.” He lifted his chin toward the stables. “Who is Sal?”
“He takes care of Pharaoh during the day. Usually he doesn’t spend the night, but he has a bed out there if he’s too tired to drive home.”
“What’s his last name?”
“Vitelli. Why?” She took another drag on the joint, then tapped it on the balustrade, extinguishing the glowing ember.
“You do that often?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Just on days like today when I find it hard to unwind.” She studied him a moment, then moved to him and flipped her leg over his, sitting on his lap facing him.
Grady’s hands automatically closed on her waist. “What are you doing?”
“We should talk.”
“About what?”
Her small, pert braless breasts were practically in his face, and his eyes dropped to them. Her nipples strained against the thin fabric, begging for his mouth. He closed his eyes, trying to regain some shred of professionalism, and trying hard to forget the image of them this afternoon in that dress she wore.
“About this.” She finally answered his question and before he could open his eyes, she pressed her mouth to his. Her lips were soft and tempting. He didn’t break it off, he let her kiss him, but he held himself back from what he wanted to do, which was cup her face and drag her fully against him.
She lifted and stared into his eyes, whispering, “Kiss me back, Grady. Just once.”
And then her mouth was on his again, and he let himself respond the way he wanted to the first time.
She moaned when he took control, capturing her face with his large palms and holding her just so while he took the lead, pressing soft kisses over her lips, then delving in for a deeper kiss, stroking his tongue over hers, then more soft kisses, then another deep one until her hands cupped his neck.