Rumor Has It
Page 5
He cocked a brow. “You want us to drink the wine just so you can throw away the bottle?”
Okay, her seduction technique needed work. “Not throw away. It’s recyclable.” And then—big surprise—her brain ran away with her mouth. “But if I did throw it away, it’d take about a million years to decompose.” God, she was such a geek. She quickly poured them each a glass and drank to stop herself from talking anymore.
He watched her over his glass. “You okay?”
“Never better.”
“How’s your ass?”
She choked, then had to swipe her mouth with the back of her hand. Sexy. “Um, what?”
“From when you fell,” he said.
“Oh, that.” She had a bruise the size of Texas. “It’s nothing.”
Clearly seeing right through her, he smiled. It was the dangerous smile of a man who could make promises by saying nothing at all, and butterflies fluttered low in her belly. “So how are you?” she asked, desperate for a subject change, one that didn’t involve a science fact or her ass. “You having fun?”
“Depends on your definition of fun.”
Well, she knew what her definition of fun was, but she wondered about his. In the past his fun had involved fast horses, fast all-terrain vehicles, fast cars, fast women, fast anything. She looked down at her glass. “How did this get empty?”
He took the bottle from her fingers, steadied her glass hand with his, and poured her a refill.
“I probably don’t need that,” she said.
“It’s a right of passage to get drunk at your BFF’s bachelorette party,” he said. “In fact, you’re supposed to have some dramatic moment where you make it all about you. Like life’s moving on without you. Everyone’s getting married and you’re not. That sort of thing. I suggest getting drunk and sleeping with one of the groomsmen. It’s practically expected.”
She just stared at him, trying to focus past the way he looked in that shirt, which molded to all his hotness. “You think that’s what this is?” she asked. “You think I’m jealous of Holly?”
“Are you?”
“No. I love Holly and Adam.”
“Good.” He toasted her. “Then skip the guilt portion of the evening and move right on to the next portion. You’re already drunk . . .”
Actually, that was the funny thing. She wasn’t. Relaxed, yes. Drunk, no. But ready to get that something for herself. Setting her glass down, she stepped into him before she lost her courage. “You’re a groomsman, right?”
For the first time some of his easy charm slipped. “Uh—”
She slid her hands up his chest and sighed at the feel of his hard-muscled body so close. And he was warm, too, almost hot to the touch.
“Katie—”
“Kate,” she reminded him, and went up on tiptoes, for the first time all night thankful for the ridiculously high-heeled boots that had cost her way too much money, because she was now tall enough to press her face to his throat, and oh, sweet baby Jesus, he smelled good. She inhaled deeply.
His hands went to her h*ps as he let out a breath that warmed her temple. “What are you doing?”
Possibly drooling on you . . . “If you don’t know,” she said, “then I’m way more out of practice than I thought.”
He swore, and she took some gratification in the fact that his voice sounded husky and his hands tightened on her instead of pulling back. Her mouth was still pressed to his throat, which was deliciously rough with at least a day’s growth, and when she breathed him in, he exhaled slow and long, so indelibly male. She blamed the sexy sound for what she did next.
She licked him.
He jerked as if she’d taken a bite out of him, and he backed away so fast that he bumped up against the tall bookshelf behind him. “What the hell was that?” he demanded.
“My tongue?”
The look on his face was sheer horror, and she went from pleasantly buzzed to feeling very unsure of herself. And nervous. “The tongue’s the sole muscle in your body that’s attached at only one end.”
“Kate,” he said with a single shake of his head.
Oh God. She knew that soft, don’t-upset-the-crazy-person tone. Humiliated, she covered her face. “You said to seduce you!”
“No, I didn’t.”
She dropped her hands from her face. “Yes, you did. You said it was perfectly acceptable for me to seduce a groomsman. Well, here I am, trying to seduce a groomsman. You.”
“I didn’t mean me!”
“What’s wrong with it being you? We’re two consenting adults.” One of whom was wearing her best panties, too.
“I’m not consenting,” he said.
This stopped her in her tracks. “Why not?”
“Why not?” He appeared at a bit of a loss here, which didn’t help her ego any.
“Yes, why won’t you sleep with me?” Stepping into him again, she poked him in the chest with a finger. “What’s so wrong with me that you won’t?”
He stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “For one thing, you’re drunk.”
She was stone-cold sober now, but she cocked her head. “That’s never stopped you with other women.”
“Don’t judge me by my past.” But he blew out a breath as he set her away from him and pushed off the bookshelves to prowl the room. “Look, I might be an asshole, but not that big of one.”
“And the second thing?”
He turned to face her. “You’re Holly’s best friend. You’re . . . sweet.”
Oh no, he did not just say that. “Sweet,” she repeated. “You have no idea how tired I am of that word.”
“Well you are sweet. Sweet, warm . . . kind.”
She drew in a deep breath for calm, which—for the record—didn’t help. “You think I’m sweet and warm and kind.” She paused. “You realize you’ve just described a puppy.”
His gaze dipped to her low-cut lace top. “You’re not a damn puppy, Kate.”
“No kidding!” In spite of his heated look, she was really starting to feel insulted now. “And just so you know, I’m not all that sweet either!”
He didn’t look convinced.
“I’m not!”
“Tell me one not-sweet thing about you,” he said.
“Well . . .” She searched her brain, but for once it was quiet. Then she remembered. “I’m wearing a leopard-print demi-bra.” There. Take that.
He stared at her, and then his gaze lowered to her shirt again. Her ni**les promptly hardened. The traitors. “And,” she said with great attitude, “my panties match.” Not that he was going to see them. Ever. “And they’re those cheeky cut ones, too.”
He groaned. “Killing me,” he muttered, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes before dropping them. “We’re not going to talk about sex.”
“You’re right. We’re talking about my undies. And whether or not I’m sweet. Which, FYI, I’m not.” She wanted him to feel some of what she was feeling. She wanted him to ache like she did. Even for a moment. So before she lost her nerve, she gripped his shirt in her fists and kissed him. It had made all sorts of sense in her head, but for one single, horrible beat he didn’t move. Kate went utterly blank, forgetting how to kiss, but then he let out a very rough, very male sound and took over, fitting his mouth to hers. This caused a wave of desire so strong her knees wobbled, but he caught her up in his arms.
He tasted like wine. He tasted like her secret hopes and dreams. He tasted like the very best thing that had happened to her all week.
All damn month.
Because Griffin knew how to kiss. He was the master of all kissers, and when he started to pull back, she tightened her grip on him in protest.
But he wasn’t going anywhere. Instead he spread hot kisses along her jaw and throat, and then he opened his mouth on her heated skin. Her toes curled in response. Clearly it had been way too long since she’d had a social orgasm. Locking her wobbling knees, she tried to live in the moment, tried to soak it all in for the deep dark of the night when she was alone again.
Treading water . . .
He whispered her name, a soft, sexy “Kate.” And then his mouth was back on hers.
Trembling with need now, she pushed closer, responding to the raw kiss and wanting so much more. When he broke the connection, it took her a moment, but eventually she realized she was leaning on him and that he was fully supporting her. Her only salvation—he was breathing as raggedly as she was.
“You have to admit,” she said. “That wasn’t sweet.”
He manacled her roaming hands by clamping hard fingers over her wrists. “Kate,” he said, voice low and rough with command.
She had no idea why that revved her engine, but it did, and she rubbed her body against his.
Sucking in a harsh breath, he firmly set her away from him, holding her there. His gaze was glued to her mouth. “Christ.” He lowered his head and drew in a deep breath.
The hunger was palpable in the room. His. Hers. When he finally opened his eyes again, he looked at her as if he’d never seen her before. His baseball cap was low, covering his expression. Needing to see his eyes, she tried to dislodge it and then found herself pinned to the wall by 180 pounds of muscle.
“Don’t,” he said.
She stared up at him. “You’re not as much fun as I imagined you would be. Which shouldn’t surprise me. I have a hard time finding the fun.”
He laughed harshly, shook his head, and then, without another word, turned and walked from the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
Stunned, and not quite knowing what exactly had just happened, Kate gave into her wobbling knees and slid down the wall to sit.
She’d kissed him to prove a point, but hell if she could remember what that point was. And somehow in the process she’d been rejected because . . . why exactly? She’d proven she wasn’t all that sweet, so it had to be something else. In horror she put a hand in front of her face and checked her breath. Whew. She didn’t stink. Oh God, did she kiss badly? No, Ryan would have told her that much.
Whatever the reason, she needed to get over it, stat. She also needed to find her smile and get back to the party, because she was taking this rejection all the way to her grave.
Five
The next morning Kate made her daily stop at her dad’s, where it was a wash and repeat of every other morning. Ashley couldn’t find her own stuff; Tommy was dressed like . . . “Who are you?” Kate asked him, not sure what the glowing circle on his chest meant.
“Tony Stark,” he said, nose in a book.
Channing Tatum scratched at the back door and then came in carrying a still-alive field mouse, which had everyone running around and screaming for a few minutes until said field mouse was caught and exported back outside.
Finally, Kate rushed everyone out the door and slid into Ryan’s waiting car, handing him a coffee. “I didn’t doctor it up,” she warned.
“Why?”
“Because you’re mean.”
“What? I am not.”
She looked at him. “No? So if I said I needed you to be my date to tonight’s wedding rehearsal, you’d say . . . ?”
“Hell no.”
“And that’s why you’re drinking black coffee.”
“Fair enough,” he said, and drank his black coffee without further complaint. “Thirteen days, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” Thirteen days left to accept at UCSD. She had her acceptance typed up in her e-mail. All she had to do was take it out of the draft folder and hit Send.
But she hadn’t.
Because how could she? How could she walk away from her dad for a year? What if he needed her? What if Tommy or Ashley needed her? And her job. Ryan had promised to hold it for her, but he couldn’t really guarantee that. It was up to the school district . . .
They drove in silence. Ryan was in his zone, and so was Tommy.
Not Kate. Unless you counted reliving kissing Griffin Reid. Because actually, that had been a hell of a zone . . .
* * *
Grif woke up the next morning drenched in sweat, heart pounding out of his chest, and with absolutely no idea where he was. Afghanistan? Germany? Sitting straight up, he took in the room with one glance before sagging back. He was stateside, in Sunshine, at his father’s house.
Shoving his fingers through his hair, he let out a long breath. His phone was vibrating across the nightstand, the number unfamiliar though he recognized the DC area code. “Reid,” he answered.
“You got your head on straight yet?”
Joe Rodriguez. They’d served together before Joe had gotten out and gone to work for the ATF. “My head’s straight,” Grif said. “It’s the rest of the world that’s sideways.”
Joe laughed. “Ain’t that the truth. Heard you’re not going back to Crazy-stan.”
Grif knew soldiers whose entire life was caught up in their military career, guys for whom an injury like he’d sustained would have not just been physical.
Grif wasn’t one of them. Yes, he’d have stayed in the military if he hadn’t been hurt. But he had been, and he wasn’t one to look back with a lot of regrets. “I’m done with all the ’Stans,” he confirmed.
“Got something for you then. A job. You interested?”
“Where?”
“In the good ol’ US of A, man,” Joe said. “The land of free Wi-Fi, Thai takeout, and Fantasy Football. There’re a few things uniquely suited to you and your skills here on the East Coast, and a few other places, too. Up to you.”
Okay, her seduction technique needed work. “Not throw away. It’s recyclable.” And then—big surprise—her brain ran away with her mouth. “But if I did throw it away, it’d take about a million years to decompose.” God, she was such a geek. She quickly poured them each a glass and drank to stop herself from talking anymore.
He watched her over his glass. “You okay?”
“Never better.”
“How’s your ass?”
She choked, then had to swipe her mouth with the back of her hand. Sexy. “Um, what?”
“From when you fell,” he said.
“Oh, that.” She had a bruise the size of Texas. “It’s nothing.”
Clearly seeing right through her, he smiled. It was the dangerous smile of a man who could make promises by saying nothing at all, and butterflies fluttered low in her belly. “So how are you?” she asked, desperate for a subject change, one that didn’t involve a science fact or her ass. “You having fun?”
“Depends on your definition of fun.”
Well, she knew what her definition of fun was, but she wondered about his. In the past his fun had involved fast horses, fast all-terrain vehicles, fast cars, fast women, fast anything. She looked down at her glass. “How did this get empty?”
He took the bottle from her fingers, steadied her glass hand with his, and poured her a refill.
“I probably don’t need that,” she said.
“It’s a right of passage to get drunk at your BFF’s bachelorette party,” he said. “In fact, you’re supposed to have some dramatic moment where you make it all about you. Like life’s moving on without you. Everyone’s getting married and you’re not. That sort of thing. I suggest getting drunk and sleeping with one of the groomsmen. It’s practically expected.”
She just stared at him, trying to focus past the way he looked in that shirt, which molded to all his hotness. “You think that’s what this is?” she asked. “You think I’m jealous of Holly?”
“Are you?”
“No. I love Holly and Adam.”
“Good.” He toasted her. “Then skip the guilt portion of the evening and move right on to the next portion. You’re already drunk . . .”
Actually, that was the funny thing. She wasn’t. Relaxed, yes. Drunk, no. But ready to get that something for herself. Setting her glass down, she stepped into him before she lost her courage. “You’re a groomsman, right?”
For the first time some of his easy charm slipped. “Uh—”
She slid her hands up his chest and sighed at the feel of his hard-muscled body so close. And he was warm, too, almost hot to the touch.
“Katie—”
“Kate,” she reminded him, and went up on tiptoes, for the first time all night thankful for the ridiculously high-heeled boots that had cost her way too much money, because she was now tall enough to press her face to his throat, and oh, sweet baby Jesus, he smelled good. She inhaled deeply.
His hands went to her h*ps as he let out a breath that warmed her temple. “What are you doing?”
Possibly drooling on you . . . “If you don’t know,” she said, “then I’m way more out of practice than I thought.”
He swore, and she took some gratification in the fact that his voice sounded husky and his hands tightened on her instead of pulling back. Her mouth was still pressed to his throat, which was deliciously rough with at least a day’s growth, and when she breathed him in, he exhaled slow and long, so indelibly male. She blamed the sexy sound for what she did next.
She licked him.
He jerked as if she’d taken a bite out of him, and he backed away so fast that he bumped up against the tall bookshelf behind him. “What the hell was that?” he demanded.
“My tongue?”
The look on his face was sheer horror, and she went from pleasantly buzzed to feeling very unsure of herself. And nervous. “The tongue’s the sole muscle in your body that’s attached at only one end.”
“Kate,” he said with a single shake of his head.
Oh God. She knew that soft, don’t-upset-the-crazy-person tone. Humiliated, she covered her face. “You said to seduce you!”
“No, I didn’t.”
She dropped her hands from her face. “Yes, you did. You said it was perfectly acceptable for me to seduce a groomsman. Well, here I am, trying to seduce a groomsman. You.”
“I didn’t mean me!”
“What’s wrong with it being you? We’re two consenting adults.” One of whom was wearing her best panties, too.
“I’m not consenting,” he said.
This stopped her in her tracks. “Why not?”
“Why not?” He appeared at a bit of a loss here, which didn’t help her ego any.
“Yes, why won’t you sleep with me?” Stepping into him again, she poked him in the chest with a finger. “What’s so wrong with me that you won’t?”
He stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “For one thing, you’re drunk.”
She was stone-cold sober now, but she cocked her head. “That’s never stopped you with other women.”
“Don’t judge me by my past.” But he blew out a breath as he set her away from him and pushed off the bookshelves to prowl the room. “Look, I might be an asshole, but not that big of one.”
“And the second thing?”
He turned to face her. “You’re Holly’s best friend. You’re . . . sweet.”
Oh no, he did not just say that. “Sweet,” she repeated. “You have no idea how tired I am of that word.”
“Well you are sweet. Sweet, warm . . . kind.”
She drew in a deep breath for calm, which—for the record—didn’t help. “You think I’m sweet and warm and kind.” She paused. “You realize you’ve just described a puppy.”
His gaze dipped to her low-cut lace top. “You’re not a damn puppy, Kate.”
“No kidding!” In spite of his heated look, she was really starting to feel insulted now. “And just so you know, I’m not all that sweet either!”
He didn’t look convinced.
“I’m not!”
“Tell me one not-sweet thing about you,” he said.
“Well . . .” She searched her brain, but for once it was quiet. Then she remembered. “I’m wearing a leopard-print demi-bra.” There. Take that.
He stared at her, and then his gaze lowered to her shirt again. Her ni**les promptly hardened. The traitors. “And,” she said with great attitude, “my panties match.” Not that he was going to see them. Ever. “And they’re those cheeky cut ones, too.”
He groaned. “Killing me,” he muttered, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes before dropping them. “We’re not going to talk about sex.”
“You’re right. We’re talking about my undies. And whether or not I’m sweet. Which, FYI, I’m not.” She wanted him to feel some of what she was feeling. She wanted him to ache like she did. Even for a moment. So before she lost her nerve, she gripped his shirt in her fists and kissed him. It had made all sorts of sense in her head, but for one single, horrible beat he didn’t move. Kate went utterly blank, forgetting how to kiss, but then he let out a very rough, very male sound and took over, fitting his mouth to hers. This caused a wave of desire so strong her knees wobbled, but he caught her up in his arms.
He tasted like wine. He tasted like her secret hopes and dreams. He tasted like the very best thing that had happened to her all week.
All damn month.
Because Griffin knew how to kiss. He was the master of all kissers, and when he started to pull back, she tightened her grip on him in protest.
But he wasn’t going anywhere. Instead he spread hot kisses along her jaw and throat, and then he opened his mouth on her heated skin. Her toes curled in response. Clearly it had been way too long since she’d had a social orgasm. Locking her wobbling knees, she tried to live in the moment, tried to soak it all in for the deep dark of the night when she was alone again.
Treading water . . .
He whispered her name, a soft, sexy “Kate.” And then his mouth was back on hers.
Trembling with need now, she pushed closer, responding to the raw kiss and wanting so much more. When he broke the connection, it took her a moment, but eventually she realized she was leaning on him and that he was fully supporting her. Her only salvation—he was breathing as raggedly as she was.
“You have to admit,” she said. “That wasn’t sweet.”
He manacled her roaming hands by clamping hard fingers over her wrists. “Kate,” he said, voice low and rough with command.
She had no idea why that revved her engine, but it did, and she rubbed her body against his.
Sucking in a harsh breath, he firmly set her away from him, holding her there. His gaze was glued to her mouth. “Christ.” He lowered his head and drew in a deep breath.
The hunger was palpable in the room. His. Hers. When he finally opened his eyes again, he looked at her as if he’d never seen her before. His baseball cap was low, covering his expression. Needing to see his eyes, she tried to dislodge it and then found herself pinned to the wall by 180 pounds of muscle.
“Don’t,” he said.
She stared up at him. “You’re not as much fun as I imagined you would be. Which shouldn’t surprise me. I have a hard time finding the fun.”
He laughed harshly, shook his head, and then, without another word, turned and walked from the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
Stunned, and not quite knowing what exactly had just happened, Kate gave into her wobbling knees and slid down the wall to sit.
She’d kissed him to prove a point, but hell if she could remember what that point was. And somehow in the process she’d been rejected because . . . why exactly? She’d proven she wasn’t all that sweet, so it had to be something else. In horror she put a hand in front of her face and checked her breath. Whew. She didn’t stink. Oh God, did she kiss badly? No, Ryan would have told her that much.
Whatever the reason, she needed to get over it, stat. She also needed to find her smile and get back to the party, because she was taking this rejection all the way to her grave.
Five
The next morning Kate made her daily stop at her dad’s, where it was a wash and repeat of every other morning. Ashley couldn’t find her own stuff; Tommy was dressed like . . . “Who are you?” Kate asked him, not sure what the glowing circle on his chest meant.
“Tony Stark,” he said, nose in a book.
Channing Tatum scratched at the back door and then came in carrying a still-alive field mouse, which had everyone running around and screaming for a few minutes until said field mouse was caught and exported back outside.
Finally, Kate rushed everyone out the door and slid into Ryan’s waiting car, handing him a coffee. “I didn’t doctor it up,” she warned.
“Why?”
“Because you’re mean.”
“What? I am not.”
She looked at him. “No? So if I said I needed you to be my date to tonight’s wedding rehearsal, you’d say . . . ?”
“Hell no.”
“And that’s why you’re drinking black coffee.”
“Fair enough,” he said, and drank his black coffee without further complaint. “Thirteen days, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” Thirteen days left to accept at UCSD. She had her acceptance typed up in her e-mail. All she had to do was take it out of the draft folder and hit Send.
But she hadn’t.
Because how could she? How could she walk away from her dad for a year? What if he needed her? What if Tommy or Ashley needed her? And her job. Ryan had promised to hold it for her, but he couldn’t really guarantee that. It was up to the school district . . .
They drove in silence. Ryan was in his zone, and so was Tommy.
Not Kate. Unless you counted reliving kissing Griffin Reid. Because actually, that had been a hell of a zone . . .
* * *
Grif woke up the next morning drenched in sweat, heart pounding out of his chest, and with absolutely no idea where he was. Afghanistan? Germany? Sitting straight up, he took in the room with one glance before sagging back. He was stateside, in Sunshine, at his father’s house.
Shoving his fingers through his hair, he let out a long breath. His phone was vibrating across the nightstand, the number unfamiliar though he recognized the DC area code. “Reid,” he answered.
“You got your head on straight yet?”
Joe Rodriguez. They’d served together before Joe had gotten out and gone to work for the ATF. “My head’s straight,” Grif said. “It’s the rest of the world that’s sideways.”
Joe laughed. “Ain’t that the truth. Heard you’re not going back to Crazy-stan.”
Grif knew soldiers whose entire life was caught up in their military career, guys for whom an injury like he’d sustained would have not just been physical.
Grif wasn’t one of them. Yes, he’d have stayed in the military if he hadn’t been hurt. But he had been, and he wasn’t one to look back with a lot of regrets. “I’m done with all the ’Stans,” he confirmed.
“Got something for you then. A job. You interested?”
“Where?”
“In the good ol’ US of A, man,” Joe said. “The land of free Wi-Fi, Thai takeout, and Fantasy Football. There’re a few things uniquely suited to you and your skills here on the East Coast, and a few other places, too. Up to you.”
