The Expert's Guide to Driving a Man Wild (7 page)

Grant thrust, hard. She gave a triumphant shriek in return and rocked her hips, egging him on. He thrust again, the motion hard and rough, their bodies sawing forward with the force of their movement. Her groan of response was thrilled, and he continued to thrust into her—not quick or steady, but hard and brutal and lacking rhythm. Primal. Wild.

Fierce.

“Oh God, yes,” she breathed in his ear, and he felt her pussy clench around him, rippling around his cock. “Fuck me like that.”

A dirty talker?
That was sexy as hell. He thrust even harder, not noticing when the pillows went flying to the side. Her pussy clenched around him again, and she gave a little gasp, as if surprised. He pounded into her, his entire body shoving forward with the motion, and she clung to him desperately.

“Yes! Yes! Fuck me just like that. I’m so close.” Her voice broke in a tiny sob. “Keep . . . please . . . keep going.”

With a primal roar he didn’t know he had in him, he hammered into her, his thrusts suddenly as quick and frantic as they were wild. She screamed his name in his ear, and he felt her entire body clench, her pussy tight around his cock with the force of her orgasm. Grant roared his own release, coming so hard that he nearly saw stars, slamming his body into her own and feeling her shuddering underneath him. When he’d finished coming, he fell on top of her, panting and wet with sweat.

She gave a long, breathless sigh of sated pleasure, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Mercy,” she breathed. “You win the game.”

Through the haze of exhaustion, he chuckled. “Are you conceding defeat?”

“For now,” she said thoughtfully. “You may have won the battle, but you did not win the war, sir.”

And then she yawned.

He yawned, too, feeling tired for the first time in a long time. Probably all the sex that did that to him. He rolled off her and moved to the bathroom, taking a few minutes to dispose of the condom and then toweling himself off. He grabbed a fresh towel for her and moved back out to the bed. “Did you want—”

She was fast asleep, hugging his pillow, her purple bangs stuck to her forehead.

Sleep was probably a good idea, he thought, eyeing the way she was hogging his bed already. He leaned over the bed and carefully moved her sprawled limbs over a few feet, giving himself enough room on the bed, and then pulled the covers over the two of them.

He turned off the light and curled around her body, satisfied.

For the first time in five years, there was a woman in his bed. For the first time in five years, he’d made love to a woman until they were both sweaty, exhausted, and utterly sated. It felt right. No, better yet, it felt like coming home.

Who would have thought that Brenna, of all people, would be the one to wake him from his emotional coma?

Grant brushed a lock of hair off of her shoulder in an affectionate gesture and pressed a kiss to one of the bluebirds on her shoulders.

W
hen Grant awoke, sunlight was streaming through the window onto his face. He squinted at the light and shielded his eyes, then turned to his alarm clock. 7:17
AM
.
Damn.
This was early for him. What had woken him up? Normally he had trouble sleeping and worked out until late, then fell into bed, only to wake up sometime around ten in the morning, groggy and exhausted.

Last night, though, he supposed he’d been distracted. Flashes of last night with Brenna made his morning wood a little harder and he rolled over, reaching for her.

The bed was empty.

Grant wiped the sleep from his eyes and sat up, surveying his room. The bedcovers hung off the side of the mattress, as if Brenna had crawled from bed and not bothered to fix them. Her pillow was on the floor, next to a scatter of buttons from his shirt. Clothing was strewn everywhere. His dresser drawer hung open, shirts spilling out onto the floor.

She was obviously awake. He wrapped the sheet around his nakedness and moved to the edge of the loft, standing near the ladder and peering down to the floor below. Brenna was seated on one of the barstools at his kitchen counter, dressed in one of his oversized T-shirts, her legs bare. She was flipping through a magazine and eating what looked like a piece of toast.

This was a picture he could wake up to for the rest of his life.

Grant grabbed his boxers from the floor and threw them on, then descended down the ladder and moved toward her. “Good morning.”

She glanced up and nodded. “Hey.”

He leaned in to kiss her cheek, arms going around her waist. Her hair was wet—she must have showered already.

Brenna stiffened in his arms. “What are you doing?”

He pulled away, surprised at her reaction. “I was just greeting you.”

She looked confused. “Yes, but why are you kissing me?” She took another bite of her toast and gave him a puzzled look, as if he’d just done something ridiculous. “You feeling okay?”

“I’m trying to kiss you because I want to kiss you.” He leaned in again, and when she took another bite of toast, her brow wrinkled in consternation, he sighed. “That’s what couples do, Brenna.”

She coughed, thumping her chest as if the food had gone down the wrong pipe. He waited for her to catch her breath and, after a moment, she choked out, “Couples?”

Now he was starting to get annoyed with her again. “Yes. You know. People who date and have sex together. People in a relationship.”

She put down her toast and slipped away on the other side of the stool, crossing the kitchen back to his refrigerator. “We’re not in a relationship, Grant. At least, not a real one. That stuff was for show, remember?” She opened the door and studied the contents of his fridge. “You have any orange juice?”

He moved to the fridge and shut the door.
Could she not pay attention for five minutes?
“You and I had sex last night. We slept together.”

“Yes, we did.” She looked unconcerned.

“So what was that, then?”

“Fun?”

“Fun? That’s all it was to you?” It was the first time he’d had sex with someone since Heather died. Not that there hadn’t been offers—he just hadn’t been interested. This was big for him. Momentous. A changing point in his life. And she thought it was just . . . fun?

She shrugged. “I mean, it was really good and all, but what do you want me to do, Grant? Move in or something?”

He was actually thinking of something like that. “If you wanted.”

Brenna blanched, looking ill at the thought. “I’ll pass.”

“You’ll . . . pass?”

“Yep, I’ll pass.” She patted his chest. “You’re nice and all, Grant, but I’m not interested in something permanent. I thought we were just having fun.”

He stared at her. “Fun,” he repeated in a flat voice.

“Yes, fun. With a side benefit of being really, really convincing.” She grinned and headed to the front door. “I’m going to grab some pants and then head in for work. Shower’s all yours.”

And she waved at him and slipped out the front door.

He stood in his kitchen, staring at the door and trying to register what had just happened. She’d turned him down. Flinched away from his casual affection. All she’d wanted was a nice bit of fun last night? Seriously? That was all it was to her?

Last night had been amazing. He’d never had such incredibly intense sex with anyone, not even his wife. And she’d seemed to be as in to him as he was to her. What the hell had changed? His eyes narrowed at the door, as if imagining her still standing there.

He felt . . . used. Which was stupid, but there it was.

 • • • 

Well now, that had been uncomfortable
.
Brenna trotted down the steps, heading across the grass to her own cabin a short distance away.

Stupid Grant.
Why couldn’t he just enjoy a night of sex and not think anything about it? Why’d he have to start attaching feelings and commitment to things like that? When had sex ever meant you must move in tomorrow?
What the fuck?
It made her angry—angry that she couldn’t just enjoy him without him trying to turn it into something more.

Sex didn’t have to mean a relationship. It didn’t have to mean moving in together and for better or for worse. In her eyes, those sorts of things only brought more pain. Permanence was a cosmic joke. Nothing ever lasted, not really. You enjoyed what you had for the day and forgot about it the next. That was the best way to live life. Anything else and you were just setting yourself up for failure.

She slipped into her own stripped-down cabin, eyeing the bare walls and spartan furnishings with relief. No artsy clutter here. One lamp, one table, one chair, one twin-size bed. The necessities. In her kitchen, she had one plate, one set of utensils, and one glass. That was all she needed for a home. Just enough to get by. Grant’s cabin had been clean, but there had been enough artful decor—a rug, a statue, a wall hanging, a shelf of books—to make her anxious, the pit of her stomach clenching at the sight. Things like that could easily turn into mountains of useless junk.

And she just couldn’t live like that.

Brenna pulled out a pair of jeans from her small pile of clean laundry and slid them on, adding a pair of ballet flats and then pulling her hair back into a messy topknot with a rubber band. She was presentable now and feeling more like herself after seeing her own refreshingly spare cabin.

They still had to work together. Sex wouldn’t change that. But she could act like nothing had changed between them, of course. Nothing really had, except that now she knew that he was fun in bed and had a nice, hard stomach that sucked in when she kissed it, and hair that was perfect for knotting her fingers in, and a tongue that knew just how to work her piercing . . .

She sighed. Why did he have to be so stupid about sex?

 • • • 

Elise rolled over on the leather couch and nuzzled deeper into her pillow, her eyes closed. She was in that lovely period of awake-but-not-ready-to-get-up-just-yet and no one had come to retrieve her, so she might as well sleep a little longer. She tugged the blanket closer and snuggled into the pillow, ready to get back to her dream.

A shadow fell over her face and, after a moment, it registered in her sleepy mind and she opened her eyes.

And gasped, sitting upright and scooting backward in surprise, clutching the blanket to her.

A man—a stranger—loomed over the couch. He was tall, but not ridiculously so. Brawny. Big, muscular shoulders and corded arms bulging with strength. Barrel chest. It was the kind of build a bruiser would have, and it seemed at odds with his face, which was almost model pretty. Angular, with a square, perfect jaw and strong, firm nose, his eyes were vivid blue and surrounded by thick black lashes. His hair was cropped in a close trim against his skull.

And he was pierced and tattooed everywhere. She saw a piercing through his nose. He had spacer rings in his ears, and a ring on the left side of his lower lip. His arms were covered in sleeves of tattoos. He was dressed in black, too. All of it combined to make him look menacing and unapproachable, if it weren’t for those inhumanly beautiful eyes. He was gorgeous and utterly wicked-looking, and yet so appealing to her.

He was staring down at her, too, as if fascinated. Really staring, as if he saw her.

And she wanted to touch her cheek and turn her face away, ashamed. What if he saw . . . it? Her fingers twitched with the need to pull her long hair in front of her face and hide as much of her as she could, but she couldn’t seem to move.

“Sorry,” he said in a low, gruff voice. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I was looking for the person who placed this ad.” He raised the paper to show her. “I’m here to apply.”

Elise stared at the paper, her gaze moving back to him. Her mouth worked wordlessly, the only thing coming out of her throat a soft squeak of distress. “I . . .”

His mouth curved into a smile, and she was stunned by how gorgeous he was. Dark, tanned skin, those piercings, all those tattoos, and those heavenly eyes. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. And he was looking at her with interest, his gaze moving over her long, tangled hair and her face.

As if she were appealing and not gross-looking.

“I’m Rome,” he told her, his smile widening, and he extended his hand toward her to shake.

She just stared at him.

Those blue eyes studied her for a moment longer and then hardened. He pulled his hand back. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m just here to apply for the job.”

Hurt her?
Did he think she was scared? She should say something. Move.
Something
. Brenna would laugh about how ridiculous it all was, and then chatter at him in a friendly manner. Elise had only known her for a few hours, but she adored her already for being everything that Elise wasn’t. She wasn’t incredibly shy around men, wasn’t terrified of her own shadow. She wasn’t a hideous creature that everyone stared at or mocked. Elise swallowed and tried again. “I . . .”

But her voice trembled and the words wouldn’t come out.
I’m not scared of you
, she wanted to say. But it was like her body refused to obey as long as he kept staring at her.

His mouth thinned into an unhappy line, and she watched that fascinating lip ring move with it.

The back door banged and Elise heard steps in the kitchen. “Hey, Elise,” Brenna sing-songed out from the other room. “You want breakfast or something? I can whip up a mean Pop-Tart.”

Elise stared at the man, then back at the kitchen door. She should call out to Brenna. But her throat wasn’t working. It was knotted with tension, the presence of the beautiful stranger making her tongue-tied and stupid. She cleared her throat and tried again, her mouth working for a minute. And another garbled squeak came out, and she flushed.

Dear Lord. He would think she was so incredibly stupid. Her head hung forward and she let the hair cover her face, ashamed.

The man watched her, fascinated by her movements. She wanted to crawl under the blanket and hide until he left.

“Elise?” Brenna called, and then stepped through the swinging door that blocked the way to the kitchen. Brenna paused at the sight of Elise and Rome standing over the couch. She blinked at both of them in surprise, her purple bangs flat and hanging over her eyes, dressed in a pair of Grant’s boxers and an old T-shirt. “Oh, hi. I didn’t realize we had company.”

He gave one last look at Elise and then moved toward Brenna, extending his hand for her to shake. “My name is Rome. I’ve come to apply for the wilderness survival instructor job.”

“Oh!” Brenna looked pleased. “You’re our first applicant, then. And my. Look at you. Just delicious.” She glanced over at Elise and gave her a knowing wink. “I bet you tried to climb this one like a tree, huh?”

Oh God. Elise’s cheeks burned with humiliation and she ducked her head, averting her eyes as Rome turned back around to look at her. Truth was, she did kind of want to climb him like a tree, but he’d never look twice at a girl like her. He was gorgeous enough to get anyone.

Rome cleared his throat. “Here’s my résumé. I’d love to answer any questions you might have.” He sounded amused, and Elise wondered if it was because of Brenna’s vibrant personality or something else. She peeked up at him and was relieved to see his back turned to her. It allowed her to study him without embarrassment, admiring the wide spread of his shoulders and the tattoo across the back of his neck.

He was like no one she knew. Elise’s circle of friends was very small and conservative. But she found him fascinating. Completely and utterly transfixing. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Brenna moved to the far side of her desk, gesturing for Rome to sit down on the opposite side. He did, and Brenna cleared off a stack of papers, shoving them to one side and then wrinkling her nose at Rome’s résumé. “Blah, blah, blah. I hate these things.” She put it down and smiled at him. “So you know how to survive in the wilderness?”

Rome nodded. “I’ve taken several classes and read many books on the subject.”

“Great! Sounds like you’re qualified to me. Can I feel your muscles?”

“Can you . . . huh?” Rome’s eyebrows furrowed. “My muscles?”

“Just to check them.”

“I . . . guess?”

She leaned forward, and gave one arm a squeeze, then shivered as if with delight. “That’s really firm. Come feel, Elise.”

“I . . . I’m okay,” Elise breathed, the words so quiet they were barely audible.

“Party pooper.” Brenna sat back and put her chin on her hands, studying Rome. “So where are you from, Rome?”

He hesitated a moment before answering. “Nowhere in particular. I tend to wander. I’m not much one for putting down roots.”

Brenna seemed unbothered by his hesitation. “Me, too. Are you good with people?”

“I like to think so. Please don’t let my tattoos frighten you off. I’m a very hard worker and a quick learner.”

She waved a hand idly at him, dismissing his concerns. “You’re talking to a tattooed woman with purple bangs. I’m not holding anything against you.”

From her viewpoint, Elise could see the edges of his smile, could see his shoulders relax. She felt a pang of jealousy. He liked Brenna and felt comfortable in front of her. She wished it was her.