Playing with Danger (Desire Bay Book 2)

by Joya Ryan

  “You know”—he leaned in, sticking his bottom lip out a little like a toddler would—“you keep whispering, and it makes me feel like you’re ashamed of me. That hurts, baby.”

  She rolled her eyes again, and he grinned. Damn, he’d missed her. It had taken him only two weeks on a cruise he’d been suckered into going on by a friend in the first place to fall in love with her.

  “Please. You’re not hurt,” she scoffed and crossed her arms beneath her incredible breasts. Which he would have appreciated more if her words hadn’t just delivered a swift jab of pain and anger.

  “You better understand one thing right now,” he said quietly, placing his forearm on the bar. Keeping his eyes on hers, he said, “Don’t you dare think that what you pulled didn’t rip my heart out.”

  She blinked a few times, clearly surprised. Good. Because he might be Grant Laythem III, heir to Laythem Inc., a Fortune 500 company, and, as of recently, sole heir to the entire estate. But she didn’t know that. Which was why he loved how she treated him. Like a man. A normal man. Some bum she’d met on a ship six months ago and fallen in love with, having no idea about his status or money or responsibilities of running his father’s company in New York.

  While she didn’t need to know any of that, she did need to know that she had torn his fucking beating heart from his chest when she’d left him.

  “It’s been six months,” she said softly, as if that explained away everything. Or perhaps she was asking him why it’d taken him six months to find her?

  “Yes, it’s been a long time. Like I said, you were hard to find. You don’t have social media.” And he had issues to deal with. Like when he’d woken up to find his wife gone and the ship docked, and he’d gotten a call from his lawyer saying his father was dying. That’s right. His lawyer had called him. Vultures tended to circle whenever a powerful man with a lot of assets was fading. But all Grant felt was that it was his father in pain. And he’d wanted to be there. He’d had no choice but to get straight to New York. Then the last few months had been bogged down with going over his will and funeral arrangements and running the business, and yet, Grant still thought of Hannah every day. Life with her had been warm and sunny and easy. Sure, it had been short-lived, on a cruise ship in the middle of the Caribbean, but he missed it. She was the sun that relaxed him and the smile that fostered exceptional moments and steamy late nights. New York was cold and calculating, and he was always dealing with issues surrounding money. Always. But those were more details she didn’t need to know about. He was here now. To get her to come back with him to New York as his wife. He just needed to convince her.

  “Grant, I know things heated up between us quickly, but it was a two-week cruise, and it ended.”

  “Ended with us getting married. Who knew captains could wed people?”

  “We both knew that,” she said, deadpan.

  “Exactly. Which is why I’m confused about why you’re fighting this. You said yes. And baby, I’m here to cash in on those vows.”

  “Cash in?” She frowned, then looked around. “You can’t have anything of mine. I was going to get the marriage annulled—I’ve just been busy.”

  Now it was his turn to frown. Grant was a fairly savvy businessman and knew when someone had a hand to lose. Hannah thought he’d meant he wanted money from her? Then she had looked around the bar.

  Bingo!

  “Is this your place?” he asked.

  “No, not yet. No,” she said quickly. Ah, there it was. His wife was a little entrepreneur. Looking to buy this bar. Okay, he could support that. Lot of money in the local joints. But he still needed her. So much. With his father gone, his mother still after the family fortune, and all of Grant’s friends or former lovers after him for his status and money, he thought of Hannah, the only woman he’d ever opened up to. The only woman who’d loved him for him. She was brighter than the Mexican sun, and he needed her. His wife. In his world.

  “I’m here for you. Nothing else,” he said.

  Her big, bright eyes met his. Creamy skin and dark hair that was so silky he could feel it just from memory. It was longer now. And that itch in his hand doubled. He needed to touch her soon, or he just might have to cut his damn hands off.

  “What does that even mean?” she asked.

  “It means I want you. Just like I did the moment I met you. Same as the moment you married me. I want you.”

  Her lips parted, and it made him think he had a chance.

  “No.”

  Damn.

  “Grant, we were crazy. We were caught up. We have two different lives. I’m sorry you came all this way, but I’ll get annulment papers.”

  “Too late,” he said. “We’ve been married over six months. It’d be a divorce.”

  She glanced away briefly, like his admission had caught her off guard. Which gave him another flare of hope. He had to test her, though, to make sure.

  “So you must not have looked into divorcing or annulling the marriage?” he asked.

  She glared. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Uh-huh. A two-second Google search is a big time commitment. Sounds like maybe you have no intention of leaving me. You wanted me to come for you and stay married.” That sponge of pride started growing again.

  “Whatever,” she mumbled. “I’ll get the papers drawn up soon.”

  He nodded and looked around. His mind was working double time to find a solution, because he couldn’t lose her again. He needed a chance to make this work with her. He’d already lost his father. The one other person he cared about. Hannah was all he had left. The warmth in his cold, sterile world.

  “So you won’t even consider staying married?” he asked.

  “There’s no point, Grant.”

  “You don’t want me?”

  She looked him over. Same way she had the night they’d met. Same way she had these past fifteen minutes. It made his chest swell with pride. She looked at him like she was aching. On fire for him. And he wanted to be that fire for her.

  “Me wanting you has nothing to do with it.”

  “That has everything to do with it.”

  “Lust, Grant. That’s all it was.”

  He shrugged. “Agree to disagree. It was more. We both know it. So I’ll tell you what—you give me a chance to remind you how good we are together.”

  She shook her head. “There’s no point.”

  “Fine, then I’ll get my lawyer to look over a divorce. Which means we’ll split marital assets.” He glanced around the bar. “This would mean I get to own half this bar of yours, right?”

  Her eyes shot wide. “You wouldn’t.”

  Her stance widened, her shoulders coming forward . . . his woman was pissed and in full attack mode. Or defense mode. Either way, she cared very much about this bar. Grant didn’t exactly love himself for exploiting that. He loved her. And in that moment, it hit him how low he’d go to have another shot with her.

  “I just want a chance,” he said quietly.

  “You’re blackmailing me into being your wife? How sick are you?”

  “Excuse me, you agreed to be my wife eagerly. I’m blackmailing you into staying my wife.”

  She huffed and shook her head. Grant wasn’t above a little blackmail to get a few more moments with the love of his life. He’d never take her bar. In fact, he had a ton more to lose than she did. Which his lawyer and mother had made him very aware of. Thankfully, his mother didn’t know he’d gotten married. But his lawyer did. Legally, he stood to lose a lot. Hannah could take Grant for quite a bit of his company, assets, and money. Which was why keeping his wealth to himself was wise for now. Once he could prove to her how much he loved her and they made this work, everything would fall into place—and sure, his lawyer had recommended getting Hannah to sign a postnup so that he wouldn’t lose any of his company should they not work out. But he’d deal with that later. Mostly because he was certain Hannah would never drain him. He trusted her. He just didn’t want to give her anothe
r complication to think about. He wanted her to accept him. Just. Him.

  Because he’d already lost her once. Then lost his father. The only two people he ever genuinely cared about. And his father had believed in love. Said if Grant was lucky to find it, he should hold on to it. He wouldn’t let his father down. Wouldn’t let his company perish, and he would see to all his responsibilities while keeping his wife.

  But one goal at a time.

  He leaned in closer, placing both his hands on the bar, and felt her heat. She was two feet of wood countertop away from him. Her lips inches from his.

  “Tell me right now that those two weeks we had together weren’t some of the best of your life, and I will leave and give you your divorce right here and now.”

  Her eyes met his. But she said nothing.

  “What do you want?” she whispered in a defeated tone.

  “You. A chance to prove to you that we can work.”

  She closed her eyes. “We won’t work. We don’t.”

  “Give me two weeks.” He figured he’d made her fall in love with him before in that time—he could do it again.

  “Two weeks? Of what? Being your wife?”

  “Yes,” he said with a smile, liking the sound of that.

  “And after those two weeks are up and you realize we don’t work, you’ll leave?”

  He nodded. “I’ll go, give you your divorce. Not taking anything from you. You have my word. I just want a chance.”

  She frowned. “Don’t be thinking I’m just going to have sex with you.”

  “I think you’ll want to.” He winked.

  “You’re so annoying,” she grumbled.

  “And you’re beautiful.” He reached out his hand. “Do you accept my terms?”

  She reluctantly took his hand to shake it. “Yes.”

  He cupped her small hand in his and brought it to his mouth to kiss her knuckles. Her flesh broke out in goose bumps again. Something he was getting fond of witnessing.

  “That’s my favorite word you say to me,” he said.

  “Well, don’t get used to it.” She snatched her hand away. “Now I have to get back to work and clean this mess up. So . . .” She made a “run along” motion with her fingers, and he rose to stand tall.

  “Of course. Just point me in the direction of our home, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Our home?”

  He nodded. “I’m staying with you, baby. Being married and all.”

  “Will you stop saying that?” she said quietly, looking around.

  “Well, you can either tell me where we live, or I can hang out here with you and loudly yell sweet nothings about how our wedding was—”

  “Four fifty-three Glenda Avenue,” she said quickly.

  He smiled. “I’ll see you at home.”

  “Can’t wait,” she said sarcastically.

  Grant walked out of the bar, feeling good for the first time in months. He had two weeks with his wife to convince her of forever.

  He’d had worse deadlines.

  Chapter Two

  Hannah threw the door to the small Yachats Sheriff’s Department open harder than she’d meant to. Thankfully, she’d gotten the rest of her shift covered so she could be there before midnight. It was just past eight and dark, but the station was still open, because the single cell had someone in it.

  Her dad.

  The light was on in the lobby. Which was two square yards of blue linoleum with a single chair next to a small table with year-old magazines on it.

  “Hey, Hannah,” Gabe said, getting up from his desk in the back. She could see the entire station from where she stood in the doorway. A small partition where Bette, the busty receptionist of sixty-five, sat during regular hours didn’t hide the three desks and open area behind it. Because that’s all it really took to run this small town. Nothing happened here. Except when the drunks in town didn’t know when to stay out of town.

  “Sorry about my dad,” Hannah said. A line she’d uttered well over a million times over the past two decades. She adjusted her shoulders in her leather jacket. The squeak of the material sounded louder in the stillness of this office.

  “Don’t worry about it. I just brought him in. Kept it off the books.”

  “I appreciate that, Gabe.”

  Gabe nodded, walking around the partition and coming to face her. He was in his usual uniform. Badge and name tag shining brightly. Gabe had always been the good boy next door. Even dated Hannah’s best friend back in high school. They’d been the quarterback and the homecoming queen, while Hannah was the weird Goth girl going through an angsty phase. Too bad no one had realized it wasn’t a phase. It was her life. At eleven, she’d been scared all the time with worry for her dad. At fourteen she’d been annoyed by getting her dad out of whatever drunken jam he’d found himself in. At sixteen she’d gotten angry at him for the same old crap he pulled every week. At eighteen she went through a self-blaming stage, thinking she had ruined his life somehow and that’s why he was the way he was. Finally, as a grown woman, she was just exhausted.

  Twenty years of bailing her dad out.

  Twenty years of disappointment.

  And still . . . she showed up.

  “Looks like I’m the real idiot,” she mumbled to herself.

  Gabe frowned. “What?”

  She shook her head and gave her best fake smile. “Nothing. Long day. Talking to myself again.”

  “Like in math class,” Gabe said with a grin. They’d been in the same classes most of high school, and yeah, she might have mumbled to herself through every algebra problem.

  “Some things never change,” she said and followed Gabe down the narrow hallway leading to the back of the office, then took a left down another hallway, where the walls went from a light beige color to gray. She knew the way. Had traveled these same steps countless times.

  But still, she stayed behind Gabe, letting him lead.

  They were still ten feet from the bars, and she could already smell her dad.

  Wild Turkey and Marlboro Reds.

  Ah, the smell of childhood.

  She walked to the jail-cell bars and could feel the coldness radiating from the metal. She saw her father, lying on his side, one arm tucked under his head, sleeping on the thin cot in the cell.

  “Where was he?” she asked Gabe, not taking her eyes from her father.

  “Caused a fight at the Windy.”

  Hannah sighed. The Windy was a dive bar by the docks. Only fishermen and people looking for a two-dollar shot of whiskey went there.

  “Did he hurt anyone?”

  Gabe shook his head. “No, just pissed a few people off. He missed the guy’s face and hit the wall, so his hand is scuffed up and swollen.”

  Served him right. Her father was a bad drunk. A fighter. He mouthed off and got himself into trouble, usually with guys bigger than him. A flash of cold goose bumps raced up her spine when she remembered her childhood stare downs with her father. He’d cocked his fist like a loaded gun on more than one occasion, but he never followed through. That was her blessing, she supposed. She actually felt grateful, because some kids had it way worse. Sure, he’d gone on tirades, but most of the time he just didn’t care or show up. The fear of that fist coming at her was burned into her mind, though.

  Could have been worse, she reminded herself. He could have connected that fist with her face. He never had. Yet the fear was still there.

  “Sorry,” Hannah said again, apologizing for her father. Who was snoring and didn’t give a shit about anything but himself and his habit. One of these days he was going to get an assault charge. Thank God he hadn’t tried driving.

  “Silas,” Gabe said softly, pulling out his keys to unlock the cell. “Silas, your daughter is here—”

  “Hey, jackass!” Hannah yelled and kicked the bars with her boot. The clanging sound echoed and startled her father awake. “Get your butt up. I’m taking you home.”

  Silas Hastings grumbled and slurred his way
to stand all his five feet seven inches of self into a swaying, upright position.

  “That’s no way to talk to me. I’m injured,” he slurred.

  Gabe got the door unlocked and slid it open. Hannah walked in. She just wanted to get his soaked ass back to his trailer and be done with him for the night. Until next time, that was.

  “Injured?” Hannah crossed her arms, watching him steady himself on his feet. “You hurt your hand on a wall trying to punch someone, Si.”

  “Bastard cheated me!” Si yelled. “And I’m your father. How many times do I have to tell you to call me Dad?”

  Hannah’s fists tightened at her sides, then she immediately unclenched. Guess another thing she got from her dad was that jerky reaction.

  “You tell me a lot, and I tell you no,” Hannah said.

  “You always were an ungrateful girl.”

  Hannah laughed. Honest to God laughed, because if she was ungrateful, she had no idea what to call Silas Hastings.

  “Yep, that’s me, Si. Spoiled and ungrateful. Now get your drunk ass in the car so I can take you home and make sure you don’t choke on your own puke.”

  Si shook his head, agreeing with her idea and missing the sarcasm completely. Sarcastic or not, it was true. She’d take him home and put him on the couch in his trailer, with a bowl and a glass of water on the floor next to him. Just like she always did.

  “Thanks, Gabe,” she said to him as Silas made his way down the hallway, then slung his arm over Hannah’s shoulder. She took his weight, helping him walk. It was the only time she touched her father. The only way she ever remembered him touching her. Never a hug, a high five, or a “way to go, kiddo” tap on the shoulder. Nope. It was always him slouching his weight on her, silently asking her to carry his load of baggage. Which was just as heavy as her father himself.

  “You need help?” Gabe asked, keeping stride behind them.

  “Nope, I’ve got this,” Hannah said.

  She walked her father out to her car, buckled him into the passenger seat.

  “Good girl, Banana,” Si mumbled, his eyes closed and his head leaning against the seat. Her heart lurched at the childhood nickname only her father used. Hannah Banana. “Love my little girl,” he slurred. And Hannah didn’t know if he was admitting to loving her or the little girl she’d once been. Either way, he mumbled things all the time when he was drunk. It was up to Hannah not to take anything to heart.