Once it closed behind him, Grant smiled at Isabelle, a slow, lazy smile. “I happen to like your underwear.”
She lifted an eyebrow at him. “And how would you know? You’ve never seen my underwear.”
“I’m pretty sure I got a tiny peek last night. Purple, I believe.”
A little shiver raced over her arms as she remembered the way he touched her, kissed her, last night. “Lavender.”
His eyes slid over her face and stopped at her mouth. “My mistake. Guess I was a little distracted.”
He wasn’t the only one. She’d spent most of the night distracted, and thinking about it wasn’t helping. She swore she could still feel the heat of his palms gripping her waist, the stroke of his tongue along her back, the soft sweep of his breath over her spine. A few touches from him was enough to spoil a woman for all other men.
She could only imagine what it would be like to actually make love with him. And it would be love, at least for her. Isabelle didn’t doubt that for a moment. She’d cared for him for too long not to fall for him if she let her guard down enough to sleep with him.
Grant would be an easy man to love, and it scared her to death. She’d already fallen for two men who couldn’t love her enough to share her dreams. Her college boyfriend simply hadn’t wanted children, but Phil had been the one who’d really broken her heart. He wanted kids but refused to take in someone else’s “unwanted problems.”
He said it as easily, as if she hadn’t been one of those unwanted problems.
Isabelle had cried when he left two years ago, taking her dreams of a future together with him. But she’d gotten over it and moved on. Men left. That’s just what they did. She knew that now and accepted it.
Grant would do the same. She couldn’t let his kindness toward Dale fool her. It was one thing to include a kid in your plans for the evening, but totally another to include them for life.
She’d be smart and keep her distance, even though smart didn’t sound like a good plan at the moment. Not when she was sitting across the table from his teasing smile and glittering, hungry eyes.
“You’re a bad, bad man, Grant Kent. You know that, right?”
“And here I was, all proud of how good I was being by not trying to seduce you.” He slid the tip of his finger over the back of her hand, tracing each of the bones that led to her wrist.
“If you’re not trying now, I think I’d combust if you do.”
His smile melted into a hot, dark grin, and he was staring at her mouth. “Wanna give it a try and see?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve got about three minutes before I have to leave for work.”
“Three minutes is plenty of time.”
“To do what?”
He stood and walked around the table until he was behind her. She should have stopped him, but she couldn’t. She was too excited to see what he’d do.
He lifted her hair away from her neck and leaned down until she could feel his breath just behind her left ear. “I’d only need two of those minutes to make you want me so bad you’ll agree to take a long lunch.”
She wasn’t sure he even needed two. Part of her was willing to skip work and let him show her what he could do with a whole day, just not the part that was in charge.
“Arrogant man.”
“Only if it’s not true. Otherwise, it’s just confidence. Knowing my strengths.” His lips glided beneath her ear, then down her neck until he reached the sensitive skin where her shoulder started.
Isabelle tried and failed to stifle a shiver.
Grant’s teeth grazed her skin, and she let out a faint moan.
“I’m barely touching you,” he whispered.
With him, that’s all it took. “You’re not playing fair.”
“Who says I’m playing?” His teeth pressed harder against her skin, giving her a delicate bite that sent ribbons of pleasure flying down her spine.
Isabelle hissed and tried to concentrate. She had to keep their relationship honest. She couldn’t let him make her forget who she was and what was important to her. She couldn’t forget that he wasn’t here to stay.
“You’re a player,” she said in a faint, dry voice. “It’s what you do.”
His tongue soothed the marks she was sure he’d left on her. “You know me so well?” he asked. “How can that be when we’ve hardly shared more than a few letters every year?”
“I know you. I know what you want.”
“And what, lovely Isabelle, do I want?”
“Sex. With me.”
“Absolutely. What sane man wouldn’t want that?” He placed more soft, wet kisses over the nape of her neck, and Isabelle nearly agreed to sleep with him right then and there. Screw work. She’d call in just this once.
But what about Rachel?
Isabelle strengthened her resolve. No one was going to cause her to neglect a child.
She forced her tone to come out lighthearted, teasing. “No. I mean that’s all you want. You’re a love-’em-and-leave-’em kind of guy.”
Grant’s mouth stilled in its path over her skin, and he pulled away. Isabelle’s cool, slippery hair slid into place over her shoulders.
“What did you call me?” he asked her in a deceptively gentle voice.
She turned around to look at him. He was more than just angry, he was enraged. His face was red, and a snarl curled his mouth. All the humor was gone from his eyes, leaving behind only a glittering, feral glow.
Isabelle stood up in shock and took a small step back. She knew he’d never hurt her, but she couldn’t help her instinctive reaction to back away from such anger. It was so unexpected coming from Grant.
He kept his distance, breathing deeply as if trying to calm himself. “Don’t ever call me that again,” he demanded.
“Call you what?”
“Love-’em-and-leave-’em Kent. I’m nothing like him.”
“Him who?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”
Isabelle struggled to make sense of his words. She’d hurt him somehow—hurt him badly enough to make him mad—but she had no idea what he meant. “I don’t know, Grant. Whatever it was I said, I didn’t mean for it to make you angry.”
He loosened his fisted hands and took a deep breath. He crossed the room and stood in front of her. Isabelle refused to cower or back away. He wouldn’t put his hands on her in anger, no matter how badly she might have hurt him. She knew it deep down, the same way she knew the feel of her own heartbeat.
“Help me understand, Grant. What did I say wrong?”
He stared down at her, his eyes blazing with banked fury and pain. “Love-’em-and-leave-’em Kent. That’s what they called my father—all his loser buddies,” he told her.
“And you don’t want to be compared to him?”
“The f**ker abandoned Mom and me when I was twelve. He walked out because things were tough and sent Mom spiraling into a drunken depression. When she finally drove her car into a tree and killed herself, he couldn’t even be bothered to come back and make sure I was okay.” He pulled in a harsh breath. “That’s why I was in the foster-care system. Not because my dad was dead, but because he didn’t want to stop f**king around long enough to be a father.”
Pain for him swept over her, making tears burn her eyes. She’d never seen him hurt like this before, never seen the bone-deep, gaping wound his father had left on him. She would have given anything to take back her careless words, but it was too late.
“Grant, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I never would have said that if I had.”
“Forget it.” He closed his eyes and turned his head away as if not wanting her to see his pain.
Too late. She saw it all too clearly and couldn’t stand to let him suffer.
Isabelle slid her hands over his wide shoulders and pressed her body against his in a tight hug. She didn’t know what else to do to comfort him.
He stood statue still but didn’t fight her. She stroked his hair and back, telling him without words how much she regretted her accidental insult. “Clearly, you’re nothing like him.”
“Mom always said I was just like him.” It was a confession given in a bare whisper of sound, as if he could hardly stand to say the words.
“Maybe you look like him, but you don’t act like him.”
“How can you know that? You never met him.” His words were sharp-edged. Biting.
Isabelle refused to let his anger push her away. She cupped his face in her hands and forced him to look at her. “Maybe not, but I know that any man who would abandon his son when he was needed most is selfish. You’re not.”
“No? I think you’re wrong.” His gaze slid down to her mouth, and his hands found her hips. He tugged her forward until their bodies met from chest to knees. She could feel his heart pounding hard against her breast. Or maybe that was her heart. She wasn’t sure.
“If I wasn’t selfish, then I wouldn’t be thinking about seducing you. I’d find a way to keep my hands off you.”
His hands tightened on her hips.
“If I wasn’t selfish, then I wouldn’t be looking for reasons to justify sleeping with you when I know casual sex isn’t your thing. You’ve got good girl written all over you, and for some reason, it makes me want you that much more.”
Isabelle’s body shuddered at the thought, and she was sure he could feel it.
“And if I wasn’t selfish, I wouldn’t have forced my way into your home where I could more easily seduce you. I can pretend that I stayed to keep you safe, but the truth is I want you and have from the moment I saw you again. I want you in my bed. In yours. On the kitchen floor. Wherever and however I can get you.”
The potent images his words conjured made her head swim. If she’d had some time and space to let herself calm down, she might have been able to think straight. But as it was, that powerful pull he had on her was at work, dragging her toward him until there was no escape.
Right now, she didn’t even care that she might be making a mistake. Dale was gone, and the only person she could hurt was herself. Grant was definitely worth that.
He lowered his head to kiss her, and Isabelle did nothing to stop him. She’d wanted this for too long. Needed it.
His lips brushed hers in a barely-there kiss. It wasn’t enough, and she pulled him back for more, earning the rough sound of his pleasure against her mouth.
Isabelle’s body hummed with excitement, and the skin along her spine grew hot and damp. She could smell his aftershave—feel the smooth skin of his face beneath her palms. His breathing sped, along with her own, and his hands tightened on her body.
Yes. This was what she’d wanted for so long it almost didn’t seem real. Then he parted his lips, coaxing hers to open, as well, and she didn’t care if it was real or not. As long as it didn’t end.
Isabelle didn’t hesitate to let him into her mouth. She wanted to taste him, to feel the rasping heat of his tongue over hers. She couldn’t hold back, not when she had her chance to kiss Grant the way she’d always wanted. Not when it might be the only chance she ever had.