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.”
“Pfft. Are you kidding? That’s a piece of cake.”
Grant stared down at her. “Ho
w is that a piece of cake?”
She leaned forward and straightened his collar, then brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. For some reason, he got a soft look in his eyes, and she felt a shiver of desire race through her. “See? That right there was a total girlfriend move. I just act like you belong to me, and they’ll buy it.”
“I see.” He appeared to think this over for a minute. “I hate to deceive them.”
“I don’t. You want them to stay out of your hair, don’t you? To quit pushing dates on you that you don’t want? Because if you do want them, I’m more than happy to break up with you in the next thirty seconds and you can go to dinner a bachelor.”
“No,” he said thoughtfully. “Your plan could work. I don’t suppose there has to be much kissing. We can just hold hands.”
“Oh, there’ll be kissing,” Brenna said. “You were pretty rusty at it.”
“I was not.”
“You were. And they’re not going to find it believable if we’re not all kissy on each other.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.
He looked at her as if she’d suddenly sprang another head. “And you’re okay with kissing me?”
She snorted. “It’s just kissing, Grant. It’s not a marriage license. Don’t you ever kiss people you don’t give a shit about?”
“Of course not.”
“Oh.” Well, it seemed like they were two different creatures, then. “Huh.”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I’m your assistant. I’ll just think of it as assisting you.”
He considered her for a long moment, and then sighed. “You’ll have to change for dinner.”
She gave him a mock-lascivious look and ran her hands down her front, over her breasts. “Want me to wear something slutty?”
The look he gave her could have peeled paint. “No.”
• • •
Grant paced in the living room of the main lodge, his thoughts in turmoil. When he was mulling through a problem, he liked to pace in front of the large stone fireplace. It was the feature he’d liked best about the cabin, and he often walked back and forth in front of it to work through a problem. Exercise always cleared his mind.
Normally it helped. Today? Not so much.
In one afternoon, it seemed that his calm, ordered life had been completely torn open and upheaved.
His family was here. That was a pain in the ass, but an expected one. He enjoyed seeing his sister, Elise. She was quiet, gentle, and wouldn’t probe on painful subjects. She seemed to know instinctively the kind of company he needed and was happy to just be quiet moral support for her brother. Elise wasn’t the problem. It was his parents. Or rather, his mother, since his father tended to give in to everything his mother wanted. Justine Markham was not used to hearing the word no.
She’d flown to his side the moment he’d returned home for Heather’s funeral. She’d been sympathetic and caring and handled all the details while Grant wallowed in his grief. It was only after the first anniversary of Heather’s death had passed that she’d started to press him a bit.
You should date.
You’re too young to be a widower, Grant. Get back out there.
I can introduce you to a few lovely girls, Grant. I just hate to see you so lonely and unhappy.
You’ll want children someday, Grant. I want grandchildren. It’s not going to happen if you keep mourning a woman who’s been dead for years.
His mother’s arguments had gone from sympathetic and understanding to annoyed and frustrated. So he’d been grieving for a while. So what? He’d loved Heather. Why shouldn’t he miss her? Why did his family insist on pushing him toward other women? It wasn’t as if he had a biological clock that was ticking. He wasn’t even thirty yet. Plenty of time to meet someone new and start over again.
People just needed to back the hell off.
Of course, that was what made Brenna’s absurd defense of him so bizarre and out of left field.
He’d been simmering with irritation when his family had started in on their favorite subject, though he hadn’t been surprised that his mother had invited a girl to dinner. He expected that sort of thing from Justine.
But he’d been shocked as hell when Brenna had grabbed him by the collar and kissed him, and then pronounced them as a couple. His parents’ stunned looks of astonishment probably echoed his own, but Brenna had taken her lie and ran with it. She’d been incredibly believable, too, reaching over and playing with his hair as they’d driven back to town, acting affectionate and silly toward him. He imagined that would be how she would act in a relationship normally.
He should have nipped her lie in the bud. He didn’t like deceiving his family. Elise had looked hurt that he’d never mentioned things to her, and his mother had looked briefly furious, then just confused.
And yet for some reason, he didn’t correct Brenna. He’d let the lie stand, let his parents think that they were an item. Why? He had no idea. Brenna’s defense of him had surprised him. And even though it was a ridiculous concept, she had a point. If they pretended to have a relationship, his parents would back off their continual persistent attempts to find him a new wife.
It was just surprising that this had come from Brenna, of all people. Annoying, careless, rebel without a cause Brenna. The perpetual thorn in his side. The worst employee ever. The most infuriating and useless woman he’d ever known.
The only one who had come to his defense this afternoon.
He should point out to his parents that it was just a joke. That he wasn’t dating Brenna at all and that she would be the last person he’d date, with her purple hair and loud ways and her complete lack of respect for him. He’d just bring it up casually before dinner and send Brenna on her way. She wouldn’t be hurt in the slightest. She had an iron hide when it came to him. They bickered at each other all day long at work.
Grant adjusted the collar of his shirt, frowning. He’d changed into a jacketed suit that wasn’t too formal, but his parents didn’t care for casual dining. He hoped Brenna realized that. With a grimace, he realized he probably should have given her more instructions on what to wear.
Hell, and now he was thinking like he was going to take part in this charade, too. He needed to make up his mind, and soon.
The front door to the lodge opened, and Grant turned around. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as Brenna entered, a soft smile on her mouth. She lifted her arms and twirled a little. “Will this do? I had to borrow it from Miranda.”
Brenna’s dark, wavy hair had been parted down the middle, the thick brown locks brushing against her shoulders. Her heavy fringe of purple bangs had been carefully arranged and curled, and they hung in a perfect line at her eyebrows. Her hair didn’t look careless and untamed today—it looked beautiful, thick, and healthy, and just a bit quirky. The dress she wore was a dark blue sheath with thin spaghetti straps and a bit of lace under the bust. It was pretty and demure and wasn’t something Brenna would normally wear, but now that she was in it, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Her figure was usually hidden in the bizarre clothing choices she normally wore, but tonight she was an hourglass. When she turned, he could see two small bluebirds tattooed over each shoulder blade. His parents wouldn’t approve of that.
He didn’t care. She looked gorgeous. And that stunned him.
Her smile widened as he said nothing. Her hands went to her hips, the small clutch purse in her hand a bright spotted-leopard print. “That good, huh? I thought so, too.”
Grant rubbed his chin. “You look nice.”
“I know! My tits look amazing in this.” She cupped her breasts and jiggled them at him, grinning.
His astonished gaze went to that cleavage and he couldn’t help but stare for a moment. When had Brenna, the pain in his ass, gotten so built? Stacked like a brick shithouse, as Dane would say.
“Are your parents going to flip out?”
He was still staring at her breasts. “Huh? What?”
“Your parents? Are they going to be upset that we’re ‘dating’?” She released her boobs and made air quotes as she said “dating.” “And better yet, do you care?”
“You were right—it is a good idea, if an unorthodox and deceitful one.”
“Such flattery,” she said with a grin, not offended at his words at all. “So, if we’re going to do this, and I think you just said we are, I need you to do one more thing for me. Well, two more things.”
“What’s that?”
“One,” she said, and moved past him to his desk.
He couldn’t help but watch her, admiring the lines of her legs. She wore high heels, too, and she looked amazing in them. He’d never seen Brenna dolled up, and he felt as if he’d been suddenly missing out. She was gorgeous. He couldn’t stop staring at her.
Brenna picked up the picture on his desk and held it out to him. “You can’t have this sitting out on your desk while they’re here. They’ll know something’s up.”
It was like a punch in the gut. Heather’s smiling picture stared up at him. She’d been so alive, so vibrant in that photo. And now she was dead, and here he was, five years later, pretending he’d moved on and wasn’t holding on to feelings. He gazed at the photo for a long moment, not saying anything.
“I know it’s rude of me to point it out,” she told him softly. “But it’s only for a short time. I promise. We’ll put it back up as soon as they’re gone.”
We’ll put it back up. As if they were in this together. Funny how he and Brenna had been at odds from day one, and the moment she’d felt he was threatened, she’d latched on to him and declared them a team. Funny . . . and appealing, really.
He nodded, opened a desk drawer, and very carefully laid Heather’s picture in there and then closed the drawer. His throat clenched for a moment, as if in protest, and then he was fine. Grant glanced back over at Brenna. “What was the other thing?”
The Expert's Guide to Driving a Man Wild (A Bluebonnet Novel) Page 3
