The Expert's Guide to Driving a Man Wild

by Jessica Clare

  And then she realized she’d said he was beautiful aloud. Her face flushed and she took a step backward involuntarily. “I, um, have to set up my equipment,” she told Brenna. “He doesn’t have to do it if he doesn’t want to.”

  Before she could hear Rome’s answer, she grabbed her case of camera equipment and rushed out the front door.

  So humiliating! Part of her prayed that Rome would decide he was too busy to fool around with the photo shoot. The other part of her wanted to get pictures of that gorgeous man so she could admire them at her leisure. It would almost be as good as the real thing. Almost.

  • • •

  “God, I wish I had your job,” Brenna said to Beth Ann, sipping a straw as she sat in a folding deck chair, a big floppy hat on her head as she drank her blended homemade margarita.

  Next to her in an identical chair and wearing an identical hat, Miranda lifted her bottle of beer to her lips, gaze riveted ahead. “I don’t want her job. I like watching.”

  Beth Ann grinned and considered the man standing in front of her with a tilt of her head. “Do you think we need more mud or more mist?”

  “More mud,” Brenna said. “Baby likes ’em dirty. Rowrrr.”

  “I vote mist,” Miranda chimed in, lifting her beer.

  “Do I get a vote?” Rome asked. He stood next to Beth Ann in the midst of the trees, on a rocky outcropping situated just behind the lodge. He wore no shirt and his face, neck, and one shoulder were spattered with mud, as were the dark BDUs he wore, and combat boots. Two camo streaks had been painted under his eyes.

  “No vote,” Brenna said. “You are simply a canvas for greatness.”

  Rome snorted.

  Beth Ann considered him a moment longer, and then spritzed him with another fine mist. “I think the gleam on the tattoos is a nice touch. What do you think, Elise?”

  “Not too much mist,” Elise said in a soft voice. She leaned over her camera tripod, adjusted the settings, and then moved forward to where Beth Ann stood. She reached for Rome’s arm and positioned it carefully, just below his belt and on his hip. Then she adjusted his fingers, stepped back, regarded him, and then moved forward again.

  “What’s the problem?” Miranda asked.

  “He’s stiff.” Elise frowned, staring at his hands.

  Miranda tittered.

  Elise jerked up, turned bright red, and staggered backward. “That wasn’t what I meant. I . . . I . . . he’s fine.”

  “I’ll say he is,” Brenna commented. “Rowwrrr again.”

  Elise shot her another mortified look and retreated back to her camera. She said nothing, but her hair hung in front of her face, as if she could hide behind a wall of long, swinging tresses.

  Brenna wasn’t deterred by Elise’s shyness. How could she not stare at Rome’s tatted-up hotness? Heck, Elise had even said aloud that she thought Rome was beautiful. That counted for something. He’d be good for her, provided she looked up from her shoes every now and then to notice what a gorgeous piece of man-meat was there for the taking. And Grant’s sister was nice, but she was so uptight that she looked like she could use a few rounds in the hay with a much wilder guy.

  Rome brushed a hand across his brow, absently wiping sweat—or spritzed water—from his brow. Immediately, Elise’s camera began to whirr as she started snapping photos of the casual motion. “Remind me again,” he said, “why I’m the one stuck out here getting basted in mud and squirted with water?”

  “Because Colt and Dane are busy,” Beth Ann said in an easy drawl, taking a step backward to proudly survey her handiwork as Elise continued to take photos.

  “Busy hiding,” Rome muttered, but then flexed and winked in Elise’s direction, clearly not as miserable as he pretended. “What about Grant?”

  Brenna was pretty sure that a choked little sound erupted from Elise, despite being shielded by the camera and her hair. “Yeah,” Brenna commented, sitting up. “What about Grant? I could stand to see him a little filthy.”

  “I’m guessing you’re an expert at seeing him filthy already,” Miranda quipped.

  “Maybe.” But Brenna grinned.

  Elise looked over at Brenna curiously. “I thought you guys were fighting?”

  “We kissed and made up. Lots, and lots of kissing.”

  “Please don’t tell me any more,” Elise said, raising a hand in protest. “He’s my brother.”

  Beth Ann came over, a wrinkle of surprise between her perfect blond brows. “You guys were fighting?”

  “When are we not fighting?” Brenna said, taking another sip of her drink. “But I like to think of it as just a precursor to some really good makeup sex. It just means that the makeup sex is frequent, right?”

  “I guess so, honey.” But Beth Ann didn’t look convinced. She shared a worried look with Miranda. “It’s tearing up the boys, you know.”

  By “the boys,” Beth Ann clearly meant Dane and Colt. And that made Brenna curious. “Tearing them up? How so?”

  Miranda chimed in. “When you guys aren’t speaking, they never know whose side to take. Grant’s their buddy, but they look at you like a little sister. It makes things difficult for them.”

  Why was everyone suddenly interested in her sex life? Why had their casual sex started to affect others? Brenna began to feel that uncomfortable, smothering sensation of being trapped. They thought of her and Grant as a pair. That the health of their relationship suddenly affected theirs. And she felt the sudden, irresistible urge to escape. “I think I need a refill,” she announced, ignoring the fact that her glass was still half-full. “Be right back.”

  Before anyone could volunteer to accompany her, she hurried away. She needed a few minutes to herself, to get her head straight. Get a breath of air. Something.

  But as soon as she walked back into the main lodge, Grant was there. And she sucked in a breath. Speaking of wet and delicious . . . he looked as if he’d just recently come out of a shower. His skin was lightly flushed, and his hair had been combed into slick waves that were only half-dry. He wore a dark Polo and khaki pants and was watching a stock report scroll across the flat-screen TV, remote in hand.

  And even though Rome, who was far more her type with the tattoos and roguish attitude, was just outside? He hadn’t done a thing for her. But seeing Grant in his straitlaced office wear? It made her instantly want him.

  And a little sigh escaped her throat.

  He glanced over at the sight of her, and a warm smile tugged his mouth. “Nice hat. You look ready for a day on the beach.”

  “Why, are you planning on taking me to the beach in November?” She gave him a saucy wink, her tongue lightly running over the end of her straw. All that worry about not being able to breathe because she was smothered? Kinda forgotten in the presence of Grant’s dominating sexiness. He tended to make her forget all her resolutions when he smiled at her.

  And she figured that wasn’t entirely such a bad thing.

  “I could be convinced,” Grant chuckled, moving to her and looping an arm around her waist. “But you’d have to borrow a bikini from someone.”

  She made a mock-pout. “You mean I’d have to wear a swimsuit?”

  “As much as I like to see you totally naked, you might want to save that for when we’re alone.” The words were admonishing, but the tone—and the teasing look on his face—was so affectionate and easy that it made her heart melt—and her pulse throb.

  Let the others think what they wanted. She and Grant knew what they had.

  TWELVE

  Thunder crashed overhead, and the lights flickered in the main lodge. From her desk, Brenna looked up and winced, glancing over at Grant. “It’s nasty weather today.”

  “It is,” he agreed, seemingly unconcerned as he worked on a series of brochure proofs, his gaze intent on his computer monitor. “But our clients pay to get the full survival ex
perience, remember? This is just part of the lessons—how to survive in the elements.”

  “But this isn’t one or two elements,” Brenna protested, hugging her coffee close and frowning at the windows. She moved toward one, staring out at the dark blue skies, and shivered at the wall of clouds that crackled with electricity. One of the trees near the gravel parking lot was nearly bent sideways with the wind. “This is like, all of the elements. At once.”

  Grant glanced over at her, a hint of a scowl on his face. “It’s Texas. We get bad weather all the time. What’s got you all bothered today?”

  She shrugged. “It’s Rome’s first class on his own today. I’m worried about him.”

  He got up from his desk and moved to her side. Coming up behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled at her bare neck, her hair pulled up in a messy bun. “He’ll be fine, Brenna. We hired him because he’s good at this sort of thing. This is what he does. He’s had intensive training for these kinds of situations, remember?”

  There were a few fallacies in his thinking, which worried Brenna. First of all, she’d hired Rome because he’d showed up, not because he was the most qualified candidate. She figured he needed the job and he’d work all the harder because of it.

  She hadn’t been the only one to take Rome at face value. Pop had adopted the guy as if he was just another one of his sons who had shown up on the doorstep, looking for work. Colt and Dane had been leery about him at first, but when a few days had passed and no one had raised the alarm, she breathed a sigh of relief. Rome was a hard worker and a quick learner. If he was missing a few gaps in his knowledge, no one had noticed yet, and she didn’t plan on ratting him out.

  Of course, now that the weather had taken a turn for the worse, she was rethinking her brilliant plan. Rome had taken out a small group that morning, three men, all first timers. If something happened, she wasn’t sure that any of them could take care of themselves.

  A new bolt of lightning lit up the sky and illuminated a small group of men coming in from the woods. Brenna gasped and pointed. “Someone’s come back.”

  Grant kissed her cheek and then moved to the coat rack, grabbing his rain slicker. “You stay here. I’ll see what’s going on.” He tossed it on, flipped up the hood, and then trotted out into the pounding rain.

  Brenna pressed her face to the glass, trying to make out who it was as the trail of men came in from the woods. Her heart sank when four heads emerged, then two more, then two more. That was too many to be Rome’s group, unless he’d come in with either Dane or Colt. She forced herself to wait, drumming her fingers on her arm impatiently as the men headed across the sodden clearing toward the main lodge.

  When the men came inside, though, she saw her worst fear had been realized—Dane and Colt had brought their groups in and were chatting with Grant. “The river’s flash flooding,” Colt said. “It’s not safe to hit our usual areas, and there’s a chance of tornados. I’d rather wait a day or two and see how things shake out.”

  “First rule of survival’s knowing when you’re licked,” Dane agreed.

  Grant took in the conversation, grimly nodding. “You guys know best. We’ll make arrangements for our guests, then.” He gestured that the wet, bedraggled men should make themselves comfortable on the lodge couches. “Brenna can get some towels and hot coffee—”

  “Brenna’s busy,” she butted in, moving to Dane and Colt’s side. “Did you guys see Rome anywhere?”

  Dane shook his head.

  “The trail was pretty washed out,” Colt said, rubbing his chin with concern. “We should go back out and look for him. He’s not as familiar with the grounds as we are.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Brenna said, running back to her desk and grabbing the keys to the ATV shed. “Just give me a moment—”

  “What? You’re not going with them,” Grant interrupted, a furious look on his face.

  Brenna tilted her head, staring at him, then snapped her fingers. “You’re right. We’ll cover a lot more ground if we split up.”

  “No, I mean you’re not going out in this weather.” Grant moved to her side and grabbed her elbow. “Absolutely not. If it’s that dangerous, I don’t want you out in it.”

  She gave him an incredulous look. “Don’t be ridiculous, Grant.”

  “Trust me, I’m not.”

  She ignored that, and the steely tone in his voice, and tried to simply move around him. He stood in the way, blocking her, and her jaw dropped in surprise. “Grant, I’m going after him.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  On the far side of the room, Dane pointed at the door. “Colt and I are going to hike down to where his group was and see if they need any help.”

  “I’ll be along, too,” Brenna called over Grant’s shoulder. “Give me a few minutes.”

  “No, she won’t,” Grant said. “I mean it, Brenna. You’re not going anywhere. Not on my watch.”

  “You’ll let them go out?”

  “They’re trained survivalists.”

  “I’m the assistant! It’s my job to assist!”

  “Not this sort of thing. Let the others handle it. Rome doesn’t need you going after him.”

  “Funny, I’m not sure we agree.”

  “It doesn’t matter if we agree. I want you staying here with me.”

  She stared at him for a long, searching moment, trying to understand him. “Please tell me this isn’t some sort of wacky plot to keep me here because you’re jealous of Rome.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Grant said, tight-lipped. “I’m not jealous.”

  “Then step aside and let me go out. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re not leaving this lodge as my employee.”

  “Fine. Then fire me and I’m still going after Rome. You can’t stop me.”

  “Goddamn it, Brenna!” His face was white with fury. “I won’t let you get hurt!”

  Exasperation swept through her. He was making her crazy. “No one said I was going to get hurt!”

  “There’s a million things that could go wrong. You could get a flat tire. Skid into a ditch. Lightning could strike your vehicle. You could flip over. Those things aren’t safe. In fact, I don’t want you driving them at all anymore.”

  She stared at him as if he’d grown another head. “Are you kidding me? Lightning striking the vehicle? I have better odds of a sinkhole opening up underneath me.”

  “Another very good reason why you’re not going out there.”

  “Grant,” she protested.

  “No. Absolutely not.” His mouth was tight, his gaze unforgiving. He looked ready to snap. Tension was vibrating off him in almost palpable waves.

  She’d never seen him like this. “Why are you being so controlling?”

  Grant’s fists clenched at his side and he turned away from her. “You can go after him. But if you do, you’re destroying any sort of friendship that we have between us.”

  Her jaw dropped. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “That’s how I feel. I don’t give a fuck if it’s ridiculous. But if you do, go ahead and leave, then. Clearly how I feel doesn’t matter to you at all.” And he turned and stormed out of the main lodge, heading for his cabin.

  Brenna’s mouth worked silently. She stared after his retreating back, wondering what the hell just happened.

  One of the men in the lodge cleared his throat and gestured at the window. “Uh, miss?”

  “Huh?” She turned toward him, her cheeks flushing. That strange argument with Grant had been witnessed by all of their clients. How embarrassing.

  “There are a few men coming up the path right now.” He gestured to the window.

  Brenna rushed to it and counted heads. Three men in Wilderness Survival Expeditions slickers, and three men in various gear. Their missing campers. Pe
rfect. She didn’t have to go out after Rome after all.

  Now she could go after Grant and figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

  Irritation making her steps quick and crisp, Brenna marched out of the main lodge and down the path to Grant’s cabin, ignoring the pounding rain that quickly soaked her to the skin. She pushed open the door to Grant’s cabin and didn’t see him in the living room. A quick peek up the ladder didn’t show him either. On a hunch, she headed toward the bathroom and saw a narrow strip of light under the door. Just over the pounding rain she could hear the shower going.

  Good. If he was just taking a shower, then they could still talk, because she had plenty to say to him.

  She pushed the door open . . . and halted, her anger deflating at the sight of him.

  Grant sat on the side of the tub in his jeans, his shirt tossed in the sink. The shower was running, but he wasn’t in it. His head was buried in his hands, as if he were trying to compose himself. And when he looked up when she opened the door, there was such stark pain in his pale face that she forgot all of her anger.

  She moved to sit next to him on the tub. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head, sitting up straight. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.” Her hand moved to his and, to her surprise, he clasped it hard. “Talk to me. Is it Rome?”

  A short, bitter laugh escaped him. “It’s definitely not Rome.”

  “Then what is it? You can talk to me.”

  Grant scrubbed a hand over his face, but still said nothing, the tortured look remaining.

  She stroked her fingers over his nape, rubbing him. “Something’s clearly upset you deeply about the situation. Something deeper than what you’re telling me.”

  “My wife . . . my first wife. I guess . . . I have strong reactions to unsafe situations.” Each word seemed like a struggle for him to admit. He paused, then sighed.