And then he opened the door to his stunning home on a cliff by the sea with absolutely no clue what seeing him shirtless did to her.
It took her good intentions and bear-hugged them out, and her shaky resolve and demolished it.
And it wasn’t entirely about the shirtlessness, or the way he bounced on bare feet at the sight of her, although that was the icing on a very desirable confection. It was what being in the same room with Grip made her feel.
Young, alive.
Whole in a way she hadn’t recognized she needed.
And now he’d opened every door and window in her house of deception and was waiting for her to walk on through with a smile on her duplicitous face.
Why did he have to care so hard so quickly, because they were never going to work out. Heels and sneakers. Hitting things and studying them.
He was a showman, performing for a crowd, and she was an analyst who worked quietly alone. He’d owned a monster truck and she leased a BMW. How could they possibly fit together with their clothes on?
He was a fantasy, the very best kind, revisited at a time when she’d needed a pick-me-up. If they spent too long together, she’d bore him, he’d irritate her, they had nothing at all in common. It was enough he was prepared to accept her resigning his account for some spurious reason. It was too much he drummed his fingers on her heart.
“Mena, honey, you okay?”
“So many bubbles, Grip.” She took his hand in hers and kissed each of his big knocked-about knuckles, “You make me dizzy,” each of his broad fingertips. He might not like what she had to say next and she was shocked to realize she loathed the idea of disappointing him.
“We have to come up with a reason for me stepping aside and it can’t be that we’re having sex.” She broke from his one-armed hug and the frame of his legs and put some distance between them, sitting on her shins to face him. “I could lose my job over this.”
“No chance. You tell them I was a total loser dickhead. Tell them I harassed you.”
She’d rather lose everything first. She closed that space between them. “I am not saying that. I am not wrecking your reputation to save mine.” All of this complexity was about not losing her job and not hurting Grip, and keeping her secret so she didn’t hurt him further with her lie. He could never know.
“I don’t have a reputation to be wrecked. No one expects anything great of me.”
He held up a big hand, and she placed hers against it. His palm engulfed hers. “Do you really believe that?”
“Drummer in a rock band.” He shrugged, folding her hand into his.
“One of the most successful in the world.”
“Everyone expects me to be smashing up hotel rooms, doing every drug available and breaking hearts all over, destined to be in and out of rehab, married multiple times, name my kids after fruit, voted most likely to blow it all and end up homeless.”
She shook their joined hands. “No, no.” He’d painted a terrible picture, one he simply did not fit in.
“It’s the baggage that comes with lifestyle, the money and fame. Doesn’t matter if it’s not true. It’s what people think anyway.”
Oh, it mattered, more being sued for bad investment advice. “Not you. No. You are not that man. You never were. You were always the one bailing the Tice boys out. That band would’ve imploded fifteen years ago and a half a dozen times since without you. It would never have survived Jay quitting. You keep them together on stage and off and there’s not a single scandal stuck to you. If you have kids, I can’t see you saddling them with names like Melon or, I don’t know, Lychee. You are rock’s Mr. Nice guy and you have to know that.”
He shook his head; his cheeks had colored. “Nah, that’s Jay. He’s Mr. Nice Guy. Dude doesn’t even have a tatt. I’m just a big clown. I like to keep it light. The band stayed together because none of us knew what else we wanted to do more, and we got lucky. Sure, I crack heads when I have to, but it only works because I’m not family.”
“It works because you know how to read people, how to manage them. You wouldn’t have a legion of fans, water drummers welcoming you to perform with them and kids with issues idolizing you otherwise.” She moved closer to kneel over his outstretched legs. “You think you’re not complicated.” She pushed a hand through his hair. “You are the essence of it. The drummer who could’ve been a concert pianist. Your own band doesn’t even know that, do they?”
He took hold of her arms, his eyes wide, his shoulders tensing. “That’s not. I’m not. How do you know that?”
“Research. Remember we’re careful about who we take on as clients, precisely because we don’t need the drama.” It was shameful how easily that lie came from her lips, but she’d lie a million times to protect Grip from hurt. “There is no circumstance in which I will allow you to take the fall for me. I knew what I was doing when I kissed you. I knew I wanted this to happen. And I came here because I wanted it to happen again.” As much as she tried to tell herself that wasn’t true. “It’s enough that you have to start over. It’s more than I deserve
