Just That Easy (8 page)

He stretched, his hands, roaming over her skin. “Kind of
like the library.”

“Oh yeah, that’s probably a scream. How do you sit there all
day without going crazy, being the adrenaline junkie I know you must be?”

“That’s actually why it’s so perfect, I get to flex my brain
instead of the rest of my muscles. It’s quiet, I love to read, I’m an
information addict like you. Except, I have balance, I go out and live things
too. A lot of things.”

“Balance, right. Definitely foreign in my world. So tell me
about some of them. Give me a story about being stuck in the mud somewhere, or
whatever happens to you out there.”

“Let’s see, besides the mosquitoes, the constantly wet feet,
the cold, the mud getting into places you can’t possibly figure out how it did,
oh, and leeches, snakes, even an alligator once, yeah, it’s pretty incredible.
I like the desert, mountains are the best, mud, not so much. They all have
water of some kind, either canoes, kayaks, sometimes white water. What really gets
me going though, what my specialty is, is the climbing when it’s part of it. I
almost fell off a cliff last year. I ended up hanging by just one rope,
everything else gave way. Busted my head open pretty good. They had to send in
the mountain rescue team to get me out of there, except I wasn’t a very good
patient. I wanted to finish the race. I was pissed. I think one of the nurses
had to tie me down.”

She wriggled. “Tied down. Now that’s an interesting
thought.”

“Ahh, the sex book writer. My lover.”

“Funny. Okay, so yeah, I was totally getting a great idea
from that. Mountain rescue, big husky guy tied down, sounds yummy to me.”

“You’ve got the real thing right here next to you, you can
tie me down if you want.”

“Do you ever just rest?”

“Not since I met you.”

He felt her move in tighter. And yawn. “Me either.”

“Well, maybe we should start. I wanted to tell you,
tonight—”

“Mmm hmm.”

“I wasn’t thinking about, I mean, I wasn’t
planning
to have sex with you. I was going to try to just have dinner, hang out, whatever.”

“Why? What was that little speech about doing what you want?
Not that we couldn’t just hang out, I’d like that too, but why is it such a big
deal?” Her voice sounded sleepy.

“It’s not to me, but it might be to you.” Seemed like maybe
it was starting to be for him too. That was more of a comfortable thought than
he expected.

“Mmm. It is.” He couldn’t tell if it was a question, or just
a statement. Her eyes were closed.

“Seems like it.”

She fell silent. He could hear her even, deep breathing and
he knew she had drifted off. He slid down farther into her soft bed, into the
softness of her and pulled the covers up over them both. He was filled with the
thought that she hadn’t even hesitated about him being here in her bed, staying
with her. Just like last night, she wrapped herself up in him like a warm
blanket and fell asleep.

A flood ran through his head. All the pain and stress he’d
been through, constantly shut down to avoid it all until he reached the
breaking point. Then running, just walking away from everything and doing
nothing but racing, pushing himself to ridiculous limits to try to purge it.
But none of it had made him forget. None of it had lifted the weight off him.

Until she did.

Here, in her comfortable little house, this room that felt
as if it reflected her in every corner, so filled with her, wrapped around her,
he felt as if he’d been set free of everything. A need to protect her, make
some kind of promise to her came over him. Protect her from what? Himself,
likely. He’d started out with the single-minded desire to just have her, and
now, his only thought was to make sure, somehow, he could stay. Whatever it was
she was making him feel, it was suddenly more important to keep it than it had
been to get her in the first place.

“I want to get this right with you, Teryn. Twenty-four hours
or not, I can’t think of any better place I’ve ever been than where I’m at
right now, curled up with you in your bed, and I don’t ever want to leave.” He
only said it because he knew she couldn’t hear him, wouldn’t remember. Where it
came from wasn’t a part of himself he was familiar with, he wasn’t even sure he
wanted to remember saying it, but he couldn’t help himself.

The house was quiet, but the unmistakable smell of something
delicious hung in the air and it wasn’t the lingering scent of him on her
sheets. Making her way down the hall to her small kitchen, she saw a perfect
stack of warm blueberry pancakes set out on a plate. On the table folded like a
tent, stood a note in a distinctively male scrawl.

Off to work. Tonight we are going OUT to dinner so I can
force myself to get through at least one evening with you without having you
naked before it’s even dark. Pick you up at 7:00, wear something nice. Enjoy
the pancakes. Love, Grant

She stared at that four-letter word for a long time before
her rumbling stomach finally knocked her out of her haze. The pancakes were
completely, utterly amazing. Perfect. Just like every minute with him had been
so far.

He was danger incarnate to her. That thought followed
immediately behind every exquisite rush of intense pleasure he made her feel.
It followed every sweet little touch he gave her in between all those
passionate ones. Danger, because she could easily slip into him. Lose herself in
that powerful masculinity, the way he easily possessed her, drugged her with
everything that was him.

Years of practice at not losing herself, and she was in
terror of it being undone in a pale fraction of the time it had taken her to
construct her life. Gripping her, because she’d never wanted to feel anything
so badly in her life as she craved feeling him, in any shape or form. Whether
it was him sitting across from her, stretched out next to her in her own bed sleeping
soundly, or devouring her with that animalistic need he dissolved into that
made her melt into him like warm jelly.

It was so, damn, fast. It was so damn good. Her brain said
impossible. Her sensibility said risky. Her body, and worse, her instincts,
said bullshit, possible, happening while you sit here helplessly watching it.

It had been so long since she’d been with anyone, choosing
instead to just stick to her work, to her friends. It had been enough. Mostly.
Better than having to deal with the anxiety of meeting someone new, trying to
size each other up, liking him, but finding something always lacking, or worse,
having him find her lacking. The terror this would end up to be like the last
time.

The last time she’d been even close to losing herself, the
only time she’d really given herself to someone else, she’d had it ripped from
under her like a crashing train wreck and she’d handled it badly. Very badly.
So in love she’d desperately begged for him to stay even while she knew he was
having an affair. Humiliating herself with the submission to his neglect, his
cruel and selfish choices.

That would never happen again.

She wasn’t as comfortable with who she was as Grant seemed
to be. One thing was in her head, she showed the world something else. And he’d
figured that out without even breaking a sweat. Not only that he’d pushed them
both right past the entire mess of anxiety, conversation, sizing each other up,
picking each other’s brains. He’d possessed her, from the first minute. Bold,
unapologetic, demanding, but always considerate. Urging her to just jump in
head first right alongside him.

Grant seemed self-possessed, confident, commanding, but the
need he so easily let himself slide into told her he had a pit that needed
filling, with something, anything, and probably a lot more than he could get
from just one woman stroking his ego. A man like that would eventually need
more and she wasn’t about to let him rip out her heart along with him when he
left. Especially since it was clear he was here primarily for sex. Needy or
not, he’d said it himself.

Sex is physical, it’s human nature. We need it, we want
it, we like it.

Fine, sex she could handle. Sex it would be, and she forced herself
to mouth the solemn promise that she would keep it that way. Besides, how the
hell could you want someone this badly after two days? Get a grip.

Clearing the kitchen, she dressed then settled into her
office to do some work. Dragging out
The Dominatrix Handbook
, she
browsed through it, looking for particular scenes that would titillate her
readers but not quite go over the line to offensive. Ball gag. No. Nipple
clamps. That might work. Tied and strung up like a pig ready to be gutted. Uh, no.
High-heel crushing some guy’s poor sac under the spike, yeesh, and hell no.

She flipped through, looking for scenes that were exotic,
exciting but a little more intimate, connected. She found a few and had to slam
the book shut, because each damn time she saw Grant and herself, pushing the
limit, testing, teasing. Even that disturbed her, because she well knew that
while you could set up a scene and pretend at domination, that was still just a
game. Anybody could kneel, hurl insults, crack a whip, that was all for show. Stupid
really.

Real domination, real submission came when you trusted
yourself to your partner and let them take charge, period. Not in silly pain
games but in everything. Parading around with someone on a collar and dog chain
wasn’t the real submission. That came when someone lovingly but commandingly
brought you to the point that you would surrender and do whatever they asked. Because
you wanted to, they wanted you to, and you weren’t weak, you were strong in it.
Real domination required something much more than fake demands and latex. It
required tenderness, thought and control. The real desire for someone to reach
heights they never thought they could, led by both being willing to submit to
that promise, and the partner willing to do whatever it took to lead them
there. Brutally willing, and innately strong enough to maintain control,
holding the responsibility of that person’s psyche in your grasp.

She took out her pen. Most everything she did was on her
laptop, but every now and then, she had a thought that was so intensely
personal or profound she had to write it to do it justice. Putting this thought
to paper made it even more intense, more of a realization of what submission
and domination really was. It wasn’t letting someone dress you up, truss you
up, beat you up, it was having someone command you to want to fly. And letting
them do whatever they damn well pleased to get you there.

She swiped her hand over her face, realized she felt warm,
almost perspiring. God she could picture Grant dominating her in such a way,
his damn confrontational honesty. His complete command of himself but the way
that he never it let spill onto her, never a brute trying to force her to do
anything.

Asking. Always asking. Openly, straight out asking her to
let herself be pushed as far as she would go, not because he was forcing her
but asking her to want to, showing her his vulnerability in needing her to. And
damn if she didn’t respond to that in a crazy way similar to sliding across a
slick wood floor in socks. Full tilt. Almost crashing, but not quite.

Yet all the while, he quietly willed her to his way. His
effect on her, his presence, fully aware of that and using it to his advantage.
Then there was the dark fire she saw in him, in his eyes. The fire that burned
from inside and revealed that there were some deep ideas in that head that
could probably drive them both wild and push them straight to the edge.

She knew because she recognized it. It was the same very
deep, very dark, and very secret vein of desire she had in her own head. They
could go places all right. Crazy places. Possibly dangerous places. Places that
would require her to move past this being just sex.

Teryn closed her eyes, trying to focus, rip that goddamn
dangerous, and frankly the most erotic thought she’d ever had, out of her head.
Christ, he even fucked up her work he was so damn addicting.

She cleaned like a mad woman the rest of the day, it was the
only thing that she could do when she felt this tied up in knots. At least
until she couldn’t resist the urge any longer to spend two luxurious hours
showering, shaving, buffing, lotioning, primping. Something she never, ever
did. Kicking herself in the ass the whole time because she wasn’t just doing it
for her, she was doing it for him too no matter what she tried to tell herself.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to be pretty, look good, feel good. She didn’t
want to be doing it for him because she felt compelled to have to please him.
Or feel that she needed his admiration. It was one thing to enjoy it if it was
there, it was another altogether to
need
it.

His car pulled into the driveway, true to his words on the
phone a few minutes before, five minutes exactly. He told her he wasn’t going
to dare come in either, she had to come to him.

He was grinning as she got in the car, as he opened the door
for her, but hadn’t left the driver’s side. He’d reached out and pushed it open
instead.

“No way I’m moving from this seat, not risking getting close
to you when you look that beautiful.”

She blushed. He grinned harder.

Her dress wasn’t anything Hollywood worthy, but she liked
it. A sheer, vintage slip-type dress, sleeveless and strappy. One layer of
transparent black crepe, the bottom layer a body-hugging silk slip. Short,
barely to the knee, it had buttons down the front from chest to hem. Something
about a long row of little buttons seemed sexy to her. Apparently to him too.
She’d tried to look unfussy, little black dress, bare legs, black heels that
even at four inches added height, she might just barely hit eye level with him.
Hopefully she looked as if it hadn’t taken a lot of effort, whether it had or
not.

The first thing she noticed about him was the same thing she
kept finding herself noticing all the time. How incredible he smelled. It sent
a warm shiver through her belly. Like soft leather, a bold clean scent, mixed
with the ever-present male musk of a strong man. Powerful. That and how
incredibly sexy he looked. A vision of effortless male magnetism, his tanned
skin set off by the crisp white dress shirt, the collar open, untucked beneath
a really, really nice soft wool navy-blue blazer, the ungodly expensive kind,
over a pair of faded jeans.

All she wanted to do was lean over and lick that little
curve at the hollow of his throat, and bathe in the scent of him. Looking at
him, she could see that he was every bit aware that she was devouring him with
her eyes, and almost sheepishly he grinned and looked away, backing out of the
driveway.

“No. Nope, no way. Not happening.”

“You are too funny.”

“I’m funny, who’s the one over there with the fuck-me eyes,
looking like some Hollywood movie sex goddess. That dress is…nice.”

She looked away, out the window, smiling ear to ear.
“Thanks. You clean up pretty good yourself.”

“Thank you. Hopefully I look good enough to deserve being
your date. Seriously, Teryn, you look incredible.”

Feeling herself blush head to toe from his compliment, she
switched the subject. “So you like the Dropkick Murphys?” Duh, he had a CD of
them playing.

“Love ’em. You?”

“Saw them last year. They are definitely in my top ten.”

He turned the volume up a bit, but as for conversation the
drive was quiet. The only thing that filled her head was the fact that he
reached over and took her hand in his and held it the entire way to the
restaurant. The contrast of what they were sank into her head, sweetly holding
hands driving to a restaurant while listening to loud, crashing Irish rock
music. Sex from minute one, and couldn’t get enough of each other every minute
since. The opposite of her sexless, but sex-oriented, daily life.

As they stood at the front waiting for their table she
looked up at him again, watching the slow thump of his pulse through the vein
that ran along his neck just at the edge of his shirt. Her eyes traveled down
his open collar to the black hair just breaching the buttons, and she didn’t
have to be able to see the thick muscles rippling beneath the dress shirt to
have the vision of them in her head.

Remembering the feel of that patch of curling black hair
between his pecs tickling her face, she felt herself flush, and knew the
instant he looked down at her that he’d caught it. He leaned in close to her,
wrapping his fingers in hers again as they stood in the middle of the crowd,
but as alone to her as if they were back in his tiny kitchen on that first
night.

“Breathe,” he whispered in her ear. The feel of his lips
nipping at the edge of her earlobe made that impossible.

The hostess called his name, and he put his hand on the
small of her back, propelling her through the crowd. She felt his breath on her
neck again. “Thank god you’re in front of me, or everyone in this place would
see how hard I am.”

Teryn resisted the urge to reach behind her and find out
just how hard. She also stifled a deeply pleased grin when the hostess tried to
catch Grant’s eye as she seated them and he completely ignored the very
attractive woman, his eyes locked on hers.

Dinner felt normal. Wondering what she’d expected, it just
seemed familiar, comfortable. He ordered another Guinness and after asking her
if she was having her usual he ordered her a Patrón. They laughed over the menu
before they ordered. They sipped their drinks, eyeing each other
appreciatively. The food came. He devoured his just as he had at her house but
much more gracefully, and not without giving the sense that he had more than
enough polish to handle a more formal dinner than this one. She wondered at the
places he’d been in his life to fit into so many things so easily. From the
muddy, godforsaken, remote locations of the adventure races he’d whispered
about in the dark as they fell asleep the night before, to the neat and prim
library, to sitting here looking as if he’d walked off the cover of
GQ
and could finesse just about anything he wanted to.