Chapter Three

Stacey blinked and followed Grant’s gaze. Oh, shit. Her dildo. She was hanging onto her dildo like a club. Of all the hard objects she possessed within grabbing distance, she’d grabbed her dildo off her nightstand.

Her whole body flushed and she yanked her hand behind her back. “Nothing.” She shook her head, willing it to be so. “It’s nothing.”

His gaze narrowed. “Then why are you turning red?”

“Don’t try to change the subject.” She cleared her throat, hoping to heaven some of the mortification would go along with it. “I’m really mad at you. How’d you get in here?”

“I’ve had a key for, like, five years, remember?”

Oh, shit. That’s right. She gave herself a mental shake. “I mean, why the hell are you changing the lock?”

That’s it. Keep the topic focused on him and away from the fact she’d had to use her toy just to get to sleep last night.

But he wasn’t having any of it. “Did I interrupt something? You want me to leave?”

She heard the words, but she also heard the lust behind them, saw the way he’d stepped toward her, felt the heat from his body, and saw the deeper question in his eyes.

She shook her head. “No.”

“You want me to stay?”

Shit. How did she answer that? “Yes. No.” Both sounded like great options, and for the same reason. She shook her head, felt another spike of heat to her face. Too bad she couldn’t melt into the floor.

Grant slowly dragged his gaze down her body and back up again, the movement slow, sensual, the air between them crackling with an invisible, electric charge. Her nipples tightened, and the sensitive spot between her legs begged to be touched. His face twisted into a half smile. “Which is it, Stace?”

Damn it. She was a smart, resourceful woman who at the moment was having trouble articulating a thought. She heaved in a deep breath. “I meant you’re not interrupting anything.”

“That’s too bad.” His gaze flickered to her mouth.

The haze thickened between them, wrapped around her and tugged. If he knew she’d had her toy out last night thanks to him, that he was the one who’d consumed her thoughts…

“Look, just answer the question, please. What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Interfering in my life?”

“Protecting you.” He stepped back as if he, too, had come to his senses. “Have you forgotten that your boyfriend Cleo’s still out there, and he has your key?”

“His name is Leo. And he’s no longer my boyfriend.” Strangely, that fact didn’t seem to bother her half as much as she’d expected it to. Aside from the shock last night, it didn’t bother her at all.

“He’s not?”

“No.”

She shifted from one foot to the other, now acutely aware that she hadn’t bothered to throw a robe over her PJs. Proper attire seemed to be the last thing she’d needed to worry about when she’d thought she was about to be murdered, not that she’d ever thought twice about anything she’d worn in front of Grant before. “And much as I hate to admit it, you were right. Thanks to you, he’s history.”

“Glad you see it that way. For all I knew, the guy was stalking you.”

“When I gave him a key? Not that you didn’t do the right thing, but what planet are you from anyway, throwing him out? And if you hadn’t thrown him out, we wouldn’t have…” Stacey licked her lips, last night’s play-by-play still fresh on her brain.

“We wouldn’t have kissed,” he finished, tapping the screwdriver he held against the palm of his hand. “Nothing we can do to change that now.” His blue eyes latched onto hers, the look a sensual mix of lust and confusion.

She shivered at the intensity.

So. That kiss was on his brain as much as it was on hers. Still, it meant nothing. Nothing good, anyway.

He broke their gaze, broke the invisible pull between them, and squatted, exchanging the screwdriver for the instructions that came with the new doorknob.

Wow. She should beat a hasty retreat to her bedroom and stay firmly locked in there until he finished. Instead, she did what she’d always done around him while he worked: sat cross-legged somewhere nearby and watched, only this time she surreptitiously set the dildo on the floor behind her. She needed to make sure to give it an extra-thorough cleaning.

She’d never really noticed before, but he had nice hands, and he seemed to know exactly how to touch her, hold her to him, make her believe for one small moment that she was about to step into her happily ever after…

Stacey gave herself a mental shake. Damn. What the hell was wrong with her?

“Look,” he said, staring at the instruction sheet. “About that kiss… Let’s just forget it ever happened, okay?”

He wanted to forget that kiss? The same one that made her want to, even now, throw herself at him? She breathed out a soft sigh. Did she have a choice? Not unless she wanted to make a fool of herself. “Sure,” she finally said, waving one hand dismissively. “Whatever.”

“Here.” Grant reached for the paper bag beside him. “I brought you a present.”

And just like that they’d morphed back to their easygoing style. Really, it was better this way. A whole lot less complicated, anyhow.

She took the bag from him. “You came by last night to give me a present?”

“No. I came to unload.” He turned his attention back to the partially opened doorway. “Remind me not to go out with anyone Stephan sets me up with again. What a disaster.”

Stephan Porter was one of Grant’s partners at Mile High Desert Distillery. But it wasn’t Stephan’s good looks or playboy charm that captured her attention. Grant had been out on a date last night and it hadn’t gone well. Wasn’t that just too bad?

Not.

She swatted away the twinge of jealousy. “What happened?”

“The usual thing that’s wrong with most women: she couldn’t stop trying to sell herself instead of just kicking back and relaxing. We were on our first date, for God’s sake, and she was practically picking out matching towels.”

Stacey handed him the screwdriver at the same time he reached for it. Their fingers brushed, and every ounce of awareness in her shot straight to the surface. She held her breath, traces of electrical charges racing through her, the feeling so foreign, so exquisite, she was almost sure she’d imagined it.

He swallowed and looked away. “Open the bag.”

The bag. Right. She peered into it. “Pepper spray?”

“Yeah. I figured since you have an aversion to learning how to handle a gun, this was the next best thing.”

A soft warmth filled her and she smiled. It’d be just like Grant to think about pepper spray. “Good idea, but what made you think I needed four of these?”

“One at work, one on your bike, one in your purse, and one in your bedroom.” He frowned. “Maybe I should’ve gotten one for the living room, too.”

She whistled. “Pretty thorough, there, Grant.” Come to think of it, he was pretty thorough with most things in his life, which probably meant he was pretty thorough in bed, too.

Easy there, Stace.

She needed to get a grip before things got way out of hand and she did something really stupid. Like fall for her best friend.

…

Goddamn, she looks hot as fuck.

Trying to distract himself by giving her the pepper spray hadn’t worked. Nor had focusing on the doorknob like it would explode if he tightened the screws wrong. No matter what he did, Grant couldn’t stop illicit thoughts from swirling through his brain. And he sure as hell wished she’d quit staring up at him as she sat cross-legged on the floor. It was bad enough her shorts showed creamy white thighs, but it was what they hid that had his insides in a twist. In this moment, he could honestly admit she was fucking killing him.

“Just remember to keep one with you.”

She pulled a pepper spray out and peeled the plastic wrapper off. “Feels easy enough to handle.”

Her fingers wrapped around the cylinder in a way that fed Grant’s imagination. Coupled with her position on the floor, looking up at him, even the innocent statement had his dick interested. He swallowed, visions of Stacey on her knees in front of him, her mouth working his—

Fuck.

Keep your brain in gear, buddy.

“Good.” He looked away. “That’s good.”

She crooked up an eyebrow, her expression so adorable he wanted to gather her in his arms, relearn the feel of her on him.

Double fuck.

Her gaze landed somewhere behind him. “You do realize it’ll cost me a fortune if you change the locks, right? And since I can’t afford it, I suggest you change it back.”

“Don’t worry. I cleared it with the apartment manager.” It helped that the two of them were pretty good friends, but Grant still had to pay a hefty fine for violating her rental agreement, and he owed the guy a couple bottles of bourbon. But she didn’t need to know that.

“You cleared it with him at seven a.m.?”

“Last night.”

A corner of her mouth quirked. “That’s got to be the most planning I’ve seen you do in, oh, I don’t know…ever.”

He scowled. “Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf.”

“No need to get so touchy.”

Touchy? When had he ever been touchy? He’d learned to roll with life from a pretty young age, so he’d allowed very little to affect him. He wasn’t touchy, was he?

He adjusted the knob. The sooner he finished this, the sooner he could blow this place and maybe then he could concentrate on getting his head screwed on straight.

“Grant?”

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you call before you came over last night?”

“I’ve never had to before, why would I last night?”

“Good point.”

“It’s the only kind I make.”

She lifted an eyebrow and her gaze narrowed slightly. “So how come you didn’t clean up the rose petals before you crawled into my bed?”

“How was I supposed to clean them up? I couldn’t run the vacuum in the middle of the night, your neighbors would’ve been pounding on the door. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to pick them up by hand.” It was a damned stupid thing to do, throwing rose petals on the floor.

Stacey tilted her head to one side. “And Ariana Grande? Why was her music on?”

“Look, I’ve had a long week and picked a random playlist because I was too tired to put a movie on. I figured I’d lie down for a bit, but didn’t expect to fall asleep.” But he had fallen asleep, and then Stacey kissed him awake. Kind of like Sleeping Beauty in reverse.

He paused, holding the screwdriver midair. Sleeping Beauty? What the—

Grant hadn’t thought of that particular Disney character since he and Stacey were eight and she first dressed up as Sleeping Beauty for Halloween. While he’d refused to go as a Disney prince, her costume had been part of their Halloween tradition for three straight years.

Fuck, he needed to get over it already.

“You free to come to the mayor’s brunch with me this Saturday? I’m on official distillery business,” he said, latching the last screw in place and securing it.

“This Saturday? But that’s your birthday.”

“I’m aware of that.” He’d realized the two coincided a few days ago, and had to squash the tide of emotion that had been on the verge of letting loose since.

Her tone softened. “You don’t have to read the letter this year, you know.”

“That’s an option.” He shrugged. “Who knows what I’ll do.”

But he did know. As with past birthdays, he’d pull the sheet of lined notebook paper he’d kept all these years from its envelope, smooth out the wrinkles, then read it. Every word. As if he hadn’t committed the entire thing to memory and could recite it in his sleep.

Stacey scooted across the floor and put a hand on his arm. “Hey. Your mother loves you, Grant. She did the best she could. She told you so in that letter.”

Right. As if the letter that’d been written by his mother when he was eight, then handed to him on his sixteenth birthday by Edward and Miriam Wilson, his last set of foster parents, was supposed to have been enough. Like it was all she needed to do to justify her actions.

“I don’t see how lying to an eight-year-old boy, then leaving him in a park with a social worker to be raised in the foster care system shows a mother’s love,” he gritted out. “Especially when she chose to keep her other son.”

“Fair enough,” Stacey said, scooting back to her original spot.

He rummaged through the bag of supplies he’d brought with him and tried to shove his past back into the old envelope where it belonged.

As a child, he’d been forced to live in the moment, to accept the curve balls thrown his way and that the future had no certainty. Life had made that abundantly clear. Stacey knew this. Which was why she was smart enough to change the subject.

“So how come you’re going to the brunch on your birthday?” she asked. “That’s not your thing.”

“I know.” As much as he disliked the idea of shaking hands and smiling at people he didn’t really care about, it also meant that he didn’t have to put a dime into the distillery to own a part of it. “But it’s part of the job now.” He glanced in her direction. “So, you coming or not?”

“You could’ve just texted me the invitation.”

“I didn’t decide until last night. Why text when I knew I’d be here?”

“Oh, right, when you realized you were on a date with a she-devil.” She grinned. “Poor Grant needs li’l ol’ me to protect him from big, bad, predatory women.”

“No, I just wanted to…talk about it,” he grumbled. “So will you come or not?”

“Maybe.”

He blew out a breath. She hated these things just as much as he did, both of them preferring to be outdoors communing with nature. But there was something in this for her, too. Dinners for Two needed exposure if she was going to make the business really work, and a good portion of the guests that day were her target market. “There’ll be a chance to network…”

She sat up straighter, her eyes taking on the excited gleam that never failed to excite him. “Well, I have big plans for my business, and meeting new people would definitely help. Of course, that’s just the bonus for helping you out…”

Grant chuckled. Yeah, he had her. He just wished she’d let him return the favor. “I still don’t get why you think you have to build up your company on your own.” He had some extra money, mainly because he didn’t need much, which was exactly the way he liked to live his life. “Let me help you.”

“Please.” She waved him off. “That’s cheating and you know it.”

He eyed her from the top of her tousled brown hair to her purple and pink painted toenails. Amazing how she could morph from girl-next-door cute to sexy as fuck. He beat the thought back. “Look, we’re friends. Friends take care of each other. What’s so wrong with that?”

“Nothing. But you know I can’t take it. All four of my sisters made it without anyone’s help. Why should I be any different?”

She had a ton of determination, he’d give her that. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“You know something?” she said, tilting her head to one side. “It’s so hard to stay pissed at you.”

“You can’t help it. I’m adorable.” He grinned and attached a screw. “You also know I’m right.”

She gave him a long-suffering sigh. “Why aren’t you taking the woman you were out with a couple of weeks ago? What was her name? Lucy?”

“Jill.”

She frowned. “Which one was Lucy?”

“She’s long gone. And, yeah, no way am I taking Jill with me. As soon as she found out I was a part owner at the distillery, she was practically planning our wedding.” He grimaced. That would never happen.

Not that women wanted to hear stuff like that, which was why he tended to keep his relationships brief. In the end, this worked out best for everyone.

“Right. Commitment issues.”

This was what he liked most about Stacey. She never judged, and simply accepted him for who he was. The way he figured it, Stacey and his foster brother Aidan were the only people who knew everything about him and still stuck by his side, and even then, Aidan kind of had to stick around. Stacey didn’t have any familial obligation to him, and yet she hadn’t walked away like everyone else he’d stupidly let into his life.

“So are you coming or not? There’s bound to be some eligible bachelors there, too. You know, since Cleo wasn’t ‘the one.’”

He said the words but a part of him protested at the thought. What a dumb-ass. Stacey deserved her shot at finding her idea of Mr. Perfect, so if that guy was at this shindig, then she should have at him.

Because as much as he wanted to kiss Stacey again to see if he’d dreamed up the chemistry between them, losing her wasn’t worth it.