The Trouble With Tomboys

by Linda Kage

  Grady shook, looking feral, like she might be his first victim.

  “Damn it,” she continued. “Don’t you think Amy would want you to move on and someday marry again? Or do you think she’d want you to dig a hole next to her and bury yourself in it for the rest of your life? Because, personally, I think she’d want you to go on and live a full, happy life.”

  Starting to breathe hard, he sent her a pointed glare. “Why don’t you mind your own goddamn business and stay out of mine?”

  He pushed his chair back and jerked to his feet. B.J. swallowed as he glared down at her. She wanted to apologize, but apologies had never come easily from her. Frankly, she was too ashamed to even speak. Lowering her face, she listened to him snort out a scathing mutter before he strode off.

  “Everything okay?” the waitress asked, appearing at B.J.’s side.

  “Yeah,” B.J. mumbled. “Just dandy.”

  She rose to her feet and pulled enough money from her wallet to more than cover the bill. Glancing over, she watched Grady stride from the restaurant and gritted her teeth. Damn it. Everyone had been pussyfooting around him for two and a half years. It was time he woke up and faced reality. Amy was never coming back. He had to move on.

  Suddenly angry with him for making her feel so shitty, B.J. tossed her wad of cash at the surprised waitress and hurried for the exit.

  Chapter Four

  Grady had already made it to the hotel by the time B.J. exited the restaurant.

  It had started to rain, and a light drizzle coated her face. Pushing her drooping bangs out of her eyes, she dashed after him, streaking across the street and jaywalking to catch him before he made it to his room. She was soaked by the time she hit the entrance’s overhang and caught sight of him through the window. The miserable shower had drenched him too, but a heedless Grady marched determinedly toward the bank of elevators. She entered the fancy foyer and took off in pursuit.

  Never one to bother with propriety, she cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Hey, Rawlings.”

  He didn’t break stride, pause, or give any indication he’d heard her. But she knew he had, mainly because everyone else in the lobby stopped to glance curiously her way.

  B.J. ignored the others and raced after Grady. As he stepped into the elevator, she hollered, “Hold that door!”

  Another man entering glanced back. When their gazes met, he spiked out a hand, accommodating her request.

  “Thank ya, sir,” she said breathlessly, slipping inside and settling herself next to Grady.

  He must’ve known it would look childish to hop off, so he merely stood stiff as a board, hands fisted at his side, and studied the numbers above the door as they lit one after the other.

  B.J. exploded. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  The other passenger lifted his face, his eyes wide and startled, before he no doubt realized she was ripping on Grady and not him.

  “I was actually racing after you to apologize. But you know what? Screw that. I’m not sorry about what I said, because it’s about time someone threw an ice cold glass of reality right in your face.”

  When he refused to meet her glower, she set her hands on her hips. “You make everyone in Tommy Creek uncomfortable whenever you’re around because you freeze folks out like they should all feel ashamed they’re alive and your wife isn’t. Well, you know what? That’s just the way it happened. Time to move on.”

  He continued to stare at the numbers, but his jaw worked furiously, tightening and loosening, tightening back into a knot and then loosening again. “Go to hell,” he said in a low, warning baritone.

  The third occupant of the elevator backed against the wall and darted skittish glances from Grady to B.J.

  “No. You go to hell,” she countered, jabbing her finger his way. “I’m trying to give you helpful advice on—”

  “I don’t need your advice,” he snarled. “I just want to be left alone.”

  B.J. snorted. “Well, I can’t. Amy was important to me too, you know. She’d be devastated if she knew I was letting you pretend you’re not alive. You need to join the real world again, Slim. Quit wallowing—”

  He whirled toward her so quickly she jerked an intimidated step back. From between clenched teeth, he hissed, “I’ll live my life however I damn well please.”

  When she sucked in a breath, he blinked like he’d just realized she was cowering. Letting out a low growl, he reeled away and raked a shaky hand through his hair. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?”

  B.J. could tell his control was splintering. But she fully believed it’d be healthy for him to lose it. For once in his life, he needed to let out some of the pressure. He needed to alleviate the pain that had been brewing inside him since the moment his wife died.

  He needed to go a little crazy.

  “It’s probably because you bring it on yourself,” she said.

  He glanced menacingly at her. “Excuse me?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come off it, Slim. If you really wanted everyone to stop feeling so sorry for you and treating you like some kind of wounded animal, you’d stop acting like one.”

  Shock filtered across his cheekbones with a red tinge. His mouth fell open. “What? I do not—”

  But his gaze landed on the wet shirt clinging to her breasts, and the words died in his throat. Looking taken aback by the fact she was nipping, he gaped at her with slack-jawed shock. On pure impulse, she pulled her shoulders back a fraction, pushing her chest forward to goad him. For the briefest of moments, his lashes lowered, and he sucked in a quiet breath through his teeth. Then he tore his eyes away, muttering a curse.

  B.J. blinked, taken aback. She’d just gotten a response from the ice man. Grady Rawlings had looked at her with sexual awareness. Thinking this might be good for him, she licked her lips and quickly planned her next move.

  The elevator stopped on their floor; he shot through the doors as soon as they began to open.

  B.J. stuck to his heels, grabbing his arm.

  “Don’t,” he said and shrugged her away, not once stopping his long-legged stride.

  She clutched his wet, slippery sleeve again, ignoring the warning.

  With a snarl, he swung around, grabbing her wrist in a bruising grip and ripping her hand off him. The scorching heat in his eyes was deadly. “I do not ask for anyone’s sympathy. The last thing in the world I want is for everyone to treat me like some kind of—”

  Ignoring his tirade, B.J. rose onto her toes and stamped her mouth against his, moving so fast, she gave him no time to back off or evade her before their lips were firmly sealed together.

  He froze on contact, making a muffled sound of irritation. B.J. tasted his surprise, but she only pressed closer until the front of her soaked shirt clung to his. Then, lifting her hand, she touched the side of his neck. He jerked his face to the side, dodging her.

  Not wanting him to break their connection, she bit down on his bottom lip.

  In response, he growled and gripped her face in his hands, trying to pry her away, but not succeeding because she dug her teeth in and refused to let him go.

  He buried his fingers under her ponytail and balled his hands, capturing two fistfuls of hair and grasping them tight like he was wrapping horse reins around his knuckles. Knowing he intended to yank her off him by the roots of her hair, she retreated instantly, letting go of his lip with a sob of surrender.

  They both froze, gaping at each other, chests heaving. His hands remained buried deep in her hair, ruining her ponytail all to hell. Her mouth trembled, moist and swollen. She tasted blood. His blood. Needing some semblance of order in her scattered brain, she licked the salty flavor off her bottom lip.

  For some reason, that was his undoing.

  With a moan that wasn’t quite human, he tightened his fingers in her hair until she gasped. Then he attacked, dragging her back to him and kissing her senseless. He took control, becoming the aggressor. His mo
uth punished as it moved against hers, bruising and savage. When she opened for him, he plunged his tongue deep, letting out an agonized, hungry sound and ravaging the moist, hot cavity within.

  He grew hard against her stomach. She whimpered, envisioning the heated length of him buried deep inside her.

  “Grady,” she moaned. But his breathless name on her lips must’ve alerted him to reality because he yanked away, wheezing furiously, and spun blindly toward the wall to brace himself with one arm.

  She panted too, gaping at him through her wet lashes. Oxygen chugged into her lungs so fast it burned her chest. His shoulders lifted and fell with their own erratic, unsteady rhythm.

  He wouldn’t meet her gaze as he held up the wall. But when he blew out a shuddered breath and turned, she saw his side profile and caught sight of a flushed expression with glazed eyes. Pulling himself together, he cleared his throat, stepped past her, and once again started for his room, staggering unsteadily.

  B.J. wasn’t about to let him go. “You responded to me,” she said, hurrying after him. “Are you just going to ignore that?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Well, I’m not going to let you. I’m not going to let you just walk away from this.” She tugged him around. “You’re still alive, Grady. You have to accept that.”

  “Don’t,” he whispered raggedly, gritting his teeth like he was in pain. His command was part plea, part order.

  Taking her wrist, he weakly pulled her hand off his arm. But he didn’t let go of her. Instead, he tightened his grip and looked down at her body. His ragged breathing intensified, and his eyes dilated as they focused on her pouting nipples pushing against wet cloth.

  B.J. swallowed. She wanted his mouth on those hard, throbbing peaks. She wanted his tongue stroking her. An electric current spiraled up the insides of her thighs, growing damp and heavy between her legs.

  Stepping toward him, she gently pulled her wrist from his captivity and slid her hand around the back of his neck. He was taller than her and certainly stronger. If he wanted to escape, he could. But he merely watched her warily as she drew his head down.

  He closed his eyes and lowered his face to receive her. She eased her lips back to his.

  This kiss was soft. So soft, she couldn’t take it. Thinking her point proven, she moved back, giving him mercy, or maybe giving herself mercy. But his lips followed hers. Her skin buzzed with awareness, and an almost painful tightening began in the bottom of her stomach. He cupped her face and drew her back, opening his mouth and demanding more.

  Their tastes melded; she groaned and sank against him, deepening the contact. Feeling primal as she pushed her tongue into his mouth, B.J. wrapped her arms around his neck and arched against him. Grady pulled her closer and devoured her, leaving her no air to breathe, only hormones jazzed and ready for action.

  He stroked his hands down to her waist, then grasped the hem of her shirt and jerked it up, cupping her breasts through her bra and finding the pouting tips that had first taunted him. She groaned and shivered.

  “God damn you,” he managed to hiss against her mouth only to use his tongue to invade and his hips to grind hard against hers. “Damn you to hell for this.”

  He freed one nipple and rolled it between his thumb and index finger, making her cry out.

  She swallowed and choked on the sound, suddenly realizing what was happening.

  Whoa. Wait. Public hotel hallway.

  “My room,” she wheezed before he sealed his mouth back to hers and continued to torment her.

  She backed toward her door, which was only a few steps behind her. He followed, crowding her space and stroking her nonstop. Though she had no idea how she managed to unlock her room without coming up for air, the door slipped open, and she and Grady tumbled inside, not once breaking what was fast becoming the greatest kiss of all time.

  A slight glow emanated from the bathroom where she’d forgotten to turn off the light before leaving to go down to supper. But otherwise, they kissed in the dark. She barely had the door shut before he pushed her against it and worked open the top button of her damp jeans. He only broke the kiss to nip at her jaw with his teeth. Not bothering to flip on a light, B.J. kicked off her boots and reached for his belt buckle.

  She barely unzipped his trousers in the time it took him to shed her jeans and underwear in one mighty tug. He didn’t say anything, but he did let out a groan when he covered her mound with a hot palm and kneaded her once before pushing a finger inside to find her soaked and dripping.

  B.J. gasped, clutching his shoulder for support. Her body quivered with every bone-shivering caress he gave. He barely nudged another finger in, brushing the inside of her thigh with the back of his rough knuckles, and she almost came.

  She dove her hands into the waistband of his underwear and cupped his ass before slipping them and his jeans down. As soon as they dropped to free his penis, he lifted her, spreading her knees to either side of his ribs, and buried himself deep, plunging all the way to her core.

  Her head fell back, and she hit her skull against the hard door.

  “Mother of God,” she cried, unable to decipher if she was cursing the pleasure of him stretching her sensitive passage, the pain in her head, or both.

  They were doing this. They were really doing this. Of all the times she’d dreamed of being with Grady, she’d never imagined this. . .this all-consuming sensation: the dampness of his skin clinging to hers, the fall of his breath on her neck, the thickness of his hair in her hands. It was more than she could process.

  He didn’t slow his pace—not that she wanted him to. He surged back, harder and faster, pushing them both to the brink.

  Her body went taut and hot while he rode her with deep, confident thrusts, only to pull nearly all the way out before surging back in. She clung to him, clawing his back, and fought to keep from coming too soon. It felt like she was being pulled apart by a string. When the wire snapped, the explosion inside her was like lightning, zapping through all four limbs and coming out the ends of her fingers and toes.

  “God,” Grady growled and bucked one last time, grabbing her hard as he joined the fireworks. “God.”

  Afterward, he stayed motionless for a couple of seconds before easing out and sliding limply to the floor. Still in shock from experiencing such an earth-shattering climax, B.J. collapsed next to him, too limp to move.

  As her breathing slowly settled, she stared wide-eyed into the dark room and listened to Grady suck in air beside her.

  Well. She’d done it now.

  Wondering what was going to result from her wild, unplanned seduction, she closed her eyes and set a hand over her heart. If he hated her, she wouldn’t blame him. She’d forced him, pushed him beyond his control. Grady Rawlings was one controlled individual. He wouldn’t take her manipulation lightly. Intentional or not.

  In memory of his dead wife, he’d kept his body as pure and chaste as a church for the past two and a half years. But it’d only taken a matter of minutes for destructive B.J. to come along and desecrate his saintly temple. Satan was no doubt grinning up at her, giving her a conspiring wink and the thumbs-up as she lay next to Grady.

  This was too unreal.

  Abruptly realizing her breathing had returned to normal while he still gasped for air, her heart plummeted.

  Oh, God. What had she done to him?

  “Grady?” she whispered, reaching out. He jumped when her hand found his arm. Body shaking, he was cold and clammy to the touch.

  “No,” she uttered and crawled closer, “Sweetie, don’t. Please, don’t.” She put her hands on either side of his face, moving her thumbs to the corners of his eyes to make sure he wasn’t crying. When she found the skin dry, she felt like bawling herself because he wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Instinctively, she put her arms around him and laid her cheek against his chest.

  Her voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”

  She felt terrible. He was probably r
eeling in guilt because he’d just cheated on his dead wife, and it was all her fault.

  She sniffed like she was going to howl any second. Then she awkwardly patted his hair and rubbed his back, having no idea how to help him, or comfort him, or stop this pain she’d caused.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again, feeling pathetic and useless. For someone who usually choked on apologies, this one gushed off her tongue like water from Niagara Falls. “Please. I’m so sorry.”

  Lifting her face, she leaned in to kiss his cheek but missed and caught the corner his mouth instead.

  In response, he turned. . .and not away from her. Seeking her, his warm breath fell on her lips a split second before he kissed her hungrily, sucking from her nectar.

  Unprepared for the hot torrent of his mouth, B.J. gasped; her body responded immediately. She forgot her worry and regret, and gurgled out an unexpected cry when his hands came up to feast on her breasts. Obviously irritated with her damp, tangled shirt in his way, he stripped it off and went about shedding her bra. All the while, he continued to kiss her, the contact morphing from greedy to curious and then to explorative.

  Once she was entirely naked, he cupped her bare breasts she’d unknowingly been pressing against him. A sob rose in his throat. He nudged her down onto to the floor right there by the door, kicking his pants and underwear off his ankles and keeping his mouth against hers the entire time. Their lips became permanently fused as he finished unbuttoning his own shirt and shrugged it off.

  He broke from her mouth to dip his face and kiss his way down the center of her body, starting in the hollow at the base of her throat and working his way south, not even pausing between her breasts or navel. But he did falter when his lips lowered to about four inches below her belly button. She tensed in expectation, waiting for him to move lower. But that was as far as he went, making her body burn for more.