Playing with Danger (Desire Bay Book 2)

by Joya Ryan

  But that was the one part of her body that was aching.

  Her heart.

  Love you, Daddy.

  She shook her head wildly, hating her brain for letting that thought sneak in. It hurt too badly to love a man like him.

  She slammed the car door, walked around, and got in, making the quick drive to her father’s trailer.

  She almost forgot she had an entirely different man to deal with once she actually got to her own home.

  Hannah stared down her front door and willed the night air to cool her skin. And her mind. Because both were racing hot, from a shitty night dropping her drooling and passed-out father off, to now having to deal with Grant Laythem on the other side of this damn door.

  Was the universe trying to kick her ass with annoying males lately?

  She’d specifically stopped her mind from taking a stroll down memory lane today. After Grant had come in, it had been difficult to think of anything but him. Yet she’d held strong. Refused to reminisce. Because the minute she did, she just might remember how good he felt against her.

  “Snap the eff out of this,” she muttered to herself. Twisting her neck from side to side, that throb always present, she blew out a heavy breath and tried not to replay one of the only things she’d been thinking about since seeing Grant today. Which was how hot he was and how hard up she was.

  Grant had walked into her life looking polished, cool, and collected in his perfectly fitted blue suit, complete with a white button-down with the collar undone. She’d looked at the tan skin of his chest. Wondered if he still tasted salty, like the sea air, or maybe more like caramel.

  She didn’t know what he did for work, but she knew he was successful. She thought he’d mentioned some kind of business once. And she knew he was from New York. So he clearly had a posh life to some extent. Even the words he spoke dripped with poise and class. Even when he was being a brat or challenging her.

  Yep, her ex was confident, and different from her in every way. He was also sexy as sin.

  Scratch that.

  He wasn’t her ex.

  He was her husband.

  Her current husband.

  Which she’d be taking care of really soon. Because despite her insane attraction to him, they could never work. Not long term. They were different, with different lives on different ends of the country.

  She needed to focus on getting through the next couple of weeks, and that was it. In two weeks, everything could go back to normal. If she could just stop thinking about him. He was in her home, a single door separating them, and she knew it.

  The lights were on in her small house, and it looked full and bright. Like his presence, even with her standing on the outside, was engulfing.

  Out of sight, out of mind had worked for her the past six months. How bad could two weeks be with him hanging around just a bit? She’d walk in, ignore him, and go straight to bed. He was a dude, so he was likely passed out on the couch with Dorito stains on his shirt and SportsCenter on the TV.

  Yep, just sneak by, and she wouldn’t even have to acknowledge he was there. Good plan.

  She opened the front door, set her purse down on the table, and kicked the door shut.

  She got her coat off and heard a small clatter . . .

  She looked up and saw Grant.

  Shirtless.

  A little sweaty.

  And reaching high to the light fixture in the ceiling.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed, running her eyes down the length of his cut abs and tan skin. Her previous question was now answered: he definitely would taste the same. She could tell that just by looking at him. Paired with his chiseled chest and arms on full display, she couldn’t help but fasten her gaze on the black leather belt that was making his crisp jeans ride a tad low. Enough to see where his happy trail disappeared . . .

  “Honey, you’re home,” he said.

  Hannah’s eyes snapped up to meet his face, and he was smiling wide.

  “And judging by the little bit of drool on your mouth, you must be hungry,” he said. Knowing well and good she was just staring down at his package. Damn it. So much for avoiding him.

  “You changed,” she said. “I was just noticing you’re not in city wear anymore. That’s all.” Good save. She gave herself a mental high five.

  “Uh-huh. I own jeans.”

  “And what about shirts?”

  “You don’t like my chest? I thought it was your mouth that couldn’t stay off it—”

  “That was six months ago. Get over yourself,” she said. Wanting to get under him. “What are you doing?” she asked, trying to focus on taking her boots off at the front door. Nice thing about her house was that it was small and open. Simple, one bedroom, with the living room and kitchen open and everything visible from the doorway.

  Bad thing about her house was that now that Grant was in it, she could see everything, including his eight-pack abs, from about anywhere in the house.

  “Just my husbandly duties.” He smiled and reached back up to twist the light fixture again.

  “Is that my screwdriver?” she asked.

  “Yep,” he said, his focus on the light. “This was loose, so I’m fixing it.”

  “I can do that,” she insisted.

  He glanced at her and smiled. “You’re a bit petite to reach all the way up here, baby.”

  Hannah glanced down at herself. She was smaller but had curves. In no way tall by any means. Still, she was capable.

  “Petite or not, I can handle myself.”

  “I’m aware,” he said, the edge of his voice holding praise that caused a blush to threaten to creep up her cheeks. But she tamped it down.

  “I also fixed the garbage disposal and adjusted the hot-water heater,” he said.

  She frowned, finally kicking her second boot off, and stomped in his direction.

  “I don’t need any of your help. I can take care of my home—”

  “Our home—”

  “And I’ve just been busy working, anyway. So don’t bother. I don’t need you.” She didn’t know if all her rage was pointed at him or the fact that she’d just had yet another run-in with her drunk father, or both. She just felt annoyed and crazy and . . . needy.

  But she didn’t need the way Grant was being useful. She wanted to claw at him, bite him, fuck him . . . she needed him in the way she remembered. The same way she’d needed him the night she met him. And the two weeks following . . . He made her crazy in the worst—and best—ways, and now that he was here, she could use a dose of his brand of medicine.

  She couldn’t let her needs get in the way of the bigger picture. She needed to stay strong and get through these two weeks before her life could back to normal.

  Is normal so great, though?

  She shook her head, officially done with her brain. She closed the last inch between herself and Grant and reached for the screwdriver, but he held it out of reach and she tumbled into his hard chest. She instantly smelled his spicy skin and even tasted the hint of salt. Her mouth pressed against the upper set of his abs, and she instantly got wet.

  And damn Grant for noticing. Because she felt his whole body turn on like a humming generator.

  She backed away and looked him in the eyes.

  “I was starting to forget what a tiny thing you are,” he said, his voice huskier than it’d been a moment ago.

  “Tiny and scrappy,” she countered.

  “Oh, I didn’t forget scrappy,” he said, lust tinting his words. “I still have scars on my back from those sharp nails of yours.”

  Her lips parted. She remembered the night she’d raked her nails down his skin. In fairness, she’d been so far gone to him and the passion that she hadn’t realized. Also in her defense, he’d taken her like a wild man. On a secluded deck at 2:00 a.m., under the moonlight. She’d held on to him like her life had depended on it and dug her claws into his shoulders while the ship quietly plowed through the ocean in the dead of night.

  “I d
on’t remember you complaining,” she said, trying to gain some ground.

  He bent over her just enough to have his shadow engulf her. The yellow light haloed around him.

  “And you never will,” he said, shifting even closer toward her. “Because that was one of the best nights of my life.” Closer. “I think about that moment every day. One of my favorite go-to memories.”

  She raised a brow, trying to keep her cool, but she wanted him closer. Just for a moment. Wanted to hear his words. His voice. Feel his heat. She wouldn’t admit she missed him. She wouldn’t even admit she wanted him. Even though every cell in her body was calling her a liar.

  “Go-to memories?” she asked.

  He nodded. “I’ve needed something to think about these past months to get me through this dry spell.”

  She eyes widened. “You . . . you haven’t been with anyone since me?”

  He frowned like she was crazy. “Of course not. We’re married. Why, have you?”

  She folded her lips. No, she hadn’t. And she had thought of him. A lot. During that same dry spell he’d had.

  “That’s none of your business,” she said.

  He smiled. “So that’s a no.”

  “How could you know that?”

  “Because I know you, Hannah. Like it or not, I do know you. And I can tell you’re faking calm right now. But you’ve missed me. So much that you haven’t been with anyone else.”

  Her ribs crackled around her thundering heart. How in the hell could he guess that? No, not guess, know that. The bastard was so confident in his words that it made her whole body buzz like her skin was a neon sign flashing every secret and thought she had. She refused to give in, though.

  “I admit nothing.”

  His grin widened, and he took another step until his chest was an inch from her mouth. “All right, then I’ll admit everything,” he said. “Starting with how those moans of yours are burned into my memory and every time I’ve come over the past six months, I hear them replay in my mind.”

  Her breath stalled.

  “You thought of me?” she whispered. Knowing it was a dumb question, that it was opening the door for her to plant her mouth on him.

  “Every time, baby. Only you.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and whispered, “I thought about fucking you from behind in front of the full-length mirror in your cabin. I thought about how all your sexy tattoos move and sway around your hips when you ride me.” He trailed his fingers along her hips, as if outlining the vines and flowers she had etched there. “I thought about those little claws of yours and you screaming my name.”

  She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t swallow. She could only feel him. Smell him. See him. He was invading every sense and bit of space she had. Just like last time. Just like that time they’d first met—and the two weeks that followed. There was something about Grant Laythem that got to her. A kind of power that went straight to her soul.

  “Must have been a lot of lonely nights,” she said, trying for any kind of cool and cursing her body for being so damn hot.

  “And I plan to make up for every single one,” he said. Leaning in, his mouth brushed hers. “Admit it, baby. You’ve thought of me.” He gently grabbed her hand and brought her fingers between their lips and gently kissed her thumb. Then her middle finger. Then he bit her ring finger. “Tell me you’ve thought of me while touching yourself with these pretty hands.”

  She swallowed hard and thought back to every stupid time she’d replayed those two weeks in her mind. But she couldn’t admit it. She also couldn’t deny it.

  “I think a lot of things,” she whispered. Her resolve fading. It was hard to think with him touching her. “But I can’t recall with you so close.”

  “For every memory you tell me, I’ll take a step back,” he bartered.

  Deal. Because she needed space, or she was going to jump his bones right then and there.

  “The ocean,” she started. “When we docked the first time.”

  He smiled and made a motion to step back but waited for her to finish.

  “I . . . we . . .”

  “You pulled your bikini off and wrapped your legs around me,” he said for her.

  She nodded. “The water was up to our chests.”

  “You slid down on my cock, and the water moved around us.”

  “You fucked me hard,” she finished, staring down the only man who made her feel weak and powerful at the same time. She couldn’t hold out, didn’t want to. She needed a release. Needed him. Just for a moment.

  She grabbed his belt and yanked him back toward her, crashing her lips on his. The memory was too much. Grant being there was too much. She didn’t need to reminisce—she needed to feel him. For real. Just once, to get him out of her system. Yes. That was why she was shoving her tongue down his throat. She’d avoid him tomorrow. Because he was right—he was her husband. Technically. And she’d never been so attracted to someone in her life.

  “Jesus, I’ve missed you,” he growled against her mouth.

  She wanted to say she’d missed him, too. Instead, she just kissed him. Too afraid that the truth would come out if she didn’t. Which was that this was short term. Crazy. Just like they were. But she’d give in for now. Because that’s all she could do. Just give in.

  She ran her hands up his chest, feeling all the hot, smooth skin and rigid muscles. She was desperate for him. Call it a dry spell or just plain hard up or that she missed him. Whatever it was, she needed Grant. He was the only one who’d ever sparked her blood like this. And right then, she didn’t want to think of her situation. Didn’t want to think of how the night had gone. Didn’t want to stress and worry. She’d deal with the fallout and avoidance and getting through the rest of the two weeks later. Right now, she needed to douse the dry spell with some sexy man.

  On her tiptoes, she wrapped her arms around him and clawed his back while she kissed down his neck and sucked on his chest. He felt familiar. Like she knew every square inch of his skin by memory and could draw a map with her tongue. Which she just might do . . .

  She flicked her tongue out again, running over his pec, his nipple, and watching his strong heartbeat thump harder beneath the surface.

  Clearly, he still loved her mouth on him.

  “Oh God, baby.” The low growl boosted her confidence. She still got to him. She could hear it, feel it, in how he cupped her head and his heart beat wildly under her mouth.

  She sucked his nipple and lapped at his stomach muscles as her fingers dug into his back. She’d missed his taste. His skin. His strength. So much power under her fingertips right now, and she was bold. Wanting more. Wanting to feel alive. Wanting to slake all the pent-up lust and anger and everything on him.

  She yanked open his belt and shoved his pants low on his hips.

  His impressive cock sprang out, and she didn’t waste a breath. She wanted to taste him. Feel him. Deep.

  She hit her knees and sucked him hard. In one inhale, she took him deep into her throat.

  “Fuck, baby. Oh God . . . yes.”

  She loved his sounds. Him weaving his fingers in her hair while she sucked him only spurred her on. A low growl broke from him. Like an animal. Wild and savage.

  Before she realized what was happening, he had her up and bent over the couch. In one fast move, he pulled her pants down just enough to bare her to him.

  “I’ve been waiting so long to feel you again, and the first time I come will be inside you.”

  With one big hand on her hip, he tilted her up and positioned his cock at her entrance.

  “Tell me you want it,” he said.

  “You know I do,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him.

  His eyes were wild and fiery, like he would devour her. She loved it. He gathered her long hair in his hand and wrapped it once, twice, a third time around his fist.

  “Then take it, baby,” he whispered in her ear. With a tight grip on her hair, he surged deep.

  She screamed his na
me but was met with the couch cushion catching her cries. He pulled out and hammered back inside her, using her hair as reins to pull her back while he surged forward.

  He hit her in every spot, the way only he could.

  She bit the cushion to stifle the cry of pure pleasure.

  He was big and hard, and it had been a while, so he stretched her completely.

  “Still hot and wet and tight for me,” he said, pulling all the way out and thrusting back inside fast and deep. His open belt hit the back of her thigh, the cold metal gently clanking against her skin.

  He unraveled her hair from his hand and gripped her hips. He was picking up speed. Thrusting in and out harder and faster. Every time he impaled her, he pulled her back. She knew he was making sure she felt every inch of him. And she did.

  Her core slickened so much she felt every smooth glide of him piercing her, like he was made to be inside her. Such perfection couldn’t be matched if she tried.

  She bounced forward, the slap of his hips against her ass making her moan louder and louder.

  “Say my name, baby.”

  “Grant,” she said. “God, please, I’m right there.”

  “I feel you. You want to come for me?”

  “Yes, yes, please.”

  He fucked her harder, faster still. She gripped the couch for support, letting her whole body go limp against the piece of furniture. She was at Grant’s mercy, being held up by no power of her own, while he delivered slashes of pleasure into her.

  He pulled her close, snaking one strong arm beneath her to lift her up so her back met his chest. His other arm wrapped around her waist, holding all her weight while he continued to pump in and out of her.

  “I’ve missed you,” he said against her ear, then bit the lobe just as his fingers found her core.

  “Grant,” she breathed.

  His fingers found the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs and rubbed.

  “Say it again.” His voice sounded more like a plea, and it made her want to respond. Give him anything he wanted.