Playing with Danger (Desire Bay Book 2)

by Joya Ryan

  “Grant.” She said his name again and was rewarded with his magic fingers rubbing wet circles faster.

  He thrust deep and stayed buried in her to the hilt.

  With him inside her and his hand rubbing perfect friction, she couldn’t hold out anymore. Her body melted. A tremor of heat raced from the base of her neck to the tip of her spine. She trembled, her body gently convulsing as she came hard around Grant.

  “I love feeling you come on me,” he said. His breath hit her neck, and she tried to speak but couldn’t. Because just as her pleasure was tapering off, she felt Grant’s hard cock twitch inside her and flood her with his own release.

  He clung to her harder. Wrapping her in his strong arms as he came apart around her. But it was she who felt like she’d just shattered into a million pieces. And the only thing holding her together was Grant.

  Chapter Three

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, back up. You’re married?” Laura Baughman asked Hannah with big eyes. “I’m your best friend, and I’m just now hearing about this?”

  Hannah slumped over her friend’s kitchen table and rubbed her temple. She’d sneaked out of her own house this morning without a word to Grant. Who was still sleeping in her bed. His big, naked body looking all hard and delicious and . . .

  That’s when she’d hauled balls out of there.

  It had been just past dawn, but thankfully, hiding at Laura’s house came with complimentary coffee and a ton of questions.

  “It was on the cruise I took last summer,” Hannah admitted. Her one and only vacation. And it had ended with several voice mails that her father was in jail and her real life was calling her. When the ship had docked, everything had changed. Something she hadn’t thought through then and didn’t want to now.

  “So now your hubby is back here looking for you?” Laura asked with a half-shocked, half-intrigued smile, and got up to get the coffeepot. She came back to the table and poured a warmer in Hannah’s mug. Laura’s light pink robe swayed around her legs, and her blonde hair was up in a messy ponytail. It reminded Hannah of when they’d had sleepovers in high school. Woke up early to talk about boys and gossip.

  Only now, Hannah didn’t need to gossip about boys—she needed to get rid of one.

  Is that why he was in between your legs last night? Because you were so ready to get rid of him?

  She cursed her own mind to shut up.

  “Ugh, don’t call him my hubby. And yes, he is back here looking for me. Well . . . he found me. So now he’s just trying to convince me to stay married.”

  “That’s romantic!” Laura said, her prom-queen optimism coming out.

  Hannah scowled. “No, it’s not. I got caught up six months ago, and I didn’t think I’d see him again. So if anything, he’s kind of stalkerish.” Now Hannah was really grasping at straws, and judging by the look on Laura’s face, she wasn’t buying it, either.

  “He’s a man coming to see his wife. Because you married him,” Laura said.

  “Yeah,” Hannah said, not taking her eyes off her coffee.

  “On a cruise ship?”

  “Yeah.”

  “In the Caribbean.”

  Hannah huffed an annoyed breath. “I get that you’re counting facts, but we’re not on Sesame Street. I made a mistake.”

  “Do you really think you made a mistake?” Laura asked.

  “Of course I did. It was impulsive and dumb and . . .”

  “And you’ve never done anything like that. Which means maybe he really is something special.”

  Hannah opened her mouth to say, “No fucking way is that possible,” only nicer . . . but no words came. Laura’s words were wiggling around in her brain, and the longer they stayed, the heavier they felt. Her temples pounded the word special over and over until it made her skull ache.

  Special.

  Grant is special.

  What we have is special.

  “No,” Hannah said out loud, both to her friend and for her own peace of mind. Literally. “There’s nothing special, and Laura, you’re not helping. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

  “I am. I just . . . maybe if you tell me how this even started?”

  “What do you mean, how? We met, he was hot”—still is—“and I spent two weeks in a sex-induced lust coma cruising the ocean.”

  “Well, I’m going to need to hear all the details now!” Laura said, leaning over the table with excitement. “Start from the beginning. How did you meet?”

  Hannah let out a loud breath and thought of the first time she’d met Grant Laythem . . .

  “This has to be the reverse of what the Titanic going down felt like,” Hannah mumbled to herself. She shoved the strap of her large woven bag up on her shoulder and followed the long line of people getting registered and onto the cruise ship.

  It was her first—likely only—vacation.

  She’d gotten the ticket from Roberta, an older woman back home who’d been planning to go on this Caribbean cruise as a single-woman getaway, but then she’d started dating, so she gave her ticket to Hannah. All she had to do was cover the flight from Oregon to Florida. Which was where the cruise started and stopped.

  There Hannah was.

  Single, alone, on a cruise ship.

  Maybe she’d jump.

  Or spend the whole two weeks drunk under a cabana. Either way, it was different from her small-town home with her small-town problems and even smaller-town reputation.

  She was slowly shuffling with the large crowd to get onto the ship. She’d reached the first deck of staterooms when an announcement came on.

  “Welcome aboard, passengers! I’m Captain Mike, and we’ll be setting off soon. But while everyone is getting settled, the bars on all decks will be open, as will the pools and restaurants. So go have fun, and we’ll get set to sea shortly!”

  Bars were open? Perfect. It didn’t matter that it was ten in the morning. Hannah was on West Coast time, which meant it was really 7:00 a.m., so a Bloody Mary sounded amazing.

  She explored the top deck. Massive pools and hot tubs, all sectioned off with different themes. No kids’ area. This cruise was meant for adults for sure.

  So Hannah would be surrounded by retirees and honeymooners and single losers. Like her. But she’d make the best of it, since it was her one shot at sunshine and forgetting all the crap in her life. Like a dead-end job where she was starting to worry she’d only ever be a waitress instead of a business owner. And a father who was slowly killing himself with an addiction Hannah had been cleaning up after since she was a girl.

  She took a deep breath of the humid air and found a small bar open and vacant. It was in the corner of the bow and had a Hawaiian tiki theme. She sat on the bar stool that was wrapped in fake grass and ordered a drink.

  “Can I get a . . .” She should say something classy or normal for a morning drink. Like her go-to Bloody Mary, or even a mimosa. Instead she looked at the wall of liquor . . .

  Fuck it.

  “Three fingers of Gentleman Jack, please.”

  The bartender nodded. Didn’t ask questions, didn’t pass judgment, just poured her drink and set it in front of her.

  “You look like you have the right idea,” a husky voice said. Hannah looked to her left and saw the voice was attached to a sinfully sexy man with thick hair and piercing eyes. And judging by the white button-down shirt and blue slacks, he could use a vacation more than her. Though, in his defense, his clothes fit him perfectly. Expensive. She could almost see his toned muscles beneath the crisp cotton.

  “Can I get the same thing the lady is having?” he asked the bartender. And again, the bartender silently poured and placed his drink in front of him.

  Hannah took a sip of her own drink and tried to ignore the stranger.

  But that was difficult, since he was looking right at her.

  “Can I help you?” she said over her glass.

  “I was just wondering who you were going to be these next two weeks.”

  “Ex
cuse me?” she asked.

  The man smiled, and holy hell, was it a smile. Bright, straight teeth, and his jawline was strong, housing the slightest dimples.

  “You’re on a boat for two weeks. Going to meet people, I’m sure.” His gaze trailed over her, and she felt seen for the first time in . . . ever. At least, seen in a way she wanted to be seen. Because the beautiful stranger was looking at her like she was edible. And part of her really wanted to be eaten.

  “You could be anyone,” he finished.

  Hannah nodded. “I suppose you’re right.” She watched him take a drink and lifted her chin in his direction. “Who are you going to be?”

  He turned in his chair to face her fully. “Grant Laythem, only without all his problems.”

  She raised a brow. “Grant Laythem, huh? Sounds like there should be a ‘the third’ at the end of a name like that.”

  He laughed. “No, none of that. My mother wanted to torture me by giving me a name that sounded like a law firm.”

  Now Hannah laughed—and realized her drink was gone. Something Grant also noticed, because with a flick of his wrist, the bartender was back, filling both their glasses again.

  “What kind of problems would a Grant Laythem have?” She looked him over. “Debutante balls and polo matches?”

  “You think I’m a snobby rich guy.”

  Hannah took a swallow of her drink but kept her eyes on him. “Oh, I’m certain you are.”

  He matched her whiskey, only he finished his in one swallow, then rolled up the sleeves on his shirt. Hannah was transfixed by the action. Tan skin, strong hands, his forearms flexing with every inch that was uncovered.

  “What if I told you I’m a regular guy?” he asked.

  “Then I’d tell you I’m a regular girl.”

  “You’re not?” Grant asked.

  Hannah shook her head, noticing the alcohol making her brain heavy. “Just a small-town girl.” A trashy small-town girl, but she’d leave that out. She’d follow Grant’s lead and be Hannah, only without the problems. Like the fact that she’d spent her whole life trying to outrun the truth that she came from trash, and there was a big chance no one would ever see her as different.

  She looked at Grant.

  He was looking at her like she was different. He had no idea of her past, her father’s past, any of it. And damn it, she’d give about anything to have a man like him continue to look at her the way he was.

  But she needed to keep her strength. No way in hell was she going to get swept up in some white-collar guy.

  “Tell me what a small-town girl like you thinks about,” he asked.

  “Small things,” she said.

  “No, I don’t believe that for a second. I can see your brain working behind those eyes. You’re a big-picture woman.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from telling him he was right. Instead, she lifted her chin in the air with all the confidence she could muster.

  “Well, I can see where this big picture is going, and I can tell you right now, I don’t need to go ‘check out your room’ with you, since I’m pretty sure they’re all the same.”

  He smiled and leaned closer to her. “You think I’d come at you with a presumptuous line like that?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t. I’d come right out and ask you if you wanted to come to my room—for inappropriate reasons only.”

  That piqued her interest. “Oh? And what kind of inappropriate reasons would those be?”

  She’d meant that to sound playful, but her words were laced with curiosity and lust.

  He rose from his seat and placed a bill on the counter for a tip. He then gripped the back of her bar stool and leaned in so close, she could feel his lips on her ear.

  “Come find me tonight at the Red Bar on deck two, and I’ll tell you every single reason.”

  She didn’t answer him. Just felt his heat draw back as he walked away.

  Everything was color-coded around here, right down to the bars. The Red Bar . . .

  Hannah looked around and admired the bright blues surrounding the dark cruise ship bar. Not red. Nope, she’d decided that after her encounter with the mysterious Grant Laythem, she wouldn’t be finding him.

  Just their one encounter had left her hot twelve hours later. Now, drinking on a ship, surrounded by people, she felt the blue from the walls, the decor, sink into her bones.

  Blue.

  She glanced down at her simple dress and realized it was blue as well. Figured. It showed more cleavage than she ever had, mostly because she never wore dresses. But she’d bought this for the cruise, thinking it’d get her out of her comfort zone. It was tight, fit every curve, and she liked it.

  She looked around, holding her drink in her hands. Surrounded by people, the loud music vibrating through her bones and humming down her spine.

  She sipped her drink just as a man approached her. He was average height. Cute. Fit. For all the basic reasons, he was attractive.

  But Hannah couldn’t even think about getting hit on or putting in effort to whatever it was this guy was saying. Her brain was spinning around the idea of “basic reasons.”

  Instead . . . it wondered about Grant and his “inappropriate reasons.”

  “I’m Chuck,” the guy said loudly over the music, snapping Hannah back to reality.

  “Hannah,” she said back.

  “You are gorgeous,” he said.

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  He started to say something, but Hannah jerked slightly when she felt a large hand rest on the small of her back.

  She turned around to find Grant, staring daggers at her.

  “Oh . . . is this your friend?” Chuck asked, looking at Grant and clearly wondering if he still had a shot with Hannah.

  “No, we’re not friends,” Hannah said.

  “No, definitely not friends,” Grant agreed, his hand running just an inch lower. He leaned into her ear so only she could hear. “I really hope you’re color-blind, baby, because I’ve been waiting for you.”

  She looked over her shoulder and met his eyes. “I never said I’d come.”

  He grinned, but there was something sinisterly sexy in his eyes. “Oh, you’ll come.”

  Grant returned his attention to Chuck. “Excuse us.” And that was all he said before leading Hannah to a dark, shadowed booth in the corner of the Blue Bar, where the music wasn’t as loud and the people were all facing away from them.

  “That was rude,” Hannah said and sipped her drink, her body buzzing with warmth being near Grant again.

  “You’re right—that was rude to keep me waiting.”

  She frowned at him. “Clearly you found me.”

  “Because you enjoy being chased?” he asked. But before she could answer, he finished with, “Why didn’t you meet me?” His voice was deep and insistent. He looked better, if possible, than earlier. With a fresh shirt and slacks, he looked classy, put together, and capable of anything. Something that had her imagination going.

  “Why did you want me to?” she asked, turning the question back on him.

  “Because there’s something in your eyes . . .” He stared straight at her in that way only he could do and made her feel seen again. “That makes me drown.”

  “Drown in my eyes?” she asked, ready to knock away his lame line.

  “Drown in the sadness behind them.”

  That made her breath hitch.

  “This coming from a man that has his own brand of pain behind his eyes,” she countered, trying not to get lost in the deep, dark pools. But he was hypnotic. And he might be a stranger, but she’d recognized his darkness right away. Because she felt it, too.

  “You think I’m in pain?” he asked.

  “I think there’s more to you than you let anyone see.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because of how guarded you are, but you disguise it with bluntness.”

  Grant’s lips parted slightly, and Hanna
h felt like she’d just seen a side of him that she would guess not many saw. A hint of honesty. Vulnerability. And she liked it. Wanted to know him more. To tap into that moment and follow it wherever it took her.

  He cupped her neck, his thumb trailing along her throat, and she felt so small, so vulnerable to him. He brushed his lips overs hers, and when he spoke, his words hummed against her mouth.

  “Come to my room with me,” he said. Then he took her upper lip between his two. Kissing her intently, long enough to stroke his tongue inside, then he pulled back only to let her answer.

  She tried to keep her composure.

  “Come to your room, huh? What, to see the great view?”

  She felt his smile against her lips. “You’re a mouthy woman.” He kissed her again, taking a deeper taste, the feel of his warm tongue inside her mouth making her eyes flutter and her whole body heat ten degrees in a single second. “And the only view I’ll have is between these pretty thighs of yours.”

  His voice was raspy, and Hannah opened her eyes to see him looking at her. His hands on her. Waiting for her to give the go-ahead.

  She couldn’t deny this man, this Grant Laythem.

  Because she had a feeling if she walked away now, she’d miss out on something she’d never have the chance to feel again . . .

  Chapter Four

  Grant shifted between dream and waking and, through the fog, wondered if last night had been real. He smiled, not opening his eyes because he felt the soft flannel sheets of the bed. Not his bed. His sheets were pressed and cold and back in a sterile penthouse apartment in New York. These sheets were warm and soft and well loved.

  His wife’s sheets.

  His wife’s bed.

  His smile widened, knowing last night had been real, and he opened his eyes, hoping to be met with the sexy, warm body of his wife . . .

  Empty.

  He looked around the small room. The dresser had random jewelry, a sweater, and two coffee mugs on it. The little chair in the corner held a basket of clean laundry. And Hannah was nowhere to be found. The sun was shining through the window, and the slightest smell of ocean air wafted through the entire place.