The Expert's Guide to Driving a Man Wild (2 page)

Brenna grinned to herself. Whistling, she skipped over to Pop’s cabin.

 • • • 

Later that afternoon, she found herself working alone in the main cabin with Grant. This was normally enough to make Brenna want to run screaming for the hills. Or better yet, to find a task—any task—that would get her out of the building and away from his nitpicking.
You’re doing this all wrong, Brenna
, he would say.
You need to catalog the receipts in date order, and then alphabetically. You can’t just throw them all into a big pile.

She made a face just thinking about that. Nothing she ever did pleased him and his anal-retentive ways.

“Do you have the flight info?” he asked her for the third time that day.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Brenna glanced over at him and kept her voice neatly controlled. “For the third time, yes. I printed them out and put the arrival and gate information on your desk.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want me to print it out again?” She gave him an innocent look. “You know, just in case one copy isn’t enough?”

Behind his designer glasses, Grant gave her a sharp, narrow-eyed look. “One is fine. Thank you.”

She nodded and went back to emailing one of her friends. Email was really her best friend when she was at work. It made it look like she was busy and if she was busy, then Grant would leave her alone. Theoretically.

He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Brenna.”

She froze. That did not sound like Grant. Glancing over, Brenna kept the frown off her face and managed to look only mildly concerned. “Sorry?”

Grant took off his glasses and ran a hand down his face. “I know I keep asking you for the same information over and over again. I’m just a little . . . out of sorts with family coming in to town.”

“Oh,” she said, and then added, “no sweat.”

Okay, he was officially weirding her out. Grant never apologized to her. Like, ever. She typed a moment longer, then fired off the email.

“You put in the ad for the new instructor?”

She nodded and lifted a piece of paper without looking over at him. “Do you want to review it again?”

“Huh? Oh. No, that’s okay.” He lifted the picture on the corner of his desk and then sighed heavily. “Are you going to get dressed at any point today?”

This was more like Grant. She felt a little better. Brenna glanced down at her T-shirt and SpongeBob boxers. “I’m pretty sure all my body parts are covered. Did we get a dress code that I didn’t know about?”

“No. It’s just that my family’s coming in.”

“Should I hide under my desk so I don’t appall them with my hideousness?”

“Very funny. No, just straighten up while I’m gone, please.” He grabbed a stack of envelopes and began to arrange them into a neat pile. “Make sure the magazines are all lined up and if you could dust, that would be terrific.”

“Oh wow.” Brenna mockingly touched her shirt. “I didn’t realize I dressed up as the maid today.”

“Ha, ha, Brenna. You’re an assistant. You occasionally will have to do
some
sort of work. Today it just means cleaning up.” He ran a finger along the fireplace mantel. “And dusting.”

She saluted him. “Whatever you say, boss.”

He gave her an exasperated look as he headed back to his desk. Grant picked up his keys and paused, glancing around the main lodge. “You think they’ll be proud of what we’ve accomplished here?”

“Why are you asking me?”

A wry expression twisted Grant’s mouth. “Good point. Like I said, it’s just nerves.”

She stared at him. He’d almost just smiled at her. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah.” He ran a hand down his face again and tugged at his collar once more. He was clearly nervous. “Just a bit distracted.”

“You’ll be fine once you see them,” Brenna said, and then almost bit her tongue. Why was she trying to soothe him? “Shouldn’t you be going soon?”

He nodded and turned to the door, then turned back to her again. “I don’t suppose you can get rid of the purple in your bangs?”

Her purple Bettie Page bangs? She loved them. Brenna glared and pointed at the door. “Go.”

Grant nodded. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. They look nice.”

As she sat there at her desk, mouth hanging open, Grant turned and headed outside just as Dane bounded through the door, coming inside. The big athlete shook rain from his hair, grinning cheerfully. “Looks like it’s going to be a downpour soon.”

Brenna ran to him, dragging him away from the front door and to the back of the main office. “What’s up with Grant?”

Dane looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“He’s being weird,” she hissed. “He apologized to me earlier. Twice. And he seemed nervous. And when he was leaving, he
complimented
me on my hair.”

“Huh.” Dane looked just as surprised as she was for a moment there. “Your hair’s cute, Bren. In a Suicide Girls sort of way, that is. Kinda not Grant’s thing, though.”

Well, that stung, and she didn’t even know why it bothered her. “I could care less if I’m Grant’s kind of thing,” she said, irritated. “What’s eating him?”

Dane shrugged, then moved to the swag counter, pulling one of the complimentary shirts off a stack and switching it out with his damp one. “Oh, that. He probably just has his feathers ruffled because of his parents visiting. He hasn’t seen them in two years.”

“Aren’t they rich? What’s the matter with them? They don’t like flying or something?”

“Yeah, but it’s more like Grant avoids them. They always ask him about the wife.”

“The wife?” Brenna thought for a moment. “You mean, his dead wife?”

“Yeah.” Dane ripped the tags off the new shirt and tugged it down over his muscular chest. “His dad’s convinced he’s wasting away from missing her, and his mom’s convinced that all he needs is someone new in his life to make him forget her. When Mama Markham shows up to visit, she constantly throws women in his direction, trying to set him up. It drives Grant crazy.”

Brenna thought for a moment. She’d been working with the Expeditions group ever since they opened, and though it had only been a few months, she couldn’t think of a single, solitary time that Grant had gone out on a date. For that matter, he never seemed to get many personal calls, either. It was all work for him.

For some reason, that made her sad, and she felt a twinge of pity. “How long ago did his wife die?”

“Five years ago.”

“Five years!” That was a really long mourning period. He must have been positively flattened by her death. Poor guy.

“Yeah.” Dane’s face was grim. “I wasn’t here at the time but I knew Heather. She and Grant were high school sweethearts. From what I heard, it was pretty bad and Grant was devastated as hell. He’s probably not ready to move on, but his mom won’t let up. She thinks he’ll never jump back into the waters unless she gives him a little push.”

She chewed on her lip. “Parents are kind of jerks like that.” Poor Grant. No wonder he was so flustered at the thought of his parents arriving. A memory flashed through Brenna’s mind and she went to Grant’s desk. She’d recalled seeing a picture there, but thought it was a sister or a friend—or girlfriend. But no, it was a photo of a pretty, perfect blonde posing on skis. It must have been his dead wife. “His parents should just leave him alone.”

“They’re family. Family never leaves anyone alone.”

She kind of disliked them already. Sure, Grant was an uptight douche, but he was
her
uptight douche to harass and annoy. She didn’t want to feel
sorry
for the guy. Ugh. What was next? Getting all hot and bothered because he liked her bangs? Please.

The front door opened and Grant came in, keys in hand, glasses speckled with rain. His perfect hair was soaked and his shoulders were wet from big, splashing drops of water.

“My car won’t start.” He sighed, and then threw the keys down on the nearest table. “Un-fucking-believable.”

Brenna winced. “Yeah, about that . . .”

Grant turned to her, his jaw clenching. “What?”

She shrugged. “I might have disabled the fuel pump switch so Pop could have something to work on this afternoon.”

He looked like he was ready to reach across the desk and choke her. Well, that was an improvement at least. This Grant she knew how to handle. “Brenna,” he said, his tone warning. “Give me the switch.”

“I might have thrown it away.”

“Brenna.”

“What? Like I knew you were going to the airport.”

“It was on the calendar, damn it!”

She spread her hands. “Sorry. You can take my car. I don’t know how much gas it has, though. I pretty much only go to the station when the little red light comes on.”

He stared at her.

“Oh, and if it chokes when it turns over, you have to pump the brakes a few times. It’s a little persnickety.”

He continued to stare. Dane ran a hand over his mouth, a sure sign he was trying to smother a laugh.

“And actually, while I think about it, the tags might be expired, but they never really pull you over for that sort of thing anyhow—”

She broke off when Grant pointed at her.

“You’re driving.”

Brenna pointed at her chest. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You are driving me to the airport. Call the carpenter and reschedule for another day. Get an umbrella.” He looked her up and down, and then added, “And put on some damn pants.”

T
wo hours later, Brenna was in jeans, the car was pulling into the airport parking lot, and she was ready to boot Grant out of the car the next time he made a crack about her 1992 Sunfire.

“We’re here,” she said in a falsely cheerful voice, pulling up to the first available spot. “You can get out now.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to,” he said in a low, almost pleasant voice, glancing over at her. “I might be stuck to the gum on the seat.”

“Nonsense,” she told him. “I throw all my gum on the floorboards.”

To her immense gratification, he lifted one of his expensive leather shoes and grimaced. “Lovely.”

“Isn’t it? Now come on. I can’t believe I’m the one telling you this, but you’re going to be late for their flight.”

They got out of Brenna’s car and didn’t speak as they entered the airport, searching for the correct gate. There were dozens of people already milling around the baggage claim, and none of them had the same sour look that Grant did, so she didn’t know if his family were here or not.

“The next time you decide to disable my car, do me a favor and check with me first.” Grant moved to her side and touched her elbow as he spoke in a low voice, through clearly gritted teeth. He was pissed.

“Oh come on. What fun would that be?” She shrugged out of his grip and put her hands on her hips, glancing around. “I don’t see them anywhere.”

“Don’t change the subject, Brenna.” He stepped in front of her, wearing his best It’s Time for a Lecture face. “I don’t relish the thought of driving my family back to town in that rust bucket that you call a vehicle. When was the last time you had it washed? Or detailed? There’s an inch of dust on the dashboard.”

Picky, picky. “Your family won’t care. They’re probably nice people who won’t comment on something like that.”

He snorted. “You don’t know anything about my family. For all you know, they could be a homely pair of Siamese twins.”

She smiled sweetly. “Well, that explains where you got your looks.”

Grant looked ready to choke her. “Brenna, I—”

“Grant?”

They both turned at the sound of the voice. A trio of adults stood nearby, suitcases in hand. Their faces were lit with smiles at the sight of him—his family. A woman with a smooth gray bob and dangling earrings stepped forward. “Grant, honey! It’s so good to see you.” Her voice was sweet and cultured, and she set down her suitcase handle, opening her arms for a hug.

Grant obediently moved forward, hugging the members of his family, and Brenna observed them. His mother was tall and slender, and she wore a coral jacket and matching skirt, and low beige heels. An elephant brooch was pinned to her breast. She looked more like she was heading for lunch at the country club than visiting family. To her right was Grant’s father, an equally gray-haired man in a dark sweater and slacks that could have been plucked from Grant’s cabinet. Standing behind them was a shorter young woman with a curvy frame and long, incredibly straight light brown hair that hung in her face. She might have been pretty if she didn’t seem so darn shy. Grant hugged her, too, so Brenna guessed she was a sister or a cousin or something.

“It’s so good to see you guys,” Grant said, smiling at each person in turn.

Grant’s mother’s gaze went to Brenna, and she gave her a questioning look. Brenna wiggled her fingers in response, acknowledging the woman’s stare.

“Grant, sweetheart,” his mother said in a curious voice. “You haven’t introduced us to your friend.”

“I’m Brenna, his assistant,” Brenna said in a cheerful voice, sticking her hand out. “Grant asked me to drive today. He was having car trouble and I was just hanging around, so I got the honor.”

“I see,” Grant’s mother said in a curious voice. “I’m Justine Markham. This is my husband, Reggie, and this is our daughter, Elise.”

No one took Brenna’s hand. She turned it into a friendly wave. “Nice to meet all of you.”

Elise smiled at her. She could have been Brenna’s age. Well, that would be fun. She’d take Elise out drinking and get all the good gossip about Grant from her. This could be interesting after all. Brenna rubbed her hands together. “Should we get your suitcases and head back to the car, then? We’ve got a fair drive back to Bluebonnet.”

“The car’s a bit small,” Grant told them, picking up the handle to his mother’s suitcase and then grabbing Elise’s tote. Brenna picked up Elise’s other bag, just to help out. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” his father said easily. “We appreciate you coming to get us.”

“You could always rent a car,” Brenna pointed out.

“Nonsense,” Reggie said. “Grant has a lovely car and depending on him for a ride means that we’ll get to spend that much time together.”

Yeah, about that . . .
Brenna thought, but said nothing. She just kept smiling.

“How are things with the business?” Elise asked.

“Things are great,” Grant said enthusiastically. “We’re really on track to have a good year, and we’re making a name for ourselves. We get inquiries about classes every day.”

They chatted a bit about the business as they walked across the parking lot to Brenna’s car. Justine and Reggie didn’t look thrilled, but a smile quirked Elise’s mouth at the sight of the car, which made Brenna like her all the more. Grant popped the trunk and grimaced at the sight of the jumper cables lying scattered across the back, along with a pair of grubby sneakers.

“Oh, those are just junk,” Brenna said, grabbing the shoes and tossing them under a nearby car. “All better now.”

Grant gave her his favorite disapproving look and then began to heft suitcases into her car’s small trunk while the others stood around.

“So,” Justine said after a long moment. “How are you doing, Grant? How’s the social life? You keeping busy? Getting out?”

He gave Elise’s bag a shove, trying to make it fit into the small trunk. It wasn’t working, so he paused, sighed at the stack of suitcases, and turned back to the others. “What do you mean, Mom?”

Justine exchanged a look with Reggie. “I was just asking, darling. We worry about you and how alone you are.”

The look on Grant’s face became shuttered. “I’m fine.”

Yowch.
His tone had gone positively arctic. Dane had been right—he sure was touchy about this sort of thing. Elise gave Brenna a quick, apologetic look.

“But darling, you need to get back on the horse. Get out and see new people again. You’re too young to be spending your life a widower. I know it’s hard but you can’t go through life moping.”

Grant glanced over at Brenna as if chagrined that the conversation was taking place in front of her. “Now is not the time, Mother.”

“I’ve invited Bonnie’s daughter to dinner with us, son. I wanted to let you know before we all got to the restaurant.”

Wow, that was bold of the woman. Brenna had to give her props for being on the ball . . . if it wasn’t such a dick move to pull on Grant. He needed time and space, something his mother clearly didn’t understand. Brenna felt oddly protective of Grant in that moment. It was clear that he was still wounded from his wife’s death.

“You invited her to dinner?” Grant asked.

“It’s just a little hello, son. Nothing to get all worked up about,” Reggie interjected, taking his wife’s side. “We both think it’d be good for you.”

“Mother.” Grant’s tone was a warning.

Justine ignored it. “She’s a lovely girl. I think you’ll like her. And she’s a marketing major, so you’ll have so much to talk about. She’s very pretty and career driven and very understanding.” His mother stressed the last word. “She won’t rush you.”

That was really a low blow. Outraged, Brenna pushed forward. This was rude and cruel and thoughtless of them. And if someone was going to be thoughtless and obnoxious to Grant, it was going to be her, damn it. She was never cruel, at least.

“Don’t,” Elise told her in a soft voice as Brenna pushed forward. “They always do this.”

“Not today,” Brenna said cheerfully.

She stepped between Grant and his parents. “You can’t invite this chick to dinner tonight.”

“Brenna,” Grant said, now turning the warning voice on her.

Justine regarded Brenna for a long moment as if sizing her up, and then smiled. “I’m afraid it’s too late, my dear. She’s already been invited to dinner.”

“Then uninvite her,” Brenna retorted. “Having her there is rude.”

Elise covered her mouth, her gaze flicking to Justine.

“Uninviting her is even ruder,” Grant’s mother replied, the smile on her face still. Her voice had gone a little brittle, as if remaining polite were testing her patience.

Now Brenna was getting angry. Grant put a hand on her shoulder, trying to pull her backward and separate her from his parents. Why was he defending them when they were harassing him? An idea struck, and she gave Justine a little smile. “I guess this ruins the surprise, then.”

“Surprise?” Reggie asked.

Brenna turned and put her hands on Grant’s collar, tugging him down and kissing him full on the mouth. She turned back to Justine, Reggie, and Elise. “Grant didn’t want to tell you guys until after dinner. He likes to keep people guessing.”

“He does?” Elise asked, clearly shocked as her gaze flipped between Brenna and Grant and then back to Brenna.

She glanced up at Grant, but he was still standing there, his mouth slightly agape, staring down at her. She leaned up and bit his lower lip, tugging on it in a sensual move of ownership. “So shy. It’s adorable.” She looked over at Justine and smiled again, this time a genuine smile since she now had the upper hand. “That’s why you can’t invite this girl. She’s just going to see me and my boo being affectionate all night.”

And just to make her words have punch, Brenna gave Grant a slap on the ass.

 • • • 

The car ride back to Bluebonnet was rather silent. Only two suitcases were able to be squeezed in the trunk of Brenna’s car, so Elise sat in the middle of the backseat, her legs tucked close, suitcase in her lap. Her parents were sandwiched on each side of her, and all three looked extremely uncomfortable. Brenna was pretty sure they were wishing that they’d rented a car after all.

And no one was talking. Occasionally, someone would bring up a safe conversation subject—the weather, the business, Dane’s engagement, Colt’s shotgun wedding, Bluebonnet—but then the conversation would quickly die again. Brenna suspected that it was partly due to the fact that she kept reaching over and toying with Grant’s hair at the nape of his neck in a possessive gesture.

It really was fun to infuriate people. And today? She’d infuriated a whole car full of people.

Of course, Grant could sell her out with a word and a look. He didn’t have to be part of this charade. The fact that he wasn’t speaking up told her that he liked her plan at some level and was going along with it because it benefited him. It was strange to be on the same side as Grant for a change, but she didn’t like the way his parents had hounded him.

Plus, he wasn’t a bad kisser. It probably would have been better if he’d responded, but his breath had been fresh and sweet, his lips firm, and he was just the right height. She could have done a lot worse for a fake boyfriend.

She drove them to the only bed and breakfast in Bluebonnet—the Peppermint House. Grant said nothing while she let his family out of the backseat, simply grabbing bags and carrying them up the walkway of the red-and-white Victorian.

“We’ll be back to pick you up in a few hours for dinner,” Grant finally told them, kissing his mother and sister on the cheek.

“I have reservations at a nice sushi place in Huntsville,” Justine said. “Is that okay with you and . . .” she trailed off.

“That’s fine with us, Mother.” He gave her a tight smile. “We’ll be back to pick you up at five.”

Grant said nothing to her on the drive back to the Daughtry Ranch, which told her that she was probably in trouble. They pulled into the parking lot of Wilderness Survival Expeditions, gravel crunching underneath them. “Hey, there’s Pop,” she exclaimed cheerfully, then honked her horn at Pop, who was under the hood of Grant’s Audi. She rolled down her window and stuck her head out. “How’s it going, Pop?”

A hand tugged on her arm, dragging her attention back inside. “Turn off the car, Brenna. We need to talk.” Grant’s voice was reserved and utterly polite. It was a sure sign that he was furious at her.

Brenna shrugged and turned off the car, waving at Pop.

Grant moved around the car to her side, grabbed her by the arm, and began to pull her toward the main lodge. Pop looked at them in surprise, and Brenna allowed Grant to drag her into the cabin. Best to have him yell at her without Pop wondering what was going on, at least.

They stormed inside together, Brenna trailing after Grant. As soon as the door was shut, Grant whipped her around, turning her to face him. That made Brenna roll her eyes at all the dramatics. You’d think she’d done something wrong, with the way he was acting.

“Brenna, what the hell were you thinking?” His green eyes were frowning at her through his glasses.

She plucked his fingers off her arm. “Your mom’s kind of a beast, dude.”

“I am not a dude, and she is my mother. Show some respect.”

“I’ll show some respect when they respect you,” Brenna told him. “Inviting some chick out to dinner as soon as they got here? So they can hook you up? That’s just plain rude. They’re not thinking of your feelings. They’re tired of you being in mourning because it harshes their parental buzz or something. It’s awful and they had no right to do that to you.”

He looked surprised at her vehement defense of him.

She was a little surprised at herself, too. Crossing her arms over her chest, she shrugged. “I was just trying to help you out.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’m not used to people defending me.”

She didn’t know how to respond to that. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Grant rubbed his chin, then glanced around the room, as if he wanted to look anywhere but at her. “Well, now it’s turned into an even bigger mess. They’re going to expect you at dinner, and they’re going to expect us to act like a couple.”