The Expert's Guide to Driving a Man Wild

by Jessica Clare

  She hated stuff. Stuff had no use. Stuff just piled up and made a mess. Stuff wasn’t real.

  Frowning at herself, Brenna thumped into the chair at her own desk . . . and whimpered at the flare of pain that shot up from her backside. She rubbed it with a scowl. It seemed Grant had dropped her harder than she thought. Glancing up, she saw both Miranda and Dane were watching her, Miranda with a look of curious amusement, and Dane with a look of abject horror.

  “What?” Brenna said crossly. “Haven’t you ever seen a girl rub her ass before?”

  “Rough night?” Miranda asked in a silky voice, unable to stop her teasing.

  “Ugh, I don’t want to hear this,” Dane said, grabbing his coffee mug and racing to the kitchen.

  So funny. She couldn’t help but milk it a bit. “I told Grant he needed to use more lube,” Brenna called out in a loud voice as Dane exited the room.

  “La la la la can’t hear you,” he shouted back.

  Brenna giggled, and at Miranda’s even-more-curious look, she added, “I got dropped on my ass last night.”

  “Should I guess how?”

  “You can guess, but it’s pretty obvious,” Brenna told her.

  “For someone who’s been dropped on her butt, you sure seem happy,” Miranda told her, smiling. “This little thing you have with Grant seems to be working out well.”

  “Oh, it’s not a thing,” Brenna told her. “We’re just having some no-strings-attached sex. It’s not like we’re serious.”

  “Sure you’re not.” Miranda didn’t look like she bought it for a second. “Can I point out that I’m the genius who tried to have revenge sex with Dane and have it not mean anything? And it totally backfired and I fell for him?”

  “Trust me, I have no intention of falling for Grant,” Brenna said, her voice cheerfully light as she flipped on her computer. Even as she said it, though, the words were sour in her mouth and she couldn’t help but glance around the main lodge. She didn’t want Grant hearing those words. Why, she had no idea. So his feelings wouldn’t get hurt? She made a face at herself. Like she cared if he started having feelings.

  Mental note, she told herself, do something to annoy Grant today. It had been a few days since she’d done something like that. Time to remind him that complacency was for wimps.

  “Well, I’d love to hear more but I have to run.” Miranda grinned at her and headed for the kitchen. “I’m going to want a full recap via email, though.”

  Brenna gave her a cheerful mock-salute as her friend disappeared into the kitchen to kiss Dane good-bye one last time. Then she got up and approached Grant’s desk. Nothing was out of place, his office supplies neatly lined up and organized. His calendar datebook was laid open to the current date, and on impulse, she pulled the page out just because that would irritate him.

  Then, guilt nagged her and she put it back. She settled for changing the settings on his ergonomic chair and adjusting the lighting on his monitor. Small, harmless irritations instead of her normal insouciant destruction. Why couldn’t she pull off the big ones anymore?

  Was she getting soft toward him? Just because he was good in bed? Was she dickmatized? Hell.

  Brenna grabbed the ripped-out page, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into a nearby wastebasket. Screw that.

  She worked—okay, emailed some friends in between updating the expenses spreadsheet, but whatever—for about an hour before Grant came in to the main lodge. “You slept late,” she commented in a flirty voice. “All worn out?”

  “Just thinking.”

  Uh-oh. She watched him sit down at his desk and didn’t even experience a twinge of pleasure when he frowned and adjusted his chair. He was thinking. That was never a good sign. Grant already thought too much as it was. The fact that he’d actually put time aside to think meant that she was not going to be pleased with whatever it was.

  When she said nothing, he got up from his desk and moved over to hers. “I’m almost done with the expenses spreadsheet,” she told him. “I know it should have been done yesterday, but I was busy.”

  He shrugged and her hackles went up.

  Grant never shrugged about expenses. Never.

  Brenna watched him with wary eyes as he came and sat on the edge of her desk, next to where she was seated. He sat so close, she could have reached over and jiggled his junk. Heck, maybe she would just to distract him.

  “Brenna,” he said in a soft voice. “We need to talk.”

  Oh no. “You’re talking right now,” she told him casually. “Newsflash.”

  “I’m being serious.”

  “You’re always serious.”

  “And you’re never serious, which is what brings me back to what I wanted to talk to you about.” He adjusted his glasses on his face. “The future.”

  She groaned. “Again? Do we have to? I thought we were on the same page for once.”

  “I’m concerned that you don’t have a solid life plan. When you told me you were homeless, I . . .” He shook his head, seemingly unable to continue. “It’s unfathomable. You can’t coast along in life for the next fifty years.”

  Actually, she’d kind of planned on doing just that. “I don’t see why this is coming up now.”

  “It’s coming up because . . .” He sighed heavily. “I like you and me. Together. In my bed.”

  “I like it, too. So what’s the problem?”

  Grant reached out and brushed a lock of purple hair off her forehead. “The problem is that I worry about your safety. And I think of what you did for me—protecting me when you knew I needed it. I want to do the same for you. You’re exciting and sexy and just what I need to make me get my head out of the sand. And that’s why I think we should get married. So we can continue like this, and even if we decide to go our separate ways later, you’ll have safety. Financially, anyway.”

  She recoiled from his touch, her chair skidding backward a foot. “Did you just propose to me?”

  “I did.” When she simply stared at him, he continued. “We can look at it as insurance, of a kind. I care for you and don’t want you to worry about your financial future. Think of it like . . . a 401(k).”

  “A 401(k),” she repeated blankly.

  “Yes. You put away money in a 401(k) to save for your future. You could marry me and it’ll be an investment in your future. You’d never have to worry about being homeless again. It’s a sound decision, if you think about it.”

  Sound decision? 401(k)? Investment in her future? Was this a marriage proposal or a banking inquiry? Brenna studied him, then forced a pleasant smile to her face. “No, thank you. I’m not interested.”

  “What do you mean, you’re not interested?”

  She kept the smile on her face, though it was getting difficult in the face of his disapproval. “I mean just what I said. I don’t want to be tied down, and marriage is the ultimate in being tied down.”

  “It’s about security—”

  “I’m not interested in that.”

  “How can you not be?” He didn’t seem to grasp it.

  “The same way I’m not interested in a relationship with emotions and all that crap,” Brenna snapped. “Quit pressuring me.”

  “I’m not pressuring you. I just want this thing—”

  “There is no ‘thing’ between us,” Brenna said. “Unless you mean a sexual free-for-all.”

  “That’s not true—”

  She stood up. “Look, Grant. Clearly you’re getting confused about the nature of our relationship. I like having sex with you. That’s it. No more, no less. I don’t want anything from you other than sex. That means no coffee mugs, no bracelets, no panties, and no emotions, all right? Just sex. This thing started out between us because I didn’t want anyone harassing you but me, all right? That hasn’t changed.”

  “Just sex,” he said flatly. “That’s a
ll?”

  “That’s all,” she told him. “And if you want more than that, you’ve got the wrong girl. I can move out of your cabin if it’s making things too difficult.”

  “No,” he said harshly, getting to his feet. “Wouldn’t want you to be homeless again.”

  And he stormed out of the room.

  Well, that went well. Brenna sat back down at her desk and stared at her computer screen. She felt . . . weird. Numb. Hollow. Kind of like crying, which was stupid. There were no emotions involved in this, she reminded herself. Just sex.

  No one got hurt when it was just sex, right?

  • • •

  Grant ignored her for the rest of the day. She told herself that it was what she wanted, anyhow. She needed a break from him, so she’d snagged Rome on his way into the main lodge and decided to train him on how to drive an ATV. They spent the day riding up and down the trails, and delivering paintball equipment to Dane’s crew out in the woods so they could get their game in. The paintball team games were popular with all of the visitors, so they made sure every group had at least one run. Rome was helpful passing out guns and paint ammo and listening to her instructions as if she were spouting gold. He already seemed to be friendly with Dane. Then again, everyone got along with Dane.

  When she couldn’t stand waiting any longer, she eventually headed back to the main lodge and parked her ATV in the garage. She didn’t even have the heart to tinker with it to give Pop something to do. She was too distracted. She might have said she was depressed, but she wasn’t letting emotion get to her.

  Why did Grant have to go and ruin a perfectly fun relationship? Count on him to take something that was so enjoyable and turn it. She should have known better than to get involved with him.

  But you’re not involved, that little voice in her head said. That was the problem, according to Grant.

  When she got back to the main lodge, the lights were off and the room was dark. She frowned, glancing at the clock. It was just a hair past five. Normally everyone hung out and worked late. Grant sure did. But tonight he was nowhere to be seen. Had he gone home without her?

  “It’s not home,” she muttered to herself as she sat down at her desk. Great. Now he had her saying that stuff, too.

  Her message light was flickering, and she picked up the phone and hit the voicemail button.

  “Brenna, this is Justine,” a sweet voice said. “I just talked to Grant, and he sounded so sad. He told me you two had been fighting and, well, I just wanted to call and ask if you were okay.”

  Brenna softened at that. She should have been annoyed at Grant’s mom interfering with their relationship—it’s not a relationship, she reminded herself—but it was nice that Justine was checking in on her and seeing if she was okay.

  “Grant can be a little difficult at times,” Justine continued. “And a little pigheaded when he gets his heart set on something. But his heart’s in the right place, you know. Ever since Heather died . . . well. I don’t want to talk about her to you. But I wanted to tell you that he seems happier and more alive with you than he has been since he was with her. Since before that, actually. Not that Heather was a bad girl. She just wasn’t right for him. But you’re good for him, you know. And I don’t want you to give up on him too soon. Both Reggie and I like you enormously, and Elise does, too. We’d love for you to be a permanent fixture in Grant’s life.”

  And just like that, her emotional pleasure at Justine’s kindness popped like a bubble. Permanent fixture in Grant’s life, eh?

  She deleted the rest of the message without listening to it. Brenna wanted to be no one’s permanent fixture. She grabbed a decorative woven throw blanket off the back of the couch and curled up with it, turning on the TV. She’d be sleeping here tonight, if only to prove a point.

  TEN

  Two days later, Brenna was feeling . . . unhappy.

  It wasn’t something she liked to admit to herself. She liked having no worries, no cares, no ties to anything. The reason why she liked this job so much? No responsibility and being surrounded by friends. She could pack up her car and leave the next day and it wouldn’t matter much to anyone but Dane and Colt, who treated her like their wacky kid sister. Rome pretty much kept to himself or stuck to Pop’s side, since the elderly man was showing him how to do maintenance and get familiar with the area.

  Since Grant was ignoring her and the others were out? That meant the days were long. And it made her restless and miserable. Before, she and Grant had a strange kind of friendly rivalry. Coworkers who didn’t necessarily like each other but had to get along. Now? They got along just fine because he didn’t talk to her except to answer pointed questions. If she asked what the weather was going to be like, he’d say “cloudy.” If she asked if he had work for her, he’d say “no.” If she asked him if he wanted to go grab dinner, he’d given her a look that told her just what he thought of that suggestion.

  Brenna had never really bought into the theory that sex ruined everything. Sex was awesome, unless it sucked, so how could it possibly ruin a friendship?

  Except now she knew better.

  She hadn’t realized until now that she had feelings for him. Not love and smoochiness—she refused to feel that way about anyone—but real affection and friendship. Tied in with the sex? It was almost like a real relationship.

  And that freaked her out.

  More so considering that she didn’t have any of that affection or friendship anymore.

  She had slept on the couch in the lodge the last two days. At first she’d been fine with it, since she’d slept on more couches in her life than real beds. But sleeping on a couch after sleeping next to a big warm body? Not fun. And the couch here in the lodge had been chosen for looks instead of comfort. It was a rustic-looking couch, with leather seats and wooden arms and legs. It also gave her the worst crick in the neck. She was getting soft.

  And if she was honest with herself? She missed the sex. A lot.

  Grant was the best she’d ever had, and she’d had more than her fair share (though she hadn’t mentioned that to Grant, and he hadn’t asked). She’d loved his attentiveness in bed and the way that he acted as if she was constantly blowing his mind. She had to admit, she was a fan of that, too. She even liked his possessive hovering before and after, the way he liked to touch her constantly, the way he picked out clothes for her or made her a snack, or held her in the shower so she could rinse off when she was too boneless from multiple orgasms to stand up on her own.

  But those weren’t things that fit into the Brenna lifestyle. Things like relationships fell into the same category as stuff. It was good for other people, but had no value in her life. The fact that she’d somehow gotten dragged into a quasi-relationship bothered her. She was the one who would be free-spirited and independent forever.

  So yeah, sex had ruined everything.

  Which stank because she really, really wanted more sex. Why couldn’t Grant humor her in such a small request?

  As if her turbulent thoughts had brought him into the office, Grant came through the front door of the lodge, dropping his keys into a nearby bowl and shaking off his raincoat. It was a drizzly day and Colt and Dane were running Rome through his paces before taking his first class out in two days. The weather was nasty but they thought it was perfect, since part of the survival school package was that you didn’t get to pick your weather. It was just Brenna in the lodge.

  And she hadn’t realized how lonely it had been until Grant walked in and she felt herself light up. She straightened in her chair. “Hey, how’s the weather?”

  He glanced at her. “Wet.”

  “You want some coffee? I just made some.”

  “No.” He moved past her, shaking out the dampness from his dark hair and heading to his desk.

  “You going to work for a few hours?”

  “Depends.”

  “On
?”

  “Nothing important.” He flipped through his mail and then tossed it down on his desk. He sat down in his chair and stared at his desk drawer for a moment, and her heart thudded. Was he thinking about the picture of Heather that he had hidden away in there? But to her relief, he pulled out a letter opener and began to slit open an envelope.

  Relief escaped her in a sigh.

  Grant glanced up. “What?”

  “Nothing.” She bit her lip. This was not working. Even watching his hands as he went through the mail was making her ache. Stupid man, depriving them both of sex because there weren’t any feelings attached. So she had to offer. “You know what would be good right now?”

  He looked up from his desk. “What?”

  “A nice, steamy orgasm.” Brenna put her chin on her fists and had a dreamy look on her face. “I sure could go for a deep dicking right about now.”

  He stared at her for so long and was so quiet that she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  “Well?” she asked him.

  “You’re serious?” he said slowly, gaze on her.

  “I am.”

  “You moved out.”

  “So? That shouldn’t have anything to do with whether or not we have sex. You’re good at sex. Why can’t we have some nice, passionate, vulgar sex without involving anything else?”

  He was going to turn her down. She just knew it. She’d given him a challenge—to be no strings attached—and she knew he’d pass on it.

  “Fine.”

  Brenna blinked in surprise. “Really?”

  “Really,” he said, getting up from his desk. “You want no strings attached? That’s fine with me.”

  “Great,” she said enthusiastically, bounding over to his desk. She slid her arms around his neck and reached up for a kiss.

  He gently pushed her away. “No kissing. Too much attachment there.”

  “Oh.” For some reason, that hurt. But she pulled away and nodded. “That’s fine.” Her hand slid to his groin and she cupped him. “Want to be naughty and fuck on the couch? No one’s around today.”