Billionaire's Second Chance Triplets(7)

By: Ella Brooke

“That’s pretty bougie.” Kit smiled.

“It is, and it isn’t. I like to think of it as giving something to regular working people that the upper class has always had available. It frees up a lot of time, but most people don’t exactly have the extra scratch to hire a personal assistant on a regular basis.”

Kit bobbed her head. And kept bobbing her head for several long seconds.

“You don’t agree?”

“Oh, no. I’m just thinking it over. This champagne is great, by the way.” Kit pressed a hand to her cheek, feeling it. “I shouldn’t have had the last glass, though.”

Grant touched her shoulder gently. “Would you like some water? Or coffee?”

“Both of those things would be good. But I don’t see a coffee dispenser around here.”

Grant cast a quick look around the room. Then he motioned for Kit to come with him. Her eyes glittered impishly as she followed, holding the side of her dress so she could hurry. Grant gave a nod to the security guard at the side door and then held it open for her. She gave a little bow before gliding through like a princess, and he darted after her.

They ran down the hallway like two teenagers, stopping just for a moment as a few workers strolled past. They paused for a few seconds to throw a few questioning glances Grant and Kit’s way, but went about their business without saying a word.

The two looked at one another and laughed.

“Do you remember that time at my parents’ house? When they had the other doctors over…?”

“That would be hard for me to forget.” Kit took a moment to readjust her heels as they hurried down the hallway.

“That good, huh?”

“I had nothing to compare it to, playboy.” Kit clicked her tongue and winked at him.

Grant spotted the doors to the kitchen and led the two of them through. “What do you mean… Oh, right.”

“Ohhhh,” Kit teased, walking past him. The kitchen was mostly empty. “Huh. Where is everyone?”

“I’ve been to this hotel before. They have a kitchen nearer to that ballroom. This one is for the restaurant and room service, but we’re past hours.”

“Well, aren’t you clever.” Kit walked over to the sink and looked around for a glass.

Grant took one from a rack of clean dishes and held the glass under a spout built into the refrigerator. “This will taste better.”

“Thank you, kind sir.” Kit sipped her water and looked up at him with those intense, rich brown eyes of hers.

Grant turned away to look for the coffee. “Tell me something. Did you ever regret that? The night at my parents’ house?”

“Did you? I thought we did pretty well.”

Kit’s tone was flippant, but her face was guarded. She set her glass on the counter and went about making the coffee herself. Grant remembered that she had always seemed to have a coffee cup in her hand.

From behind, he could see how snugly her legs and ass filled out that dress. It didn’t seem like the type of dress that Kit would normally wear. It lacked her humor and her quiet joy. But he couldn’t say it didn’t look phenomenal on her, or that it didn’t make him want to revisit old times beyond their lightheartedness and storytelling tonight.

On a whim, he stepped behind her. She stilled, like a doe near a hunter, and he waited just a second before placing his hands on her hips.

“You are still one of the loveliest women I’ve ever known.” He was being baldly honest. It was so hard to resist her, here or anywhere.

“That’s saying something for you, isn’t it?”

Grant chuckled deep and low as he bent his head over her shoulder. She turned her head to look back at him, and their eyes met. There was something there, something not quite open to him, and yet she wasn’t unwilling. Nor was she afraid. She turned on the coffee maker, and it started to make straining noises as she pulled on his belt and started unbuckling his pants.

“Kit,” he scolded lightly.

She ignored his complaint and slipped her hand inside, her eyes lighting up as she realized he wasn’t wearing any briefs.

“Someone was planning on having a happy evening,” she teased.

Grant bent over to kiss her. It was a hungry kiss, but also one to wipe that smirk off of her face. Her wicked fingers began to stroke the length of him, as though her fingers were as famished as his lips. She wanted him, deeply; he could tell, and whatever she had been reserving with her words came through with the little strokes and flicks of her wrist.

Too quickly, Grant became worried that there was a real danger of ruining his pants, so he placed his hands on her shoulders to slow her down, and pulled back just a little to get the slate Armani out of the line of fire. The corners of Kit’s eyes creased, and she gave a little nod.