In It to Win It

by Morgan Kearns

  “Ms. Alexander,” he said low and directly, “you may think that your daughter is unlovable.”

  “I—”

  “You may think that I am not worthy of her love.”

  “You’re not,” Sheri snapped, her hands on her hips.

  “I happen to agree with you,” he said, completely unaffected by the insult. “I have never been more grateful to gain the love of a woman I don’t deserve. A woman I love more than anything else in this world.”

  “You broke her heart!” Sheri shouted, her face turning red.

  “And so have you,” Grayson shouted back. He stepped away from Jane and stood inches away from Sheri, glaring down at her. “Every time you open your mouth, you spout venom that destroys her a little bit at a time. As of today this woman is my responsibility, a responsibility that I take very seriously. I will protect her, even if I have to protect her from you.”

  Sheri’s mouth opened and closed and opened again—only to close. Her eyes couldn’t possibly get any wider. Jane didn’t think hers could either, or that her heart could get any fuller. A slight movement caught her eye and she noticed that her father stood off to the side.

  Jane didn’t miss the slight smile on her father’s lips. There weren’t many people brave enough to go toe-to-toe with Sheri Alexander.

  Her father cleared his throat and said calmly, “I think everyone needs to calm down.”

  The soft, peaceful voice of reason seemed to snap Grayson out of his rage, even if Mom still had steam pouring out of her ears. Grayson turned and looked at Jane, closed his eyes and crossed to where she stood next to her father. He kissed her lightly on the cheek and she could almost feel the emotion rolling off him.

  “I believe there are presents to be opened,” Grayson said, his voice still tight.

  Paul clapped his hands in a loud pop. “Grayson’s right. This isn’t the time for—” He stopped, his gaze resting on Sheri, who stood behind Jane and Grayson.

  Jane didn’t dare turn around to see the expression on her mother’s face.

  Paul smiled and waved a hand, leading the way. “Come on everybody; let’s go into the living room.”

  TENSION WAS SO THICK IN THE AIR, GRAYSON was sure he could have sliced a knife through it and watched as the two halves peeled away. He hated that all of his pent-up frustration with Sheri Alexander came to the equivalent of a mushroom cloud today, of all days.

  The last straw had been placed upon his back though. As if the only way he’d marry Jane would be because she was pregnant! The clock had ticked by—thirty-three minutes—and he was still so pissed his blood boiled in his veins.

  He sat next to Jane on the couch. Her hand on his thigh, her fingers rubbing gentle, calming circles. It was her touch that kept him grounded. And he could tell that he was steadying her. He wasn’t sure why they were still under this roof, but if Jane wanted to stay, then there was no way in hell he was leaving.

  “We don’t have a gift for you,” Sheri told him matter-of-factly, “we didn’t expect you.”

  Jane stiffened next to him. “I told you he was coming, Mother.”

  “Yes, well, we weren’t sure whether or not he was going to actually show up.” She bent over to pick up a gift and muttered under her breath, “He’s not exactly trustworthy.”

  His jaw clamped shut. He hadn’t realized he was jumping to his feet until Jane stood as well. She took his hand and lifted it to her lips. The tender touch moved through his body like a cool rush of calm. She smiled, love blazing in her eyes.

  “Would you mind getting the gift from the car?”

  “Sure thing, baby doll.” He bent to kiss her and whispered, “Thank you,” in her ear.

  Jane being Jane, she knew what he needed and provided the opportunity; a few minutes to cool off. He sliced a warning glance at Sheri before he slipped out the door. The icy breeze that greeted him was a slap of reality. As much as he wished to just get in his car and flee, he hurried to grab the gift basket and get back into the house. Because Jane needed him.

  “I wasn’t sure what size to get, so I got one that I knew would fit,” Sheri was saying when he got back inside.

  Jane was standing with a t-shirt held up to herself.

  Fit who? Grayson thought. The shirt was so big that he might just fit in it—with her. He smiled thinking they’d have to try that when they got home.

  “Oh!” Sheri breathed when she realized he’d come back in. “What a beautiful basket! Did you do this, Jane?”

  “Actually Grayson did it.”

  Sheri nodded. “I’m not surprised. Well, actually, I am. I’d never taken you for the crafty type.”

  “There’s more to me than you know,” he countered without missing a beat.

  She took the basket from him and began picking through the sodas and boxes of microwave popcorn and DVD’s. “This must have cost you a fortune.”

  “She can afford it,” Grayson said. And he sure as hell could!

  “Yes, I guess she can.” Sheri sighed. “Would you like to stay for dessert and a movie?”

  He shot a quick glance at Jane. She didn’t nod, didn’t shake her head, didn’t really react at all. But she didn’t have to. Grayson knew she was done.

  He spoke for the both of them. “Thanks for the invitation, but we’re gonna head for home.”

  “Home?” The idea of them sharing a home obviously didn’t please Sheri. “What are people going to say?” she asked her daughter not waiting for an answer before asking him, “What is your mother going to say?”

  “Would it surprise you to know that my mother is thrilled?”

  Sheri waited a second to let that sink in then huffed, “I guess you can wear cream.”

  “She’ll wear white.”

  “Grayson.” Jane walked to his side and eased her fingers through his. He wondered if he’d overstepped, insisting what color she’d wear. She wasn’t one to be told what to do. “What if I want to wear fuchsia?”

  Sheri literally swooned. Paul caught her and awkwardly waved a scrap wrapping paper over her face. Grayson didn’t miss the humorous glint in the older man’s eyes. Jane took their coats from a chair by the door and offered his to him. Grayson opened the door as Sheri’s eyelids fluttered.

  “Sweetheart,” he said a little louder than was necessary, “you can wear fuchsia and I think I’ll wear chartreuse.”

  20

  “OKAY, GRIP IT WITH YOUR RIGHT HAND AND wrap your left hand under it for support.”

  Grayson’s hands were warm against hers and his body was hot pressed to her back. She followed his directions. The earplugs muffled the sound of his voice and she knew he was practically shouting but since they were the only ones in the firing range it still felt intimate.

  “Good.” He rewarded her with a kiss on the cheek. “Take aim and fire when you’re ready.”

  She spread her feet and shifted the gun in her hands to get a better, more comfortable grip. Grayson’s help had been … helpful and hot. However she liked to do things her way. She concentrated on the target that swung from its hooks three yards down range and closed her left eye. Focusing on the target through the sites, she slowly curved her finger. She felt the moment that the trigger caught and registered the shot before split-second it went off.

  Firing five more shots in quick succession emptied the magazine and she turned to face Grayson. His mouth hung open and his eyes were the size of saucers. She grinned. He took a step toward her and pushed the button to bring the target forward.

  Six perfect shots in the middle of the chest.

  He plucked it from the clips and ran a finger over her grouping. “This isn’t the first time you’ve shot a pistol, is it?” His question wasn’t accusatory. It was more dumbfounded awe than anything else.

  “No.” She placed her weapon on the counter and eased up against him. “The truth is that I’ve wanted one of those little babies for a long time.”

  That made him smile. He tipped her chin and kissed her lightly on t
he lips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Well—” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “—I wanted you to teach me to shoot a gun. I love your hands on me.”

  A low groan rumbled in his chest and Jane laughed. She could also feel his response to her a little lower and loved that she could make him crazy, loved that she wasn’t alone in the need to touch one another.

  “I love my hands on you.” His hands moved down the curve of her spine and rested on her butt. He squeezed and dropped his head to where the muffs protected her ears. He lifted the muff and whispered, “Let’s see what else you’ve got. If you do that again, I’ll make it worth your while.”

  She was about to ask how he was going to do that when his teeth closed over her earlobe. An erotic shiver raced up her spine. Fighting the urge to jump his bones right there in the shooting range, Jane tore herself out of Grayson’s hold and began reloading the magazine. The first four bullets slipped into the magazine without much effort but bullets five and six took a little more pressure to get them seated. She put the magazine back in the butt of the gun and waited while Grayson pressed the button that zipped the little paper outline down to the far end of the range.

  “Twenty-five feet.”

  “No problem.” She made sure that the muffs were in place and took aim.

  Bam!

  She paused, took a breath and fired again. She didn’t need the break, just the theatrics. It wasn’t much fun if the challenge wasn’t a challenge. She fired off the last five shots and they formed a group that was no bigger than her fist.

  A zipping sound brought the target forward and Grayson yanked it from the pins. “Hot damn! Wyatt Earp has nothin’ on you, babe. I’m impressed. Seriously impressed. If I’m ever in a gun fight I want you at my back.”

  She placed the gun down and used her fingertips to rub up his thigh, getting dangerously close to his groin. “Wouldn’t you rather have me at your front?”

  He pressed her back until her spine hit the gun rest. “I want you … to pull my trigger.”

  She laughed when he held up a weapon that looked like it had come straight out of Wyatt Earp’s era. She had to admit that a gun range wasn’t the most romantic place on earth. But being here with Grayson made it that way. Just being with him made her blood warm. His touch, his suggestive statements heated her in other places.

  “How about we make this interesting?” she asked.

  “I’m listening.” He cocked his head to the side, one brow raised.

  “Back the targets out to forty feet. The one with the best score gets to make the plans for the rest of the day.”

  “I like that. You’re gonna shoot this.” He held out the long-barreled revolver.

  “That’s fine. You’re gonna shoot this.” She gave him the LCP.

  His hands dwarfed the tiny gun … just like she knew they would. He’d have trouble getting off clean, accurate shots because it wasn’t the right fit. She was counting on that. She’d seen men try to fire this particular gun and knew that it took the knuckle closest to their hand to pull the trigger.

  He narrowed his eyes and she could see the challenge in them. She could also see that he knew that she’d stacked the deck against him.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got, Pierce.”

  He stepped over to the next lane and took aim. Back so far, at the furthest end of the range, the targets were under the heat vent and flapped in the gentle breeze. She let Grayson shoot first. Not bad. At least not as bad as she’d thought—or hoped.

  Her turn. The gun she held now was heavy. Inwardly she groaned.

  The larger the caliber, the larger the recoil. Personally she hated the reverberation that ricocheted up her arm. Once when she’d gone out shooting with her grandfather she felt a tingling sensation in her upper arm and shoulder a week later. She anticipated having that with this gun.

  It was way too big for her hand as she wrapped her fingers around the grip. Like Grayson not having right finger placement on the trigger, Jane didn’t either. She had to use the very tip of her finger which didn’t offer the kind of control she liked to have.

  Deep breath in, long breath out.

  She closed her eye and squeezed off a shot. The trigger was light and the gun discharged before she’d anticipated it would. She hit the target—barely. Grayson laughed, a little too mockingly for Jane’s taste. She glared at him.

  “You shouldn’t tease me while I’m holding a gun.”

  He laughed harder. “I’m not sure you’re any kind of threat with that one.”

  She narrowed her eyes and glared right through him. She would make him pay by making the final five shots count. She would win this bet and have him painting her toenails.

  The next shots were indeed better. As the targets zipped closer she wasn’t sure who the winner would be. Grayson left his target on the clips and counted. “Forty, eighty, one-twenty, one-sixty, one-ninety, and the bulls-eye makes one-forty. What’d you get, baby doll?”

  She’d been counting hers as he did his. “One-thirty,” she groaned.

  “Yes!” He pumped his arms in the air. “I know exactly what I want you to do.”

  “What’s that?” Yeah, she sounded like sour grapes. She hated to lose! Especially when she lost when doing something that she was really damned good at.

  “Oh, come on.” He scooped her up against him. “I promise you’ll enjoy it too.”

  The taste of defeat was bitter on her tongue when she swallowed. She inhaled and the masculine scent of him mixed with burned gunpowder filled her nose. The smell and being so close to him melted away the irritation. This time when she asked, “What do you have planned?” there was no edge to the question.

  He smiled, looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching before he pressed his lips to her neck. She shuddered as his tongue traced over the soft tissue beneath her ear. Once again he removed the muff and whispered exactly what he had planned.

  And he was right … she was going to like it.

  SHOOTING WITH JANE—AND THE ADVENTURES afterward—had been the best day ever. It’d been two days ago, but the image of Jane squaring herself to the target and firing off those first six shots, nearly made Grayson lose himself.

  She’d pretended not to know how to shoot. She’d been smart if she’d made him the bet before he knew what kind of marksman she was. He definitely would have lost then. As it was, he only won by the skin of his teeth—and a stray shot by Jane.

  Normally Grayson didn’t like to be bested. In this case, however, he enjoyed it.

  Grayson loved that she was a crack shot. His girl could outshoot him or any of his friends. He looked forward to the day when he could take her out and show her off.

  The little worrying niggle that had been slithering through his stomach had eased some. But not completely.

  He was pretty sure that Derek hadn’t just gone away. The guy had had a cushy gig playing Grayson. The “job” had given him money and status and publicity—and women.

  Freshman year the two had been paired as roommates. Derek had an academic scholarship, Grayson baseball. And Grayson had to admit that they looked a lot alike, eerily so. Especially when Derek went the extra mile to make the impersonation almost flawless. As much as they were similar physically, they were polar opposites when it came to everything else—and Grayson was happy to keep it that way. He wanted to be nothing like Derek.

  The first week of school, Grayson walked in on something that made his blood curdle. He’d made Derek promise to leave his side of the room alone, muttered an “at least put a sock on the handle”, and left.

  He always knocked from then on out.

  Derek was a sexual deviant. And that scared Grayson. Because not only was he a perverted sonofabitch, he looked at Jane with lust in his eyes.

  In Derek’s mind, Grayson was sure, this wasn’t over. Derek had had everything that was Grayson’s for so long that stopping cold turkey wasn’t going to be a pliable option—for Derek.

/>   Seeing that Jane could protect herself, if needs be, relaxed Grayson a bit.

  Jane would be home from work soon and Grayson had big plans for the night. He jogged up the stairs and lit the candles. He turned his attention back the new red satin sheets he’d bought. The things were like ice. He considered changing them for flannel ones but decided that if things went according to plan the sheets would be warm soon enough.

  He went out into the hall to crank the heat—just in case.

  A sound from downstairs caught his attention. He dipped his head to look under the railing. “Jane?” he hollered.

  No response came.

  The increase in his heart rate should have been a red flag. Looking back, playing Monday-morning-quarterback, he would realize that taking a weapon with him was the best course of action—and would have put a stop to the events about to unfold.

  He cautiously took the stairs, pausing on the bottom one. “Jane?”

  Still no answer.

  His foot had just hit the tile floor when something hard hit him in the back of the head. There was a burst of light just before…

  Everything went dark.

  DEREK KICKED GRAYSON IN THE SIDE AND didn’t get even a gratifying grunt. As if the bastard wasn’t irritating enough, he was now bleeding all over the frickin’ floor. Derek went into the kitchen and took a dishcloth from the counter. He wrapped it around Grayson’s head to help minimize the mess.

  He really didn’t have time for this crap. Since the romantic sap had been upstairs lighting candles and turning down the bed Derek bet that Jane would be home soon.

  And his plan wouldn’t work if she came home to find both of them together, not to mention that she’d probably freak out to see all the blood gushing from the back of Grayson’s head.

  He couldn’t have that.

  The last time he’d come face-to-face with the woman, she’d recognized that he wasn’t Grayson Pierce—the weak, pathetic version of Grayson Pierce. He wasn’t sure how she’d known but he was going to test her again.