Summary: Grayson and Laurel get stuck overnight together, and confessions are made.
“Your father wants to go on a company team-building retreat?”
Laurel flips through the brochure, glancing over pictures of trust falls and rope courses, then looks up at Grayson.
“You realize your company has hundreds of employees, right?”
Grayson smiles, taking the brochure back and shaking his head. “I know. He only wants to send some of the new hires. He claims they’re cocky and insufferable.”
Laurel snorts out a laugh at that. “He’s not wrong,” she agrees. “But what do we have to do with this?”
“He wants us to check the place out,” Grayson explains, signing a few papers on his desk. Laurel takes them automatically, filing a couple and putting the rest in his outbox. He’s looking at her affectionately when she turns around, and it warms her. “What?” she asks.
“Oh, nothing. We just make a good team, you and I.”
That sends even more warmth through her, and she bites her lip to keep from smiling. “We are.”
“I was going to head up to the camp tomorrow morning, if that works?” Grayson asks, capping his pen and pushing his chair back from his desk.
“Sure,” she agrees easily. “But you are my boss. Could I really say no?”
Grayson laughs as they head downstairs, Laurel forcing her gaze away from the movements of his broad shoulders under his suit jacket, the few strands of hair sticking up on the back of his head that her fingers itch to smooth down.
“You could, though as your boss, I’d have to say I wouldn’t advise it.”
Before Laurel can quip something back, they run into Marjorie at the bottom of the stairs, fuming about something. Laurel bites back a sigh as Marjorie irritably tells Laurel to come with her.
“I’ll pick you up at eight,” Grayson tells her, shooting her a sympathetic smile.
~~~~~~~~~~
Grayson shows up promptly at eight the next morning. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt that stretches across his chest, holding a cup of Laurel’s favorite coffee, and a bag full of hot bagels. She’s not used to seeing him in casual clothes, and stares at him a second too long, almost jumping when he clears his throat and offers her the coffee.
“Thank you,” she says gratefully, flustered and hoping her face isn’t as flushed as it feels.
“Of course. It’s a couple hours up there,” he explains, opening the car door for her.
It’s such a gentlemanly, Grayson thing to do, and she smiles as she slides into the passenger seat. As he pulls into traffic, they fall into easy conversation, the drive going by quickly.
Their relationship is strange, Laurel has mused to Poppy before. One night when they’d been drinking wine and watching rom-coms, Laurel had tried to explain it.
“I’m more comfortable with him than almost anyone else,” she began. “We can talk and joke and work together well. But there’s also this weird tension.”
Poppy had given her a look. “Laurel,” she laughed. “It’s called sexual tension.”
Laurel huffed in frustration. “It’s not sexual tension. I don’t want to just sleep with him.”
Poppy’s face softened slightly. “I’m not saying just get the guy in bed and move on! I mean, you guys obviously like each other. But you’re not dating or sleeping together. Neither of you will bring it up. So of course there’s tension.”
It made sense, Laurel had to admit. She did like Grayson, beyond a boss and a friend. She’d found him attractive back when they were going to school together, but she didn’t really know him then, and dismissed it as nothing more than a crush. Then she’d come home, and started working for him. He was still just as attractive, more so, even, and, it turned out, incredibly kind and considerate and easy to talk to.
“I’m doomed,” she lamented to Poppy.
Poppy punched her arm playfully. “You’re not doomed, Laurel. Go get the guy!”
Part of really, really wanted to. But he was her boss, and the universe always seemed to get in the way whenever they got close to anything, and now, with the whole superpowers thing, she really didn’t know how to bring it up.
Her thoughts are interrupted by Grayson turning onto a gravel road. The landscape is pretty, full of pine trees and wildflowers alongside the road. Laurel spots glimpses of water as they drive, recalling a lake from the brochure. They drive by several small cabins before they get to the main building, an enthusiastic man introducing himself as the program director when they step out of Grayson’s car. His energy is both infectious and a little exhausting as he gives them a tour and explains the program, gesturing toward the rope course and an obstacle course as they walk.
Rain starts falling as they wrap up, light at first, but it‘s a near downpour as they dash inside the main building, all of them soaked. Grayson looks out the window as the gravel road starts flooding and turning muddy.
The program director frowns. “I hate to say this, but you might be stuck here until this storm stops. We’re getting the road resurfaced before we open up next weekend, but I’d hate to have you get stuck.”
Grayson sighs, running a hand through his wet hair. “I think you’re right.”
He turns to Laurel. “I’ll call the office and let them know we’re stuck here.”
Of course, the storm doesn’t let up at all. There are moments when the rain slows, the thunder no longer booming as loudly overhead, but then it just picks back up again. Eventually the program director suggests they spend the night, and offers them one of the cabins.
Laurel’s heart starts racing at the thought of being alone in a cabin with Grayson all night. She feels like she’s either going to do something very brave, or very stupid. Grayson grabs a duffel bag out of his car as they make a dash across the muddy parking lot and into the cabin they’ll be using for the night. They stand in the entryway, dripping as they take in their surroundings. It’s small, but cozy, and, Laurel is relieved to see, modern. There’s a thermostat next to the door that she turns up, Grayson setting his bag down and flipping the lights on. The program director brings them several towels, a few extra blankets, and some food, bidding them goodnight once they’re settled.
“You can take the bathroom first,” Grayson offers.
A hot shower sounds wonderful, until Laurel remembers her clothes are drenched and she has nothing to change into.
“Here,” Grayson says suddenly, digging in his bag and handing her a button down shirt.
He smiles at her, apologetically and a little amused. “It’ll be way too big, but at least it’s dry.”
“Do you always carry extra dress shirts with you?” she asks curiously.
Grayson laughs. “One. I usually go to the gym in the morning, and sometimes it’s just faster to shower and change there.”
The hot water feels good against her chilled skin, though it does nothing to stop her thoughts about Grayson in the other room. A low moan escapes her throat before she can stop it, thinking about him in the shower with her. His lips on her neck and shoulders, his hands brushing over her lightly, reverently, those long fingers caressing her breasts before moving between her legs. She thinks about him whispering to her, how beautiful she is, how he wants to make her feel good, how long he’s wanted her.
Her breathing comes rapidly, her hands tightening into fists as she thinks about him dropping to his knees, kissing up her thighs before nudging them apart. A familiar ache spreads through her as she thinks about him touching her, her eyes screwing shut. She doesn’t know why she’s tormenting herself like this when she has to spend the night sharing a tiny cabin with him, so she forces her fingers to relax.
His shirt hits her mid-thigh, the fabric soft and smelling like him as she does up the buttons. She runs her fingers through her tangled hair, then walks back out. Grayson’s wet clothes are draped over the kitchen chairs, and he’s sitting on the couch in sweats and a dry t-shirt. She might have been imagining him in the shower with her, but she’s not imagining the way he stares at her when he turns around. His lips part slightly, his eyes widening as they wander from her face down to her bare legs, before he suddenly clears his throat and smiles at her.
“Feel better?” he asks as they sit at the table to eat.
“Much,” her mouth says.
No, her brain cries. I want you and can’t stop thinking about you and now I’m turned on and have to spend the night with you ten feet away.
When they’re done eating, Laurel offers to clean up while Grayson showers. She clears the table, and thinks about Grayson pulling his t-shirt off. She washes the plates, and thinks about him kicking out of his sweats, and briefly wonders if he wears boxers or briefs. Boxers, she decides, then shakes her head at her apparent inability to keep her mind off her boss.
The shower turns on, and Laurel groans quietly at the thought of Grayson naked, his broad shoulders, the lines of his muscles being tattooed by the hot water. Hopeless, Laurel, she thinks to herself. You are utterly hopeless.
She’s managed to get herself mostly under control, curled up on the couch and partially engrossed in a copy of Jane Eyre she found on the shelf, when Grayson comes out of the bathroom, barefoot and his hair damp. He finds a deck of cards in the kitchen and they settle at the table, playing gin rummy and Speed, laughing and talking. It’s so domestically blissful that it almost makes her blurt out how she feels about him.
She doesn’t realize how late it is until she yawns and glances at her phone and sees that it’s past midnight. They head into the tiny bedroom, and Laurel silently curses whoever designed these cabins to only have one bedroom with two twin beds. Grayson tells her goodnight, looking like he wants to say something more, but instead he shakes his head, smiling, and says he’ll see her in the morning.
Laurel tosses and turns, unable to sleep, listening to Grayson’s breathing gradually slow. When she’s sure he’s sleeping, she slips out of bed, quietly closing the door behind her. She pulls Jane Eyre out again, half-paying attention to the words on the pages, looking up in surprise when Grayson comes out of the bedroom. He looks deliciously sleep-rumpled as he pads over to her, sitting next to her on the couch, his shoulder bumping hers. Laurel sighs, setting the book down.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice still thick with sleep.
“Fine,” she says, her voice softer than she means.
“Laurel. You know you can tell me anything, right?”
Not this, she thinks.
Grayson looks at her quizzically, and she realizes with horror that she’s said the words out loud.
“Why not this?” he asks, his brow furrowing.
“I just…can’t,” she says, staring down at her hands.
Grayson lightly cups her face in his hand, running his thumb along her cheekbone, tilting her head up to look at him.
“Laurel,” he murmurs. “Talk to me?”
Staring at him, in this quiet cabin only lit by the table lamp, she wars with herself. Part of her wants to pretend she can sleep now and disappear back into the bedroom. Part of her wants to summon all her courage and tell him how she feels, consequences be damned. Grayson leans in just slightly, his blue eyes soft and earnest as he looks at her. Laurel sucks in a shaky breath.
“I want you,” she whispers.
Grayson’s thumb stills for half a second, and then he’s sliding his hand into her hair. His expression is warm and caring and, she can see, now that he’s this close, reflecting the want and desire that she’s sure is also on her own face.
“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” she confesses, scooting closer and shivering as his other hand traces over her bare knee.
“I’ve wanted you too,” he admits.
She sighs as she leans in, her lips finding his, his stubble tickling her face. It’s a sweet, slow kiss, exactly what she anticipated kissing Grayson would be like. But as they kiss again, his tongue traces over her bottom lip, and her heart starts pounding. Laurel inches closer, their kisses growing bolder, hungrier, and she slips her leg over his until she’s straddling him. Grayson’s hands are warm on her thighs, just below the hem of her shirt. His shirt, she remembers.
“Are you sure?” he murmurs.
“Yes,” she whispers as his hands slide around her back and pull her closer.
Grayson rises from the couch, lifting her easily and carrying her to the bedroom. He sets her down by his bed, burrowing his hands in her hair and kissing her again, slowly, deeply. It’s almost seductive with its intensity, the promise she can feel behind it, and it makes her whimper into his mouth. Laurel slips her hands under his t-shirt, a quiet “Mmm” leaving her mouth at the feel of his bare skin, his muscles twitching slightly under her touch.
Grayson tilts his head down to kiss her neck, and her eyes close as his lips dance along her skin. Laurel grips the bottom of his t-shirt and he steps back so she can pull it over his head. Her fingers brush over his bare chest and stomach, and she shivers as he slowly undoes the top button of his shirt, his lips skimming over her collarbone.
Laurel sighs his name as he undoes another button, baring her further to him, and she feels herself start trembling. Grayson undoes another button, then releases the fabric and takes her hands in his. When she looks up at him, he lifts her hands, pressing his lips to them.
“You’re shaking, baby,” he murmurs.
She nearly groans out loud when he calls her baby. The sound of Grayson, professional, reserved, Grayson, calling her baby, makes her want him all the more.
“Just wanting you,” she reassures him, sucking in a breath at the way he groans, his fingers fumbling on the next button.
When he gets all of the buttons undone, he glides his hands up the flat plane of her stomach, just brushing across her breasts, then pushes the shirt over her shoulders and to the floor.
“Oh, Laurel,” he groans. “You are so incredibly beautiful.”
It makes her flush, the sincerity and obvious arousal in his voice.
“So are you,” she whispers, reaching for the waistband on his pants and easing them down.
He tugs them over his feet, then slips her underwear off and removes his own underwear (boxers, she notes with mild amusement). Grayson lifts her into the bed, laying her underneath him and kissing her as they move together. She doesn’t know if it’s him, or them, but he feels incredible as she rocks against him. Their kisses grow hungrier as they start moving faster, his breathing ragged, hers shallow and gasping, until they both come apart.
Grayson supports himself over her, kissing her slowly, then lays on his back and settles her over his chest, his hand running through her hair. His heart races under her ear, gradually slowing as she trails her fingers across his chest. After a few minutes, he tilts her chin up, pressing his lips to hers. The room is oddly silent as they kiss, Laurel snuggling into him, and she realizes that it’s stopped storming. It makes her laugh quietly, and Grayson gives her an amused look.
“It’s not you,” she smiles.
She gestures towards the window. “It finally stopped storming.”
Grayson cranes his head back, listening. “It did.”
She sighs into his mouth as he kisses her again, then smiles slowly against him and, knowing just how cheesy it will sound, says, “Maybe the universe was trying to tell us something.”
Grayson chuckles, tucking her against his side and threading his fingers with hers, his lips brushing against her forehead. “Maybe it was.”