by Lucy Monroe
Zoe pulled back and looked into his eyes. Their normal blue lights had darkened with unmistakable desire. Zoe’s lips parted involuntarily. His gaze zeroed in on her mouth and it tingled as if he’d touched it. The sound of tinny laughter came from the TV screen, but he didn’t look away from her mouth and she couldn’t look away from him. In a gesture born of nervousness, she flicked her tongue out to wet her suddenly dry lips.
Grant made a growling sound deep in his throat.
“Grant?” Her head was screaming, Not again, but her body was refusing to listen as she leaned just one centimeter closer.
“This is not a good idea.” He said the words even as he cupped the back of Zoe’s head and pulled her forward to receive his kiss.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE feel of Grant’s lips against hers was so overpowering Zoe almost forgot to respond. Her body knew what it wanted, however, and she found herself arched against him, kissing him back for all she was worth. Her hands dug into the flannel covering his chest and she tried to eat his lips. He groaned and dragged her onto his lap, deepening the kiss.
At the first touch of his tongue Zoe lost whatever sense of reality she’d had left. Her mouth opened and she invited him in with little flicks of her tongue against his. His mouth was hot, his taste utterly masculine. How had she gone so long, forgetting how this felt?
Grant’s body shuddered under her, and Zoe felt more than just his hard thighs against her backside. A responding wetness warmed her inner thighs and she clamped them tightly together in an effort to assuage the ache in her most feminine place. She squirmed against him, exultant when he bucked under her.
She licked the salt and butter from the popcorn off his lips, tunneling her fingers into his hair, awed by the feel of its silkiness against her skin. His hands were locked on her hips and she desperately wanted to feel them move. Then they did. Right up her body to her breasts that longed for his touch.
He brushed her already erect nipples as they strained against her top. She wanted more. She wanted to rip off every layer of cloth between her burning skin and his hands, and she wanted those talented lips that were wreaking havoc with her mouth to do the same to the needy little buds jutting against his palms.
She rocked harder against him and he groaned deep in his throat. He bucked upward, pressing his hardened penis against the juncture of her thighs, and she almost came apart.
It was too much.
It was too wonderful.
It was over.
Grant had torn his mouth from hers and yanked his hands away from her breasts. She kept her eyes shut and waited for him to resume the kiss, to go on to something better.
Seconds moved in slow succession.
She opened her eyes and could have screamed at the look of horror on Grant’s face. He stood abruptly and she fell on the floor, landing hard on her bottom.
So much for their first kiss in four years.
He moved to stand near the recliner.
Zoe climbed up off the floor. “Ouch.” She rubbed her backside. “What was that for?”
Grant ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry. I…”
She waited, but Grant never finished his sentence. He just stared at her, like she had grown a couple of antlers…or worse. Her body ached from wanting, not to mention her unceremonious trip to the floor. Grant’s dismayed features were not helping.
“Stop looking like that. It was just a kiss.”
“Just a kiss? Zoe, you’re my best friend. A man does not kiss his best friend.”
This was getting out of hand. “Grant, I don’t know if you have noticed or not, but your best friend happens to be female. There is no cardinal rule against kissing me.”
“I have a rule against it.”
Had he written that rule before or after their hot and heavy session in his barn when she was nineteen? She felt her face crease in a frown. “Well, you broke it.”
“I know.”
He looked so genuinely dismayed that she fought with dual desires. One to comfort him and the other to smack him. What was his problem? Being his best friend, she decided on comfort and leaned forward to pat his arm. He jumped back.
She glared at him. “Stop acting like kissing me was tantamount to cattle rustling.” She was the one with all the reasons to keep their relationship platonic. He’d walked away from their last encounter with mutual passion heart-whole.
She hadn’t.
He frowned. “This is serious, niña.”
“I know.” Seriously disturbing. She might not think getting involved with Grant was up there on the list of her one hundred most intelligent life choices, but she sure as certain didn’t understand his melodramatic reaction. “Why do you have a rule against kissing me?”
He looked at her like she’d lost her mind.
“It’s a reasonable question. I liked kissing you.” She knew it couldn’t go anywhere, but it wasn’t exactly the crime of the century.
Grant glared at her. “Get over it. It won’t happen again.”
“Get over it? No wonder women break up with you by the truckload. If you treat them all like mass murderers for liking your kisses.”
“Stop dramatizing. We have enough to worry about without you getting theatrical.”
Her theatrical? She wasn’t the one turning a simple kiss into a federal offense.
He folded his arms across his chest, his stance defensive. “For your information, the women I date rarely break it off with me, and I don’t mind them liking my kisses.”
Okay. He was mad. That was pretty obvious. And he looked pretty confused too, but the words still hurt.
“What’s the matter with me?”
She had not meant to shout.
Grant winced, then rubbed the back of his neck.
“Stop doing that. You remind me of my dad,” she accused, out of all patience.
“Good. That’s good. Just remember, I’m a lot like your dad. You don’t want to kiss me again.”
Zoe pinched herself. It hurt. “Ouch.”
Grant looked at her with that dumb cow stare that men got sometimes when faced with a relationship discussion. “Why did you do that?”
“I wanted to know if this was some bizarre dream. Unfortunately, it’s not.” She rubbed at her arm where she had pinched it. She could not understand Grant’s reaction. She had a good reason for avoiding a relationship with him, but what was his problem with her?
She needed some time to think—away from the maddening man trying to convince her that he was just like her father. No two men could be more different. Grant had never made Zoe feel like she needed to be something or someone different to earn his approval. He’d hurt her when she was nineteen, but he hadn’t known how much. After all, as far as he was concerned she was the one who had run from the barn.
He didn’t know that she’d changed her mind and been prepared to take their relationship to a deeper level. But that didn’t excuse him turning to another woman so quickly, or the fact he hadn’t talked over what had happened with her before doing so. Zoe wasn’t the only one who had seen her and Grant as a couple that summer.
“I’m going to check on Snoopy and Maurice.”
“Great. I’ll start dinner.”
His obvious relief set her teeth on edge. “Fine.”
She left, stopping briefly to don her coat. When she opened the door, cold air and flurries of snow blasted her. She made her way to the barn, glad for the guide rope Grant kept during the winter between the barn and the hacienda. Her hands were numb in no time, and she berated herself for forgetting her gloves. She pulled her hands inside the sleeves of her coat and used the ends like mittens, holding onto the rope through the down-filled cotton. When she finally reached the barn, she yanked open the door and rushed inside.
She pushed the door shut against the howling wind and swiftly falling snow. She leaned against it, trying to catch her breath. One of Grant’s horses neighed. Zoe’s head snapped up at the sound. Snoopy came bounding to
ward her, barking a greeting.
“Hush, dog.” Zoe sank to her knees to hug him, and scratched him behind the ears. Snoopy crooned low in his throat at her affectionate scratching.
“Grant has a rule against kissing me. Can you believe it?” She patted Snoopy and stood up. She wanted to check on Maurice as well. “In fact, he would rather kiss just about anyone but me. He made that perfectly clear.” She walked over to the goat’s stall, talking to Snoopy all the way. “My best friend and self-proclaimed protector has a rule against kissing me. The man’s got a screw loose. I never noticed it before. I’m not exactly a candidate for the lead role in Fatal Attraction.”
She entered Maurice’s stall and leaned forward to pet the goat. He ignored her. Maurice had never really accepted Zoe. The only person he had ever shown any affection for was Mr. Givens. Zoe sighed. She checked Maurice’s food supply and then left his stall.
Snoopy danced around her. “Well, screw loose or no screw loose, after that kiss I’ve got some thinking to do.” Her body still tingled in places where he had touched her—even places he hadn’t. The dog barked once loudly. Zoe smiled. “I’m glad to see you agree.”
She sat down on the barn floor, glad for Grant’s penchant for cleanliness and his ranch hands’ follow-through. Snoopy nuzzled her neck before settling down beside her and laying his head in her lap. She scratched behind his ears again while she contemplated both her own and Grant’s reaction to the kiss.
The one relationship in her life she knew she could count on was her friendship with Grant, and she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it. She didn’t want to get hurt again either.
It had been a whole lot easier when she’d been living in Portland and going to college, and then doing her teaching practice. Maybe coming home had been a mistake in more ways than one. She’d wanted to mend her relationship with her father, but that hadn’t worked out. He’d sold the ranch and moved away.
Now, instead of being a blessing, like she’d thought it would be, her constant proximity to Grant was sending her libido out of control. While out of sight hadn’t exactly been out of mind, without his constant physical presence she’d been able to convince herself that this passionate encounter in the barn had been an aberration and she didn’t want him anymore.
Right.
Her body was still aching from a simple kiss. What would happen if they got even half of their clothes off, like they had that fateful night? And, more importantly, did she want to find out? Could she give him her body without giving him her heart, and if she did would it help her to dismiss this aching need pulsing through her once and for all?
She didn’t know the answer to those questions, but she did know it irritated her that Grant had a rule against kissing her. It brought out a primitive, competitive side to her nature, and a speculative look settled on her face. It was a look that Grant knew well and one he’d learned to be very wary of.
The smile that tipped her lips was one that had sent him into damage control mode on more than one occasion too, but he wasn’t there to see it now. Poor guy.
Grant could not believe that he had kissed Zoe. Talk about sheer male stupidity. Memories he’d fought hard to suppress rose to the surface, reminding him of how it felt to hold his best friend’s delectable body in his arms. A nuclear meltdown would have been cooler.
After filling a pot with water, he placed it on the gas range to heat, and then moved to the fridge to pull out ingredients for the cheese sauce. He wasn’t a fool, so why had he behaved like one? Zoe was his best friend. She was younger than him and needed to be protected, not seduced. He’d almost done that once when she was nineteen. He wouldn’t have stopped, and he’d had her half-naked before she’d come to her senses and done so herself.
Letting her go had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. It was right up there with trying to live with himself after seeing the look of horror on her face when she’d run from the barn after he’d all but taken her innocence. At twenty-four, he’d had a lot more experience than her, and she hadn’t known what to do with the feelings their kisses had inspired but he had. And he’d tried to do it.
It was not a memory that made him feel good about himself. He’d moved fast to get their friendship back on track, and to do it had gone so far as to flirt with a woman from New York a few days later at the town dance. It had worked. Until now. He wasn’t about to repeat his mistake of the past and risk losing Zoe’s friendship, but, damn—she had tasted good.
Grant swore soundly. Remembering how good she tasted was not going to help him keep their friendship on the right footing. He didn’t need to remember how good she’d felt in his arms either. She belonged to another part of his life. The permanent part.
Any physical relationship between them would have to be transitory. He didn’t do permanent. He didn’t even try to anymore. Besides, she would be no happier as a rancher’s wife than she had as a rancher’s daughter. And he’d learned that leaving the ranch was not an option for him. He belonged here. But she didn’t. That left her place in Grant’s life pretty well defined: friend.
And friendship was good, especially with Zoe. She didn’t care about his money, his holdings, or his mother’s connections on the east coast. Zoe only cared about Grant, and that kind of friendship wasn’t something he’d ever willingly risk. Not even for soul-shattering sex.
He pulled out a block of Tillamook cheese and started grating it into a bowl.
“It’s freezing out there.”
He swung around to face her, still holding the cheese in one hand and the grater in the other. Snow stuck to her hair and jacket. Her hands were red from the cold. He wanted to grab her and take up where they had left off on the couch.
He yelled at her instead. “What the hell were you doing outside without gloves?”
She smiled teasingly. “Glad to see that you are in a better mood.”
He ground his teeth together, in no mood for her joking. “I mean it, niña. If you had the common sense God gave a cat, you’d know this is not bare-headed and bare hands weather.”
Her smile withered and died. “I was going to offer to help you with dinner—but without the common sense that God gave a cat I’m sure I’d do myself damage. And, since you persist in seeing me as a child, I can’t imagine being of any real help to you either.”
She turned around and left.
Had he offended her into going back to the Pattersons’? No, she would not do so without the cats. He continued grating cheese, listening for a cat’s yowl or a door slamming, but heard neither.
She came back into the kitchen moments later, this time without her coat.
He stifled his relief and said nothing as she got herself a glass of water.
After a few minutes, Zoe’s continued silence got to him. “Okay, I’m sorry.” He hated apologizing. So why did he always end up saying he was sorry to Zoe?
“For what? Speaking the truth as you see it?”
“I do not think you are senseless and, while I use the term niña as an endearment, I do not think you are a child.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
She sighed. “All right, then. I forgive you.”
Grant stifled a demand that she promise not to go outside without gloves again. He’d had enough arguing for one night.
She hopped out of her chair and started gathering the rest of the ingredients for dinner. The water came to a boil and he dumped the pasta in. “We’ll have to wait until the snow lets up for me to drive you home.”
Zoe’s eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding. No way are you going to be able to drive me back tonight.”
Was that why she had not stormed out? Because she thought she was stuck there? “My truck has four-wheel drive.”
She stopped measuring ingredients into the saucepan on the stove. “Four-wheel drive won’t do a thing for low visibility. It’s a good thing we brought the cats with us.”
Someone had sucked all the a
ir out of the kitchen, and Grant regretted giving his foreman’s wife time off for the holidays. At least if she were here to prepare dinner they would not be alone. “You can’t spend the night.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course I can.”
He was drowning. “You don’t have any clothes with you.”
She gave him a cheerful smile. “You can lend me something to sleep in.”
Zoe sleeping in his clothes? The image of her wearing one of his T-shirts as a nightgown caused an uncomfortable sensation in his groin. A mental picture of her wearing him made his jeans feel like a pair of Speedos two sizes too small. “The snow will let up.”
“I hope so.” She tasted the cheese sauce by dipping her finger in a spoon of sauce and licking it off. Slowly.
He itched to copy the action, her finger in his mouth.
“I don’t want to miss the last day of school tomorrow.” She took another tortuous lick of the sauce, this time off the spoon.
He needed better ventilation in the kitchen. He could not get enough air.
She turned toward him and offered the spoon. “Want to try it? I think it’s done.”
“N-no.” His voice hadn’t cracked like that since middle school. He cleared his throat. “I trust you.”
She shrugged. “You’re missing something. It’s really good.” Then she proceeded to lick every last drop of melted cheese from the spoon.
The pasta boiled over and he jumped forward to save it. He grabbed the pot, inwardly cursing his earlier inability to look away from Zoe’s tantalizing lips on the spoon. The noodles looked cooked. He tested one and burnt his tongue. “Ouch.”
She handed him a glass of water. “Drink. It will help.”
He grimaced, but didn’t argue.
“You do this every time.” She combined the noodles and sauce. “All you have to do is be a little more patient.”