Dating the Rebel

by Lisa Childs

  He was going to make her as damn aware of him as he was of her. He was going to make her want him, too.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MIRANDA HAD BEEN so busy wondering if Grant was going to try to kill her that she hadn’t bothered asking him where he was taking her. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d bailed out of the plane over the water. Instead he’d landed it—it had seemed nearly on the water, but it had actually been on the island of Ibiza.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d bring her to a place known for partying. But with her head already beginning to pound, she wasn’t enjoying the volume of the dance music blaring out of the speakers in the crowded nightclub. She also felt overdressed in comparison to all the bikini-clad dancers. Not that she felt like stripping down to a bikini...

  Not with the way Grant kept looking at her, as if he was already undressing her. Heat rushed through her—from his sexy stare and from the humidity in the club crowded with sweaty bodies.

  The dampness in the air molded Grant’s shirt to his muscular chest; he’d discarded his jacket somewhere earlier and rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. Miranda wasn’t able to take off anything but her shoes, and with the way people were gyrating around, she worried that she’d lose a toe if she did that.

  She groaned at how much her thoughts reminded her of Regina. Judgy and old beyond her years. That wasn’t her. Or was it?

  She had changed. She wasn’t the fun-loving Miranda she’d once been.

  “What’s the matter?” Grant asked. Despite the loudness of the music, she could hear his deep voice.

  He wouldn’t be able to hear her, so she forced a smile and shook her head. For so long she’d secretly wanted to go out with him. But while he hadn’t ditched her to play poker in a janitor’s closet, this wasn’t the date she’d imagined.

  Hell, she hadn’t imagined a date at all. She’d imagined kissing and more...even when she’d been too young to truly understand just how enjoyable more could be.

  “Don’t you want to dance?” he asked.

  The kind of dance that sprang to her mind wasn’t done in a crowded club but between the tangled sheets of a soft bed. With nothing but sweaty skin sliding over sweaty skin...

  She cleared her throat, trying to clear the desire from it. But Grant must have thought she’d said something because he leaned close. Too close...

  His hair brushed across her cheek, and the softness of it sent a shiver rippling through her despite the heat. She was so damn aware of him already, but with him so close, the scent of him filling her senses...

  He smelled like what she and Blair used to call boy—that curious mixture of rain-scented soap and musk. But she couldn’t call that smell boy anymore. Not in relation to Grant, anyway. He was all man.

  And all too tempting.

  She’d been so busy with the business that she hadn’t been out with anyone in a long time. Too long...

  So maybe she needed to push the business from her mind and focus on something else. Or someone else...

  But focusing on Grant was dangerous. So she pushed past him instead to head toward the dance floor. Ignoring the pounding in her head and the vibration of the speakers inside her body, she began to move to that frantic beat.

  She hadn’t lost Grant. He’d followed her onto the floor, and he stuck close to her on it, his body moving in rhythm with hers. Because the floor was so crowded, they had to dance close, their bodies bumping into and brushing against each other. Her pulse quickened and her breathing grew shallower with every touch.

  Despite all the bikini-clad women around them, Grant’s gaze never left her. A thrill rushed through her that he seemed as attracted to her as she was him.

  But was it all an act?

  Part of whatever he was up to?

  It had to be, because he’d never looked at her like this before, like he wanted her. And if he kept looking at her that way, she wasn’t sure what she would do.

  But she knew what she wanted to do...pull his head down to hers and kiss him—deeply, passionately. She wanted to press her body against the long, hard length of his. She wanted to...

  Desperate to escape him before she made a fool of herself, she stepped back into the crush of dancers behind her—using the other bodies to shield hers from his. And she disappeared into the crowd.

  But she knew they were on an island, so she wouldn’t be able to escape him for long. And even if she could, she wouldn’t want to, because he was her ride back home.

  No. All she needed was a few moments to collect herself, to breathe...without him filling her senses and making her lose her common sense.

  * * *

  She’d ditched him.

  That was a new experience for Grant.

  Was she giving him payback on behalf of his long-ago prom date? He hadn’t really ditched his date, though. He’d only abandoned her for a little while until he’d taken all the money off the chaperones.

  And since that night...

  Well, he’d had to abandon a few other dates, but that hadn’t been his fault. He’d been called out on time-sensitive missions those times. If he’d taken the time to explain, lives might have been lost, including his own.

  He doubted Miranda had ditched him for a mission. But why had she?

  And where the hell had she gone?

  Her passport was on his plane, so she wouldn’t be able to leave Ibiza without him. So she couldn’t have gone far if she ever wanted to go home.

  But she wasn’t in the ladies’ room; he’d already asked a waitress to check for him. Not that he was entirely sure she’d told him the truth, since she’d seemed more interested in becoming his date than in finding the one he already had.

  The waitress was too young and too eager to please to interest him. He wanted more of a challenge—like Miranda.

  Sick of the noise and the heat of the club, he stepped outside. A faint breeze blew in across the water, drawing him toward the beach that was just yards from the club. Night had fallen while they’d been inside, but the moon was high and bright, illuminating the sand and the woman who stood barefoot on it, her sandals dangling from her fingers. That breeze played in her pale hair, tossing the tresses around her shoulders while it plastered her dress against her body, leaving nothing to his imagination.

  But what he would do with her...

  That he kept imagining, over and over again, how he would touch her, taste her, please her...

  “Couldn’t find a janitor’s closet?” he asked as he joined her.

  She turned to him, her lips curving into a slight smile. “I wasn’t looking for a game, Grant.”

  And she was so damn smart that she knew that was what he was doing: playing with her. That was what he’d wanted to do...tease her until she wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

  And then he would get her to promise to leave Blair and Teo alone...

  Blair.

  His sister was his reason for being here, but he’d had to remind himself. For a while, watching Miranda move so sexily on the dance floor, he’d forgotten why the hell he’d sought her out to begin with. He’d forgotten his own damn name. Everything but her...

  Then she’d disappeared on him, and he’d felt a twinge of panic. That wasn’t something he often allowed himself to feel. Panic was too debilitating. A distraction he couldn’t afford. Like her...

  She was a distraction he couldn’t afford. But for his sister’s sake, he couldn’t abandon this mission. He had to persevere despite the risk.

  “What are you looking for?” he asked.

  She held up her face to that slight breeze and emitted a soft sigh. “Some fresh air and peace and quiet.”

  He could relate. The music pounded inside his head still, the beat of it making his body throb. No. That wasn’t the beat; it was his attraction to her that made his body throb, his p
ulse pound, his heart race.

  “I thought you would like the music,” he said.

  She arched a blond brow. “Really? Why?”

  “You always dragged Blair to concerts with you,” he reminded her and himself, “even skipping school to stake out hotels where the band might have been staying.” He hadn’t been happy about his sister skipping school. His parents hadn’t really cared, though. He was the only one who’d cared about the trouble Miranda had gotten her into.

  She chuckled. “That was a long time ago. I don’t stake out hotels anymore.”

  She wouldn’t have to...not with the way she looked now. All she had to do was bat those long, thick lashes and she could have any man she wanted—no matter how rich and famous.

  Why hadn’t she kept Matteo Rinaldi for herself?

  Was she as determined as she used to be to remain single?

  “Do you want to join me in my hotel?” he asked and braced himself for her to slap him. But before she could, he hastened to explain, “I could get you that big glass of wine you wanted earlier and something to eat.”

  Her silvery-blue eyes had narrowed as she stared at him. “You booked a hotel room for the night?”

  No. He didn’t have to since he owned the damn hotel. He didn’t bother explaining that, though. And she didn’t give him time.

  “You said that I didn’t need a suitcase. That this was just going to be a short trip,” she said, her voice sharp and accusatory. “You lied to me!”

  “I didn’t lie.” About the short trip. It hadn’t taken him long to fly them from Nice to Ibiza. “You don’t need a suitcase.”

  She raised her hand then, and he flinched in expectation of her slap. But instead she just patted his beard and chuckled. “You haven’t changed a bit, Grant Snyder,” she murmured. “You’re still as much trouble as you ever were...”

  “Me?” he asked, as if he was totally shocked. “You’re calling me trouble?”

  “You know you are,” she said. But she didn’t sound accusatory anymore. Instead her voice had a lilt of amusement to it.

  “Hey, you’re the one with the dirty mind,” he said. “I was just saying that you don’t need a suitcase to share some wine and a meal with me—”

  “At a hotel.”

  “There are restaurants in hotels, you know.” His had a damn good one. Room service was even better... But he wasn’t going to let her know what he really wanted: her.

  So he shook his head, and her hand slid away from his face—regrettably. He had liked the feeling of her palm running lightly across his beard. “You have such a one-track mind, Miranda Fox.”

  She stepped back on the sand, and the moonlight illuminated her beautiful face and the sparkle in her eyes. “So that’s all you’re offering? Just a glass of wine and a meal in the hotel restaurant?”

  “Of course I am,” he said. “I’m a gentleman, Miranda.”

  She let out a weary-sounding sigh and murmured, “Well, that’s too bad.” Then she turned away as if to head back toward the nightclub.

  His heart slammed against his ribs with shock. But it took him only a moment to process that and to react to her teasing challenge. Then he caught her shoulders in his hands and gently whirled her around before he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his.

  He’d meant to surprise her, but the contact between their lips jolted him as if a spark had arced between them. Once again he braced himself for her to slap him, but her hands only skimmed briefly across his face, over his beard, before linking over the nape of his neck. She held his head down while she kissed him back.

  Her lips were as silky as he’d imagined they would be and tasted slightly of strawberries and champagne—maybe from that shimmery gloss she wore. He nibbled lightly on them, teasing her to open her mouth and let him in...

  But Miranda, being Miranda, bit back, her teeth just grazing his lips.

  He chuckled as his pulse leaped with passion. And when he chuckled, she slid her little wet tongue into his mouth. Then he groaned with a desire so intense, his knees got a little shaky. Maybe that was just from standing on the sand, though, and having to lean so far over because she was so short.

  It couldn’t be that Miranda Fox was so damn passionate she was about to bring him to his knees. He’d intended to make her beg for him, to get her so worked up that she would be willing to do whatever he asked.

  But he was the one with the plea burning the back of his throat. Make love with me...

  CHAPTER SIX

  WHAT THE HELL was she doing?

  Grant Snyder. That was what she was doing—or rather, whom. That kiss on the beach had just been the start of this, of a quick trip to his hotel with his hand sliding over her thigh as they rode in the back of a limo. Then a fast ride up in the elevator, their bodies brushing against each other’s with the upward motion. If they had been alone...

  But there had been other guests.

  So it had continued with nearly a trot down the hall to open the door of a seaside suite that looked out onto the starry sky and the water reflecting it. She stood at the windows, staring at that view—not just the view outside but at Grant’s image reflected in the glass.

  He was so damn good-looking, his skin such a golden tan against that white shirt he wore. She wanted it off him, wanted nothing between them.

  But he’d no more closed the door than there had been a knock at it. He’d opened it to a room service trolley. A bill passed from his hand to the waiter’s. “Thank you, Mr. Snyder,” the young man gratefully replied. “Let us know if there’s anything else you need.”

  “I have everything I need,” Grant assured him as the waiter stepped into the hall and he closed the door on him. Then he turned back toward her. “Unless you’ve changed your mind...”

  She should have. She’d had sufficient time to come to her senses, but she didn’t want to. Not yet. She was tired of being good, of being so responsible for so long...as she’d been these many months since she’d bought the business from her mother. She needed a break from those responsibilities.

  From reality.

  She would pretend that this was just a dream—one of the many, many fantasies she’d had about Grant Snyder all those years ago. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath, and when she opened her eyes again, he was standing behind her. His hands hovered over her shoulders, but he didn’t touch her yet...as if he didn’t dare.

  She’d actively participated when he’d kissed her on the beach. But maybe he wanted her to make the first move now so that he knew she was sure.

  She was more than consenting; she was eager.

  She turned toward him and lifted her hands to his chest. He tensed as if he expected her to push him away. But instead she reached for the buttons on his shirt, tugging them through the holes until his shirt parted, exposing sculpted muscles with a light dusting of golden hair.

  He had to work out all the time to look that damn good. And he looked so damn good that she couldn’t wait to work him out. She leaned forward and skimmed her lips across his chest.

  His heart leaped beneath her touch, and he audibly sucked in a breath. “Damn, Miranda...”

  “Have you changed your mind?” she asked him, but her lips curved into a smile as she slid her hand down to where his erection strained the fly of his dress pants.

  He groaned. “You’re such a tease.”

  “Oh, I’m not teasing,” she assured him. She wanted him too badly to back out now. But she stepped back and then she turned around.

  “You’re not?” he asked, his voice gruff with passion.

  “No. I’m getting impatient.”

  He chuckled. “So you’re turning your back on me?”

  “I’m waiting for you to unzip me.” She could have reached it herself, but it was more fun this way...to have his fingers gliding down her bare spine as he lowe
red the zipper. He was so damn good that he unclasped her bra at the same time. The dress pooled around her waist—until she shimmied her hips and it dropped to the floor. She stepped out of it and her shoes before turning back around to him. Then she lowered the unhooked bra until she stood before him wearing only her thong.

  “Damn, Miranda,” he said again, but his voice sounded as if he was strangling.

  Maybe desire was choking him like it was her. Just his fingertips on her bare back had her nipples tight and pointed toward him. If he touched her anywhere else...

  And then he did, with just one fingertip.

  He slid it under her chin and tipped it up. Ignoring her naked body, he stared deeply into her eyes and asked, “Are you sure?”

  Warmth moved through her, through her heart, and a smile curved her lips. Maybe Grant Snyder was not the rogue she’d always thought he was. When she was younger, that might have disappointed her. But now she was impressed.

  “Very sure,” she replied. She’d wanted him too long to not take him when she had the chance. And to prove how sure she was, she unclasped his belt and pulled it free of his pants. Then she reached for his zipper, and as she pulled it down, she stroked her fingers over his hard erection.

  He groaned.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Are you sure?” She pushed down his boxers along with his pants, freeing his cock. It was long and thick and nearly pulsating with the same need that throbbed inside her.

  His jaw taut, he shook his head.

  And she pulled her hands away, holding them palms up. “You’re not?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’re the one who’s trouble,” he murmured. “And I’m probably going to regret this later...”

  She smiled. “But now?”

  “Now I would regret it more if you weren’t here and if I wasn’t about to bury my cock deep inside you.”

  A moan slipped out of her lips now. He would fill her up, he was that big. But she wasn’t intimidated. She was excited—so damn excited—that she could already feeling the wetness dampening her panties.