by Lauren Layne
And that told her all she needed to know. But she had to check…
“So the kiss at the office, and everything that happened tonight…the touching, and letting the Porters think we were something…that was just…what?”
Gray leaned his head back on the headrest and stared through the windshield, which was now completely blurry with raindrops. “Look, Sophie…about tonight…I shouldn’t…I didn’t mean…I’m not good at this.”
“You’re joking.”
Her sarcasm earned the tiniest of smiles, although it was gone almost immediately.
“Look, Gray…you haven’t really spared my feelings in the past. Why start now? Just let me have whatever you’re stuttering over.”
He swallowed and turned to look at her. “I know the impression I gave you tonight. And that night in the office. And, hell, however many other times. But I don’t think I’m ready for a relationship.”
“With me, or with anyone? Because you seemed to be doing fine with Brynn.”
“How do you figure? We broke up after a month, and the relationship went nowhere.”
Hmm. A good point.
She moved on.
“If you don’t want a relationship, why invite me along tonight? Why play with my hair? Is this a game?” Her voice broke slightly, but she was beyond caring.
He had the decency to look guilty, but Sophie was hardly mollified. She’d been a gooey, contented mess, and he’d been playing with her?
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…You make me forget sometimes.”
She blinked in confusion. “Forget what?”
“That women like you are all wrong for me.”
“Women like me? Or women like Jessica?”
“Same thing,” he muttered.
Sophie resisted the urge to slam her head on the dashboard. “I knew it! You’re shoving me off because I remind you of your bitch of an ex. That’s junior high territory, Gray. Really ridiculous.”
His expression turned fierce and he turned on her with blazing eyes. “You want the whole story? Here it is…Your crack a minute ago about someone stomping all over my icy little heart was dead-on. Except it wasn’t icy then. And it hurt. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not anxious for a repeat.”
I wouldn’t break your heart, she wanted to beg. But she knew that look. And there was no room for negotiation. She wanted to fight. To insist that he give her a chance. But she couldn’t risk it.
Because he could break her heart too.
“So what now?” she asked, trying to sound calm and mature.
There would be an Oreo-involved breakdown once she got upstairs, but for now she had to hold it together. She didn’t want her messy emotions to get all over his pristine car.
“What do you mean?” he asked warily.
“Well, I mean…I work for you. It’s not like I can just conveniently disappear like any other failed first date. Do I look for another job? Or do we try to pretend this whole thing never happened?”
To her surprise, he gently reached out and took her hand. A jolt of electricity seemed to rip up her arm and, more inconveniently, to all of her lady parts. Sophie bit her lip to keep from throwing herself into his arms and begging him to at least let her be a one-night stand.
Casual sex is not part of your self-respect project, she reminded herself. You deserve to be more than a booty call.
“I’d like it if we could be friends,” Gray said, jolting Sophie out of her horny pep-talk.
Wait, what?
“What?” she asked.
The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “I know, it’s the oldest line in the book. And not one that I’ve uttered. Ever.”
Sophie let out a horrified laugh. “It’s a really horrible line. And it never works out.”
“It did for you and Will.”
“That was different…”
“How?”
I never wanted to keep Will chained up in my bedroom as a plaything. I never wanted to devote my life to making him smile the way I do with you.
“We were kids when we dated. And it was barely dating,” she said.
“Please, Sophie. You know this isn’t easy for me.”
“Define ‘friends,’” she said warily.
He looked completely confused, and she melted. He probably didn’t know how to define it. Other than Ian, she wasn’t sure he really had any friends.
“I don’t really know,” he said looking embarrassed. “I just was hoping…You make me smile. I don’t want to lose that.”
It was like an arrow to her heart. If she made him smile, why wouldn’t he give her the chance to be more than a friend? And yet she couldn’t refuse him. Not when he was staring at her with confused gray eyes.
He doesn’t even know what he wants, she thought. This is what I get for falling for someone who’s an emotional vault.
“Okay. Friends it is,” she said reluctantly.
His relieved smile reassured her that she’d made the right decision. Somewhere along the line she’d learned to care for this complex man.
She couldn’t just walk away. Even though staying would break her heart.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brynn Dalton maintained a very a strict list of Do Nots.
Perms. Trans fats. Cubic Zirconia. Tequila. Glitter nail polish. Airplane bathrooms. Casual sex. William Thatcher.
The last two items of her list were completely unrelated, of course. At least, they were supposed to be.
But then that kiss in the car had happened, and Brynn couldn’t seem to separate “Will” from “sex.” And after an uncharacteristic three glasses of Pinot Grigio, it was getting a lot harder to remember why exactly “William Thatcher” and “casual sex” were on her Do Not list at all.
Combining the two wouldn’t be so horrible, would it?
Yes. Yes, it would be very horrible, said her brain.
But fun. Really hot, sexy fun, said her loins.
Clearly it was her loins that had done the majority of absorbing the three glasses of wine she’d just consumed at her monthly sorority reunion.
She wasn’t drunk. Just tipsy. And tipsy was not something Brynn did often because it left her feeling reckless.
Brynn Dalton did not do reckless. Come to think of it, she should probably add it to her Do Not list. Nothing good ever came from being impetuous. That was where STDs, unwanted pregnancies, and broken hearts came from.
And yet here she was, standing outside Will Thatcher’s home and debating the unthinkable.
It bothered her that he lived in a homey town house. Hotshot bachelors like William Thatcher were supposed to live in monolithic high-rises. Brynn had been here before, of course. He’d hosted an anniversary for her parents two years earlier, and she’d also been by a couple of times to pick up an inebriated Sophie.
But she’d never really picked up the details before. Like a friendly blue welcome mat. Why would a man who could barely be civil have a welcome mat?
The dark green of his front door was also all wrong. Hunter-green accents were for her future home. They did not belong at the enemy’s abode. And the dented brass knocker looked like it had been well used. Probably by a constant stream of female visitors.
The flower pots bothered her more than anything. They were empty now thanks to Seattle’s chillier-than-usual winter, but she couldn’t help but wonder what he planted in the summer months. Flowers? Herbs? Or maybe something more stark and manly, like palms. Not that she could see him out here watering the damn things. Or maybe she just didn’t want to picture it.
Brynn squeezed her eyes shut and told herself to walk away. Contemplating a one-night stand with public enemy number one was dangerous enough. Humanizing the bastard would be a disaster.
Damn Carrie for pushing that last glass of wine. Although it wasn’t really fair to blame her friend. It’s not like Brynn didn’t know her own limits. The monthly sorority reunions were notoriously boozy. Granted the sugary Jell-O shots of college had given way
to overpriced wine bars, but her group of girlfriends still knew their way around their drinks. Brynn usually limited herself to one or two glasses, but she had the day off tomorrow, and she’d really hoped that third glass would help rid her of the itchy feeling.
Instead it had led her here. Enemy territory.
“This is insane,” she muttered. “I’m not that drunk.”
There were plenty of less dangerous men with whom she could scratch her itch. That accountant she’d gone on a date with last week would probably be willing. Or an ex? She thought briefly of Gray but quickly discarded the thought. They hadn’t slept together when they were dating, why would they sleep together after they’d broken up?
Besides, something clearly was happening between him and her sister. Not that Brynn could actually see something developing there. They wouldn’t make it past the first date when Sophie insisted on rowdy karaoke and Gray wanted to go to the opera. Something she’d told him straight-out when he’d driven her home after the emergency room the other night. Sophie would kill Brynn if she knew she’d interfered, but Brynn hadn’t been able to resist the opportunity to talk with Gray.
The soft looks that Sophie had been shooting Gray were not harmless employee-to-employer glances. Brynn hadn’t seen her sister look at anyone that way in years. Sophie choosing to care about something was a rare gift, one that Brynn had made damn sure Gray knew to either accept or return with care.
Gray had assured her that he had no intention of hurting Sophie, and Brynn believed him. But that was sort of the thing with men, wasn’t it? Sometimes they hurt you whether or not they intended to.
The reminder that men and pain went together was enough to jar Brynn back into sanity.
Time to get away from there.
She was pulling out her cell phone to call a cab when it started vibrating. Her stomach dropped when she saw the incoming number.
“Will?”
“Brynn.” His voice was low and gravelly. She felt the smart part of her slipping away, and her reckless feeling increased tenfold.
“Hi, um…why are you calling me?” she asked in a too-casual high-pitched voice.
He was silent for several moments. “What are you doing on my front porch?”
Oh God. She squeezed her eyes shut. “You know?”
“I saw the cab and watched you teeter up my walkway in death heels. Pretty sexy shoes for an orthodontist.”
Brynn scowled at that. She hated how he always undermined her career, as though being an orthodontist meant you had to be frumpy and wear clogs.
“Yeah, well, I was just leaving,” she grumbled.
The door opened so suddenly that she nearly fell forward. Their eyes locked for several heated moments, and, moving on unspoken agreement, they silently hung up their cell phones without saying another word.
Will braced his arm on the doorjamb as though barring her entrance.
Not exactly a welcoming start, Brynn thought with a pang.
Then his hand slid up several inches as he lifted his eyebrows in invitation, leaving just enough room for her to slide under his arm if she wanted to.
She wanted to.
Swallowing dryly, she ducked under his arm so she was standing in his foyer. He closed the door with a quiet click, and they still said nothing.
She studied Will closely, waiting for smugness or mockery, but his face was carefully blank.
“I um…I just thought I’d stop by. You know, to say hi, and stuff,” she said, her voice husky.
His eyebrow quirked at the mention of “stuff,” but instead of giving her a hard time, he just nodded and gestured toward the kitchen. “Let me get you a glass of wine.”
“Oh gosh, no. I’ve had plenty,” she said, following him into the kitchen.
He paused in opening the fridge. “You’re drunk?” Something like disappointment flashed across his face.
“No, just a little buzzy. And getting less so by the minute.”
“Coming from a not-so-great date?” he asked, pouring her a glass of ice water.
“No, just a girls’ night.” She lowered herself onto the leather bar stool and fixed her eyes on her glass as he poured himself some sort of amber-looking liquid.
“And you came by to say hi,” he said, taking a long swallow of his drink.
“Mm-hmm,” she said, tracing a drip of condensation down the side of her glass.
The wine buzz was fading, but the recklessness wasn’t.
Her mind kept returning to The Kiss from the car. It had been running over and over through her brain like a track on repeat. And the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to do it again. Take it further.
But not like this. He was supposed to be his usual crude self. She wanted hot, meaningless anger sex. Something she could walk away from without so much as a bruise on her emotions.
This quiet, contemplative Will set her on edge. She didn’t know how to speak with him in any language other than “feud.”
Why didn’t he call her bony or snobby or vapid and set her temper off so that she could storm out? Storming out was immature, but smart. Practical. Necessary. Storming out was very Brynn.
And that was the problem. She was sick of herself. She wanted a break from being the organized, uptight, no-sex-before-the-eighth-date goody-goody.
Who better to give her a night’s vacation from perfect than a man who spent more on condoms in a year than he did on food?
Brynn shook her head to try and clear it. She was making herself dizzy with all of this waffling. Either she wanted to jump his crass bones, or she didn’t. Make up your mind.
And then the most disturbing thought of all hit her. What if he didn’t want her?
She’d taken for granted that he was a womanizer, but for all her complaining about him going through women faster than a toddler went through Cheerios, he’d never made a move on her. Not in high school, when they’d run in the same social circles. Not in college, when he’d practically lived at her house over Christmas break. And certainly not in their adult life, when their once-harmless bickering had turned into very real dislike.
Not until that rainy night in his car, and she still wasn’t sure that the kiss hadn’t been more about punishing her than passion.
The thought of being rejected by Will was almost enough to bring back the practical, self-preserving Brynn. And yet still she didn’t move.
Just do it. You have the rest of your life to be boring.
Brynn set aside her untouched water glass and stood.
Keeping her eyes locked on his moody blue gaze, she slowly made her way around his kitchen island. She continued her slow approach until there were only inches between them. Still he didn’t move or speak.
Brynn let her eyes move over him the way she’d seen him check out women a thousand times before. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt, jeans, and a scowl. He looked like every woman’s bad-boy fantasy. Perfect.
Licking her lips nervously, she pulled the glass from his hand and set it on the counter. She felt a little thrill of gratification when something dark and dangerous flashed through his normally bored eyes.
She hesitantly ran her manicured fingernails lightly over his rib cage, closing her eyes in ecstatic panic when she heard him suck in a sharp breath.
Rough fingers clamped around her wrist. “Brynn, wait—”
No! Desperate to stop him from thinking this through, she rose to her toes and kissed him. It was a soft kiss, just merest brush of her lips against his. But still, she shuddered. He tasted warm and smoky and strangely addicting.
She kissed him again, lingering this time. His lips moved just slightly beneath hers. Not quite returning the kiss, but not pulling back either.
He’s letting me decide, she realized. Whatever she was feeling was nothing like the manic passion of the car, and that alarmed her. This kiss was softer. Nicer.
And every instinct was screaming that “soft” with William Thatcher was dangerous. “Soft” wasn’t what she wa
s here for. She wanted hot, animalistic sex on the floor of his bachelor pad, not soft, heady kisses in his homey kitchen.
Determined to banish all traces of tenderness, Brynn wound her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to her. Her lips were firmer this time, and she nipped at his bottom lip. He stiffened, and for a fraction of a second she had the horrible sensation that he was going to pull back. Push her away.
He doesn’t want me, she realized in horror.
Then Will moved so quickly that she nearly lost her balance. Sliding one arm around her back, he hoisted her onto the kitchen counter, even as his other hand slid around the back of her head.
She closed her eyes and waited for the crush of his lips, but his fingers clenched in her hair and held her still. His eyes had gone so dark they were almost black, and he stared into hers with an unreadable expression.
“You’ll hate me if we do this,” he said gruffly.
“I already hate you.”
“Then why are you here?”
She almost laughed at that. She had her legs around his waist and he had to ask? “Isn’t that kind of obvious?”
“Just sex?”
“Yes. And just this one time. And, Will…if you tell anyone about this, I will kill you.”
His head tilted back slightly, and something unidentifiable flashed across his face before he resumed his usual bored expression.
“Well, if it’s one-time sex you want, you’ve come to the right place,” he said with an evil little grin.
Then his mouth closed over hers, and she resigned herself to the inevitable.
She was going to become one of William Thatcher’s women.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Of all the ways Gray expected to be spending his first truly sunny Saturday in Seattle, it wasn’t at a company picnic.
A picnic that he was supposedly hosting.
With the help of his assistant.
Who was supposedly just his friend.
And yet here he was on a gorgeous late-May afternoon, surrounded by balloon bouquets, blow-up obstacle courses, beanbag tosses, and the spouses and children of his employees.
It should have been a disaster.
