Quarterback Draw
Page 20

Their teachers and other parents had always been complimentary of Leo and Anya, for which she was grateful. But it was nice to hear Grant give her positive feedback. So often she felt like she was flying blind.
“Thanks. I’ve done my best, and I freely admit I’ve had to leave them in the care of nannies and au pairs while I traveled. I tried to hire exceptional ones. And I’ve tried to be here for them as much as I could.”
“You’re only one person. You’ve worked your ass off to be both mother and father and breadwinner. You can’t do it all, ya know.”
“I had to. Who else was going to do it? Someone has to be here to make sure they’re taken care of.”
He brushed her hair away from her face. “Yeah? And who’s been here to take care of you?”
The way he looked at her made all those responsibilities, that tight knot of tension she always felt in the pit of her stomach, fall away. And when he brushed his lips against hers, she leaned against him, letting herself draw some of his strength.
Only a minute. Just a few seconds of his touch, the way he squeezed her leg, the way his tongue slid so intimately against hers, and then she’d pull away so they could head back upstairs.
But then he’d pulled her onto his lap and the kiss grew more intense. She knew she should engage some common sense. They were in the gym where anyone could walk in at any moment, but for the life of her she couldn’t summon any of that common sense right now, because his hands were on her hips, digging in, and she felt wanted. When was the last time that happened? When was the last time she allowed herself to fall into a kiss and feel a man’s hands on her?
She couldn’t remember. All she knew right now was that she was on Grant’s lap, nestled against some very strong thighs, rocking against one very promising erection, and all she could think about was herself.
Just this once, she wanted something for herself.
She wanted Grant.
But then she heard the ping of the elevator door. She broke the kiss and slid off his lap in a hurry, taking several steps backward. Grant picked up the workout bag Leo had brought with him and placed it on his lap, giving her a crooked smile while she lifted a shaky hand to her mouth.
Her lips felt swollen from his kiss and as the guy who’d come in passed them and gave them a short nod, Grant nodded back.
“Ready to head upstairs?” Grant asked.
“Yes.”
He stood and she walked in step with him to the elevator. They stepped inside and she pushed the button for her floor. Her cheeks were still red and she put her cool hands on them, hoping to douse the flames.
It didn’t help when Grant moved into her, his hand sliding around her waist.
“We’re not finished here,” he said, his warm breath caressing her cheek.
It was stupid to even start. She had responsibilities. The kids. Her job. She had no business making out with Grant.
But oh, she wanted so much more.
NINE
GRANT HAD TO RIDE UP THE ELEVATOR WITH THE BAG in front of him to hide his erection. But it had been worth it to feel Katrina on his lap, to touch her and kiss her.
Too bad they’d been interrupted by the guy coming into the gym, but he knew he’d been taking a risk by kissing her there. They needed some privacy, which they weren’t going to get at her condo. Leo and Anya were already waiting for them and hungry. He was going to take them out to a restaurant for dinner, but Katrina insisted on cooking.
“I eat out all the time when I’m traveling. I like to cook when I’m home,” she said. “Besides, I already have food here.”
He shrugged. “Up to you, but I didn’t intend for you to cook.” He was leaning against the island drinking a beer and watching her pull out pots and pans.
“Like I said¸ I enjoy cooking. Anya and I cook together all the time.”
“Okay. What can I do to help?”
She gave him a suspicious frown. “A man in my kitchen? I don’t think so.”
“Now you’re being sexist.” He moved around the island and washed his hands, grabbed a towel and dried them. “My mother taught us all to cook so we could fend for ourselves.”
“Good for her. You can cut up these vegetables, and then the meat.”
“Now you’re talkin’.” He grabbed the chef’s knife from the butcher block on the counter, and went through the vegetables, then sliced the meat and handed it to Katrina. She’d already set the rice in the cooker and had the wok warmed, so he picked up his beer and watched her work. She added seasonings to the meat and let that simmer, while Anya had taken the rice out and started making fried rice.
“My stomach is grumbling just watching you two—and smelling whatever it is you’re seasoning the food with.”
“It’s my own recipe,” Anya said, cracking two eggs to fry before adding those to the rice. “And Katrina has a special marinade for the meat.”
Katrina looked up at him. “See? We work as a team here. Though, honestly, Anya does a lot of the cooking. It’s kind of a treat when she lets me in the kitchen.”
Anya smiled. He liked seeing the kid so happy. And maybe there wasn’t as much animosity between the two sisters as Katrina thought.
Katrina seemed relaxed, easily moving around the kitchen, as if this was something she did all the time. Maybe he had preconceived notions about supermodels—like they had personal chefs to cook for them and butler service. He’d dated plenty of high-profile and high-maintenance women, the kind who liked to go out to fancy restaurants—the type that liked to be “seen.” And here was this woman who was happy to stay at home and cook with her sister.