Mr. Gray (Full Throttle Series) Page 3

  Second was the ex-boyfriend himself, Kyle James. Kyle and I had been dating for a couple of years, and things had been fine…until he began to grow very possessive and controlling. It started when he wouldn’t let me wear what I wanted to wear and wouldn’t let me go out with office friends. Then it progressed to not being allowed to go out at all unless it was with him. Then the verbal abuse started. He started to insult me and my capabilities, then my looks. I was often called ugly and useless, and we’d end up fighting about it all the time.

  And then the physical abuse started.

  The first time, I was so shocked, and he was so sorry right after, that I chalked it up to him just having had too much to drink and forgave him right away. But when it happened a second time, I put my foot down and almost got hit once more, right until my older brother Paul walked in on it happening.

  I still couldn’t forget how angry Paul looked, like he’d wanted to kill someone—just, kind Paul, who never lifted a hand to anyone. That had pretty much been the clincher for me, and I broke up with Kyle soon after and told him I didn’t want to see him again.

  Unfortunately, the feeling wasn’t mutual.

  Kyle tried to get me back, resorting to calling me multiple times a day with pleadings and threats, then cornering me to ask me to take him back. I refused each and every time, and even almost a year later when I was over him and trying to move on, he was still at it, with the office thing being his latest escapade. I could say I handled that well, really—but what I didn’t handle well was his so-called “gift” of pictures of me everywhere, meaning he was actually following me day in and day out without my knowledge.

  It was sickening. It was the final douse of cold water I needed to realize that I wasn’t safe in Los Angeles, especially with my brother away for the next few months. So I packed my bags, bringing only the essentials.

  And now here I was in Florida, where I knew no one and was basically a fish out of water.

  The third thing facing me was having to move in with my brother’s college pal, who was now a famous race car driver and offered to house me until I got back on my feet. I remembered Gray—everyone did, considering how popular he was in college even when he had already graduated. He and Paul were both popular for being football athletes and for their antics, and I remembered wondering why he was such a big deal. I met him once during Christmas, but I was too shy to really approach him. Hence I stayed in my room and only got a glimpse of some not-so-friendly hot jock, which I was never attracted to, even as a kid. Now I guess he was a big deal, though I didn’t watch enough television to be bothered to check how much.

  Based on the lavishness of the apartment building I was standing in, I must have missed a lot.

  The lobby was busy with residents coming and going, as it was early in the morning and they were probably on their way to work. I’d booked the earliest flight, sneaking out of my old apartment like a thief and being frustrated that I couldn’t bring most of my books. But it was for the best. I found myself fidgeting the whole flight and not getting any of the much needed sleep since I hadn’t got any the night before either.

  The receptionist was eyeing me and my duffel bag curiously, and I had a feeling he was the type who probably knew the names and apartment numbers of all the residents here. Not wanting to be interrogated at this moment, I nodded my head in his direction and flashed him a bright, charming smile. Then I headed straight for the elevator, my chin up and acting like I belonged here. It must have worked because I wasn’t stopped or called back.

  Gray Denton’s unit was located on the top floor, the penthouse and I had to use my key to get the elevator to go there. When the elevator opened, I began to realize that it was the only suite on the door as only one door was available. I inserted the key and opened it right away, determined to get settled as soon as I could and get some rest.

  Paul had mentioned his friend was kind of wealthy. But he was wrong.

  Gray was really wealthy.

  I gaped in awe as my eyes finally took in the apartment suite, which took up the whole top floor and was many times bigger than my old apartment. The kitchen was on the right side, bedrooms on the left…and in the middle was a very spacious living room with plush couches, a gleaming coffee table, fluffy rugs and a state-of-the-art fireplace beside the biggest flat screen television I’d ever seen. Everything was a combination of gray and white, and the kitchen’s granite counter drew everything together. It was the epitome of ultra-modern. God. This place probably cost millions, and suddenly I was wary of being here.

  But I didn’t know anyone else in Florida, and I was saving up my money until I could get a new job. Paul said his friend was nice, so…I braced myself and entered.

  “Hello? Mr. Denton?”

  I paused, then called his name a few more times. When there was no response, I closed the front door and proceeded to knock on all the other room doors, just in case he was sleeping and didn’t actually hear me. But no sound came, and a quick peek at what I assumed was the master’s bedroom determined that it was empty, with the sheets undone. Even the bathrooms were empty. The man was apparently out already.

  Because I had the place to myself for a while, I took the time to check all the bedrooms, ooh’ing and aah’ing all over them. The beds were stupendously big and looked so cozy that I would probably sink into them. I decided to take the last bedroom, which was the smallest and by far the coziest. Then I wandered around, taking in everything once more and letting myself absorb the place without being too intimidated.

  My family wasn’t poor by any means, but we didn’t live in this kind of luxury, either. I found myself admiring the balcony, which was located right behind the living room and separated by sliding glass doors leading to a spacious wooden deck outside. There was a mini rectangular pool to one side, and a hot tub and barbecue grill on the other. Past the metal and glass railings was a view of the city and the beach, which Florida was famous for.

  It was beautiful, really.

  I realized that I didn’t even bring a thank you gift for the man, and that was just too inconsiderate. An idea popped into my head, and soon I was rummaging through his fridge. Disappointment coursed through me when I realized most of his stuff was healthy food, but disappointment switched back to excitement when the cupboard gave better results: flour, cornstarch, stacks of chocolate bars and the like.

  Perfect.

  It didn’t take me long to get the ingredients mixed and ready, and soon I was scooping balls into a tray before I placed it inside the oven. Baking was something I adored doing, as it took my mind off my worries and filled my apartment with the most divine scents. The scent of the chocolate chip cookies baking filled the air now, comforting me. When it was done, I placed the cookies on a cooling rack, delighted that they came out perfect. I cleaned everything in the kitchen up, then looked around once again with a critical eye.

  Despite the place’s lavish furniture and modern technology, I could spot messes here and there: clothes strewn beside the couch, magazines stacked hazardously on the coffee table, books aimlessly squished together in the bookshelf. Paul was like this, too, not really the type to pay attention to little details unless it involved his work. Without realizing it, my hands were already on my hair, tying it up in a ponytail before I placed them on my waist. I mentally ran through the list of things that could easily be cleaned up, then nodded my head.

  What the heck? I had lots of free time, anyway.

  It would be yet another one of my thank-you presents.

  *****

  Three hours later, the apartment suite was as clean as a whistle and shining brightly. The place was bigger than I estimated, but I simply didn’t want to give up—and so I started in the kitchen and living room, then made my way to the bedrooms until I last got to his. I’d been wary about cleaning his, as most guys were all about the privacy, but I remembered that guys like him probably had housekeeping who did this stuff for them once a week and he probably wouldn’t mind me be
ing a substitute. Besides, most housekeeping services these days only did the minimal.

  I decided to take the extra step by changing all the sheets, washing them in his tiny laundry room and vacuuming every rug available until no speck of dust was found.

  By the time I was done, I was pretty proud of myself. I was also ridden with sore muscles. A quick, hot shower and a fresh change of clothes fixed that, and I decided to indulge myself by sitting on the couch and browsing through his DVD collection. There was one that caught my eye—that of a video of some of his earlier car races. Deciding I might as well check it out, I popped it in and sat back, watching as the commentator spoke of Gray’s early start when he was fresh out of college and how he’d won his first tournament ever.

  Race cars weren’t my thing, but I couldn’t deny the fascination as I watched them race down the race track and the crowd cheering from the stands. Many names I didn’t recognize were mentioned, the so-called “legends” of the sport. Then an announcer shouted Gray winning first place just as a red race car got to the finish line, and a few seconds later a man in a red and black racing attire got out and took out his helmet.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  The Gray I remembered back in that holiday visit had been a hot jock, but he was forgettable. I realized that was my young mind dismissing him as ‘old’—and now as an adult, I saw him in a different light.

  He had black hair. He had dark gray eyes that matched his name and looked like storm clouds ready to spit at you. He was tanned and tall and muscled, and the way he stared at the camera made it clear that he knew how he looked and wasn’t afraid to use it.

  Arrogant, but with every right to be.

  He was too handsome for his own good.

  It was hard to take in at first, but the more I watched, the more I found myself getting used to his looks. Thank goodness, because I couldn’t imagine the embarrassment if I was caught staring at him in awe at our first actual meeting.

  Glimpses of more races were shown, along with shots of the man and his every win. Trophies were flashed, and I looked at the shelf I just cleaned up earlier, which were full of said trophies. I shook my head, realizing this man probably had it all—wealth, looks and the women that came along with it. But Paul mentioned that he trusted the guy, and I was going to take his word for it.

  Half an hour later, having watched more races, I found myself getting bored…and sleepy. With a yawn, I lay down my head on the couch pillow, figuring I should get a power nap in so I would be better refreshed when I met him later.

  I was out like a light in no time.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  GRAY

  Something was amiss, and it didn’t take a genius to figure it out the moment I walked into my apartment suite.

  First of all, there was the scent—the most delicious, addictive scent I’d ever smelled, and it took me a while to realize that it was actually the scent of freshly baked cookies. It was familiar, and I knew I smelled it before, but for some reason, recognition failed me at the moment.

  Had my housekeeper baked for me?

  It was puzzling, to say the least. My hangover was not helping my mental clarity. My weekly housekeeper never baked me anything, and she’d never really taken the time to clean anything up but the basics. The place was certainly cleaner now, from the shiny floor to the gleaming chandelier to the…there was a woman sleeping on the couch.

  Realization set in instantly. It wasn’t my housekeeper who’d been here, then.

  It was one of the bunnies. Had to be. Lord knows I’ve lost enough keys to the apartment. Anyone could have one. Not to mention the one who has essentially been stalking me.

  Last night, my friendly neighbor, a baseball athlete, called me up when I was still in the race track to let me know that a woman was hanging around in the lobby and waiting for me. I knew right away that it was that woman, she was nuts enough to do something like this. Feeling tired and not really in the mood for the confrontation, I’d decided to sleep over at another friend’s house, thinking that no woman would ever wait up for me all night.

  Apparently, I was wrong.

  I tried to scan my mind for any brunette I knew and could only think of one—this chick I’d gotten drunk with a few months back who’d given me the usual car thrill. She wanted to date me after, but I managed to avoid her and just brush her off by telling her that just wasn’t my style.

  It looked like she got the picture until now.

  Hell, I couldn’t even remember her face, because that night had been a blur. But the thought that the lobby staff had been so lenient that she managed to sneak in…that was simply unacceptable. I was going to have a word with them later about it.

  But for now, I had to get rid of this chick.

  Quietly, I walked over to the living room, watching her sleeping form. She had her face turned away from me and buried in the pillow, and her brown hair was in disarray. She was wearing gray sweat shorts and a black tank top, which meant only one thing—she’d gotten herself comfortable. My mouth flattened at that, and I decided to just get it over with and wake her up. She baked me cookies and cleaned my house, and I remembered what she offered in the past—a girlfriend, one I could have sex with day in and day out. She even offered to marry me and got drunkenly mad when I declined, then hadn’t stopped sending me chain letters since.

  Damn it.

  A simple rejection wouldn’t do now, and I had to take on a different method.

  I shook her shoulder, waiting. She stirred, moaning slightly, and I inwardly scoffed at the act. She then stretched her arms in the air, her eyes still closed and her chest puffing out at the movement. She had perky breasts that could fit right in my hands, which was puzzling because I remembered the brunette to be bigger. She opened her eyes, and another surprise ran through me when I saw that they were coffee-colored and very dark.

  Had she been this pretty and I was just too drunk to notice?

  When she noticed that someone was watching her, the woman quickly stood up and straightened. She was shorter than I expected, too, her head barely reaching my chin, though her body proportions were good. She tried to stifle a yawn but didn’t quite manage it.

  “You’re here,” she said, her voice raspy from lack of use. I had a feeling it was deliberate. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  I bet you have.

  I offered her a smile, one that was almost indulging. “You have?”

  The woman nodded. Hell, I didn’t even know her name. Darla, was it?

  “Yeah,” she replied. She brightened, taking me in from head to foot in such a subtle way that I wouldn’t have noticed it if I wasn’t watching her carefully. Her eyes widened in surprise, and I raised a brow at the reaction. “I…um, baked cookies and cleaned the place up as my show of gratitude. I hope that’s alright.”

  No, it wasn’t alright, especially if she also went in my bedroom and touched my stuff. Fury hit me hard, but I banked it down and told myself to calm down. I had to handle this accordingly, or else she’d just keep coming back.

  “Hmm,” I murmured in response to her words. She puzzled over my words, then brightened again and held out her hand.

  I looked at it for a while before reaching out to take it. Her hand was dainty and warm, and I could partly remember how it wrapped around my dick that night in the car. Nothing new and nothing memorable, either. But electricity sparked now, something that hadn’t happened before. I chalked it up to a one-time thing and tightened my hold, facing it head-on. Surprise flitted in her expression again, and I opened my mouth before I could change my mind.

  “So what exactly were you expecting in return? Marriage? An official statement that you’ll be my girlfriend?”

  Her mouth dropped open. She looked like she was about to say something, but I cut her off before she could utter a single word.

  “You have to know, sweetheart, that that’s just not my style. I’m the last man you want to marry, and I’m not exactly looking for a relation
ship, either.” I let my gaze roam her from head to foot, deliberate and suggestive. A half-smile slid on my face, and I gave her that sleepy, shadowed look that couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a come-on. “But hey, if you want to give me a blowjob right now…I wouldn’t mind. I bet that pretty little mouth of yours is all good at pleasing. I won’t hold it against you if you’re that wet for me.”

  Her surprise changed to incredulity, and I watched her face grow pale. Good. Without stopping, I kept speaking, my hands going to the button of my jeans. I unbuttoned it, then rested my fingers on the zipper without quite moving it down. Her eyes widened.

  “Thirsty for this, aren’t you? I know you are,” I murmured naughtily, not affected at all. I’d done things like this before—dirty talk to get in the mood, but it was always the fast car that got it up for me. “I know your mouth is watering just at the thought of having my monster cock inside it. I’m sorry, sweetheart, but that’s the best you’ll get. As pretty as you probably are down between your legs, I’m not—”

  The slap came without notice. I didn’t even see her hand come up, though I felt the sting as clear as day on my right cheek. My fingers tightened on my zipper as I prevented it from touching the hit, not wanting her to see me react. I affected a neutral, uncaring expression, one she returned with a glare.

  “Couldn’t handle the truth, could you?” I asked.

  She looked like she wanted to slap me again with how scandalized and angry she was. The emotions vibrated off her in waves, it was so palpable. I thought she was going to rant at me and shout insults, or maybe cry. But instead, the woman strode forward, bumping against me. Then she went for the front door without a word, slamming it shut for good measure.

  I immediately felt bad for all the words I said and what I did. I normally didn’t treat women that way, even my car conquests. Even after our escapades, I often drove them home and treated them with respect, knowing that they were just like me in the sense that we had needs and just needed to fulfill them. I never took women or had them do things they didn’t want to do, and whatever satisfaction we felt during our car moments were mutual.