He reached out and unzipped her jacket, divesting her of the garment and hanging it on a hook by the door. Turning back to her, he said slowly, “Nope. You don’t. That’s why I want to fuck you.”
Emily gasped, his blatant words and heated appraisal making her flush. “Well, I don’t know Jared, and I don’t want to do that.” Liar. Liar. She so did want to do that, but she wasn’t about to admit it when he’d just insulted her. Besides, she didn’t do casual sex. “I’m Emily Ashworth and I’m the director of the Youth Center of Amesport. I wanted to talk to you about a possible donation.”
She shuddered as his intense, molten gaze swept over her body and back to her face, staring at her with a look so smoldering and hungry that her core clenched in response.
“You’re cold,” he said abruptly, taking her frozen hand in his and leading her through the living room, down the hallway and into a cheery kitchen. “Sit,” he demanded huskily as he dropped her hand, halting at the kitchen table.
Emily sat, so confused that she was unable to make herself do anything else. She watched silently as Grady Sinclair moved around the kitchen, his large body maneuvering with a fluidity of motion that shouldn’t be possible for a man as large and muscular as he was. Watching him from behind was almost mesmerizing. She was jealous of the denim that was cupping an ass so tight that she could see the flex of muscle beneath the seat of his jeans as he moved, and it was a view she couldn’t bring herself to look away from for some time. Finally, ripping her gaze from him, she let her eyes wander around the kitchen—a bright, airy room with beautiful granite countertops and polished wood floors. The all-white kitchen had high-end appliances that Emily eyed covetously and gleaming copper pots hanging from hooks on the ceiling. Beyond, there was a dining room with a formal, polished wood table, but the room was dim, sparsely furnished, and looked seldom used.
He sauntered to the kitchen table moments later and pushed a mug in front of her, sitting down next to her with his own cup in hand. Emily placed her cold fingers around the mug, sighing as she inhaled the heated, fragrant brew. It was a hot apple cider, and she took a long sip, the warm liquid instantly starting to thaw out her frigid body. “Thank you,” she told him quietly as she set her mug back on the table. “So will you consider it?”
“Why?” he questioned darkly, his heated gaze spearing her as she squirmed uncomfortably in her chair.
“The Center needs money.”
“Why?” he asked again, lifting a brow as he sipped his drink, his eyes never leaving her.
He knows I’m desperate, that there’s a reason I’m here so late asking for money.
“A man I was dating stole the operating money from the Center and we can’t keep running without a significant donation,” she admitted, wondering why she was feeling the need to be completely honest with him.
Starting hesitantly, she spilled the entire story about the money being stolen as Grady watched her, his expression unreadable as he listened. “So would you be willing to help?” she asked nervously as she finished her story.
He was silent, his expression contemplative as he continued to look at her. Intense minutes passed before he finally answered, “I might be willing to consider it. But I’d want something in return.”
She picked up her mug and took another sip of cider, swallowing awkwardly before she spoke again. “What? I’ll do whatever I can to get you what you want.” The whole future of Amesport depended on his answer. Emily knew she had nowhere else to go and no other solution.
“That’s good, because you’re the only one who can get it for me,” he agreed casually. “Because what I really want is you.”
Emily nearly choked, sputtering as she swallowed. Dear God, maybe Grady Sinclair was the Amesport Beast after all. “I need to give the town of Amesport a Christmas, they need the Center to stay open, and I’ll do anything to keep from disappointing the kids there, but I’m not sleeping with you to do it,” she told him indignantly.
“We don’t need to sleep,” Grady replied gruffly. “And I hate Christmas.”
How could he hate Christmas? Who hated Christmas except Scrooge?
Emily looked around the massive, tastefully decorated home: not a single red or green decoration in sight. She hadn’t seen one Christmas item in his living room, and there was nothing in the dining room or kitchen. “I happen to love Christmas. It’s the season of giving and helping others, a time of forgiveness and good cheer.”
“Not in my experience,” Grady replied, rising from his chair to take his mug to the sink. “It’s a time of commercial greed where everyone expects something. Nobody is really happy. It’s not real. People are doing what they think is expected of them.”
Emily stood up and stalked over to him, rinsed out both mugs in the sink, and placed them in the dishwasher. “It’s the happiest time of the year.” Emily placed her hands on her hips and stared up at Grady, wondering what had made him so cynical. Her irritation drained away as she caught a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes, a look that told her he wasn’t being cruel. He was telling her what Christmas had been like for him, and for just a moment, Emily had the craziest compulsion to wrap her arms around him and show him that not everyone in the world wanted something from him.
But even I want something from him. I want funds for the Center.
“I can’t have sex with you for money, Mr. Sinclair,” Emily told him flatly.
“I’ll donate a million dollars,” he said huskily, his large body moving closer, pinning her between his body and the sink. “And I’m Grady. I don’t want you calling me Mr. Sinclair. Too many of us.”
“I can’t,” she whispered quietly, almost regretting her ethics. “And nobody donates a million dollars to the YCOA.”
“I would,” he rumbled.
His scent surrounded her as his hands landed on the edge of the sink, a fragrance so masculine that it was intoxicating her. Grady smelled like the ocean, pine, and a tantalizing musk that was uniquely him.
Their gazes locked and held; time suspended as Emily began drowning in the swirling, molten pools of gray that reminded her of a storm coming off the ocean. He captured her in the same way as a violent storm, her heart racing as she waited for a force of nature that seemed inevitable.
She didn’t really believe he’d donate a million bucks to her Center just to sleep with her, but she’d never seen a man look at her like this, like he needed to have her or die. Unfortunately, Emily had a feeling that she was gazing at him exactly the same way.