Playing with Danger (Desire Bay Book 2)

by Joya Ryan

  She scrubbed the pan in circles and thought about tonight.

  Thought about everything she had planned for Grant.

  She was still very aware that this was over in a week. In fact, she was actually trying not to think of that too hard. Because then she started to have this twinge of pain in her chest. She liked having him around. He bugged the crap out of her and challenged her, but he also soothed her and took over when she needed him to.

  “Wife,” she whispered out loud. It didn’t make her cringe as much as it had. She flicked the garbage disposal on and smiled. It worked perfectly. Because her husband had fixed it.

  Husband.

  Whoa, time to stop this train of thought. Because at the end of the day, they were just playing. This would end. He lived on the other side of the country. Unless he moved here . . . ?

  She shook her head. She couldn’t get too attached. Could she?

  No. Not a good idea. She would take this remaining week because she had no choice. Well, sort of no choice. It wasn’t exactly torture, unless she counted what it was doing to her heart. She had missed Grant, and now with him back, she understood why. He made her feel wanted. But what was worse, he made her feel safe. She wasn’t alone with him. Wasn’t taking on everything by herself.

  She glanced around. The house was clean, and she was ready to get Grant’s birthday present going. He’d left this morning and would be out all day. He’d told her he had errands and business. Worked for her. She had the day off and the house to herself.

  “Operation Honey, I’m Home has commenced.”

  The sun was setting when Grant walked up to his wife’s little home, with the little door, in her little town. He’d done some exploring. Had a few meetings and took calls at the library business center. It wasn’t a high-rise in New York, and yet, he liked the cozy feel of his workday. He also needed a reason to stay out, because he didn’t want Hannah throwing his birthday in his face all day.

  But the best part was that at the end of today, he was going home. To his wife.

  Well, it was her home, but it felt like home because she was in it.

  He opened the door and heard an upbeat song coming from the stereo. The house was warm and clean and smelled like pork chops.

  “Honey, I’m home,” he said with a joking smile and set his bag down by the door. He unbuttoned the cuffs of his blue shirt and started rolling them up while he took two steps toward the kitchen—then froze in his tracks at the sight that greeted him.

  “Well, look at my big strong man home from a big strong day,” Hannah said in a cutesy voice as she walked toward him, carrying a tray of food and wearing nothing but a 1950s-style apron and red high heels.

  “Best. Birthday. Ever,” he said, watching his gorgeous wife set a plate of pork chops on the table. Her sexy legs in those shoes made him instantly hard. And having a prime view of her breasts that were barely concealed by her apron had him dying to rip it off her.

  “You said you wanted a wife as your present, right?” she said, keeping her voice sweet. “Well, birthdays are special around here, and we aim to please, Mr. Laythem.”

  With a smile, she spun on her heel and headed back to the kitchen. Grant watched her bare, perfect ass strut away.

  He was really starting to like this birthday concept.

  “Sit down. You must be famished,” Hannah said, pulling out his seat. He took it, and she bent over, her breasts an inch from his face as she set a plate of rolls next to him. He couldn’t help but snake his tongue out and lick her cleavage. She gave a small gasp then stood up straight.

  “Careful, now. We have an entire birthday meal to get through first.”

  “I want you as my meal,” he said.

  She smiled. Grant had never seen her like this. Her black hair was pulled up into a neat bun, and her eyes were lined with a charcoal color that made her bright red lips pop.

  “Did you get your version of ‘wife’ from I Love Lucy?” he asked.

  “Maybe,” she said softly.

  “I love it,” he said with all the seriousness he felt, running a hand up the back of her bare thigh.

  “I just put my dirty spin on a 1950s housewife,” she said.

  Grant’s hand slowly met the cleft of her ass. “I really love it.”

  She smiled again, but there was heat in her eyes and Grant had no interest in dinner. He just wanted to devour the gorgeous woman in front of him.

  “I have one more surprise for you,” she whispered, then slid away from him and went back to the kitchen. She came out with a small, circular cake, a single candle lit on top of it.

  “Happy birthday,” she said and held it out. He scooted his chair away from the table and tugged her hips so she stood before him. He had his wife between his legs, holding a cake, and he’d never felt so grateful in his life.

  “Make a wish,” she said, and he looked at her for a long, long time.

  I wish you loved me as much as I love you . . .

  He blew out the candle.

  She smiled and went to walk back to the kitchen, but he stopped her.

  “I need to get a knife and plates for all this,” she said.

  “Don’t go.” He took the cake from her hands and set it on the table. “Pink frosting?”

  “Strawberry. Your favorite.”

  He loved that she knew that.

  “Thank you for dinner and all your hard work today, wife,” he said. He rose and lifted her to sit on the table. “But I think it’s time you take a break and relax.”

  He spread her legs and stepped between them.

  “You should have a bite of your cake, at least,” she breathed. She reached over and swiped her finger in the strawberry icing and held it to his lips. He sucked her little finger hard and clean and watched her eyes the entire time.

  “You’re right, baby. That is good.” He reached behind her neck and untied the apron and peeled the top down, baring her high, round breasts. “But I was serious when I said I want you for dinner also.”

  He gently pushed her back so she lay on the table, the best damn offering he’d ever had. He took another swipe of his cake and pasted it over her breasts, coating her from throat to nipples.

  She arched and squirmed, and Grant bent over her, running his tongue through the path of the frosting.

  “Mmm,” he muttered, sucking hard on her nipple, the sweet taste of her skin and strawberries hitting his mouth. “You’re delicious.”

  “You better be careful, because I think you may be getting addicted to sugar,” she said. Grant thought back to all the wonderful things he’d eaten off her and couldn’t be sorry.

  “Oh, I have an addiction, all right,” he said, taking another taste of her frosted nipple while unbuttoning his pants and shoving them low on his hips. He climbed up on the table, hovering over her. “Tell me you want me.”

  “I want you,” she whispered.

  He let his body rest only an inch above hers. His cock prodded her opening.

  “Tell me how you want me,” he asked.

  Looking up at him, she brushed her mouth against his and said, “Hard.”

  That was all Grant needed. He reached behind her head and gripped the opposite edge of the table. Using that as leverage, he pulled himself, plunging his cock inside her.

  “Oh God!” she cried out. Her legs came up to cradle each side of his hips. Grant thrust in and out. Keeping his grip on the edge of the table so he could take her as deep as he possibly could.

  “Grant, yes, more,” she chanted. And he gave it to her. The table rocked beneath his fucking, and Hannah’s perfect body took every inch of him.

  She scored her nails down his back, and he hissed. Fucking her harder. Faster.

  She tilted her head to the side and bit down on the flexing bicep that was next to her face. That sting of her teeth sinking into his skin, like she was holding on to him in every way she could, made him feel strong. Wild.

  “Don’t you dare stop. Make me take it,” she taun
ted him. He’d never had a woman like her. A woman who wanted everything he had to give. Could handle it. Begged for more, even.

  He bent his head to latch onto her nipple. Sucking hard as he continued to plunge in and out. She cupped his head and held him to her. Her body went still, her muscles tight.

  She was close.

  And so was he.

  But he needed to get her there first. Would die a happy man if he could just feel her come around him.

  “Grant . . . ,” she whispered. It was the last thing his ears registered, because blood rushed to his face as his release took over. Sinking deep into her, shot after shot of pleasure erupted, and the table creaked under his grip.

  That’s when he felt it.

  Hannah’s release.

  Her sheath spasmed and sucked him deeper, taking his own orgasm to another level. The feel of her milking him made his body shudder and sensitized his skin. Every inch of her against his body was like a jolt of electricity.

  “I love you,” he said against her ear. He just didn’t know if he said it out loud or only in his lust-wasted mind.

  Hannah lay in bed, her head on Grant’s chest while he played with her hair. They were both staring at the TV across the room, the low hum of the show wafting around them.

  “I never would have guessed you liked Roseanne,” Grant said.

  Hannah shrugged against him. “I like the dad in it.”

  She hadn’t meant to say that—it was just the first honest thing that came to mind. She would watch this show when she was young. Back when her father was passed out or busy not noticing her. The dad in the show was funny and had two daughters he clearly cared about. The kind of dad who would hate all boyfriends and fix up an old car for her sixteenth birthday.

  Hannah adjusted her position and let out a breath.

  “What about your dad?” Grant asked.

  “What about him?”

  “You haven’t said much about him since the grocery store the other day.”

  She was glad Grant couldn’t see her glance away. She didn’t know if it was the afterglow of sex or the way Grant was playing with her hair that made her feel warm and safe. But she did one thing she never did . . . she started to talk about her dad.

  “He lives around here, and I see him from time to time. Only when he wants something, though.”

  “What does he want?”

  “Money, booze, money for booze.” She focused on a freckle on Grant’s chest and slowly drew a circle around it with her fingertip. “Or a ride from jail.”

  Grant’s hold on her tightened just enough for Hannah to feel his support.

  “Sounds like you’ve a rough time taking care of him.”

  “I don’t take care of him,” she said instantly. “I just try to make sure he doesn’t accidentally kill himself or others.”

  She shook her head against his chest then blew out a breath. “Tell me more about your dad. Or your mom.”

  Grant let out a small laugh that didn’t sound amused at all. “I’ll stick with talking about my dad,” he said. “He was a romantic. Cared a lot about others. Believed that everyone had a soul mate. Just wish he could have found his.”

  Hannah glanced up at him. “He didn’t find a soul mate in your mom.”

  “No,” Grant said coldly and continued to stare at the TV.

  She looked back at his chest, tracing the same freckle. She was getting to know Grant at the same pace as she was letting him get to know her. Parents were a tricky topic for her, and it seemed that Grant could relate. So she’d tread lightly.

  “Do you believe in soul mates?” she asked, then instantly hated herself for asking. Because she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. At the same time, she really did want to know.

  “Yes,” he said. “I do.”

  She bit her bottom lip and wondered what Grant was like as a kid. How his father was with him. He spoke so highly of him that she could almost see a sweet little boy running around his dad’s office, lighting up his world.

  “He was a hard worker, but he always made time for me,” Grant said. Then laughed at the TV. Funny dad struck again, and Grant said, “I can see why you like this show. The dad really is funny.”

  Hannah snuggled into Grant’s chest and settled in for a Roseanne marathon. Because between the two of them, the unknown, and the parents that raised them, there was so much unsaid between the sheets they were currently lying in.

  And all Hannah could do was try to give a little to get a little, and hope that the pain didn’t get too great to handle.

  Chapter Nine

  A soft mumble was coming from the living room. Hannah frowned, her eyes still closed, her body still sated from the incredible night with Grant. Only Grant wasn’t in bed.

  She slowly opened her eyes and saw it wasn’t even 5:00 a.m. yet.

  Her bedroom door was cracked, and she could hear Grant’s low voice coming from the living room.

  She slowly got up, the cool floor hitting her feet, and she pulled Grant’s T-shirt on to ward off the chill in the air. She’d been so warm. So comfortable. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so soundly. And she’d been next to Grant.

  But this kind of chill went deeper than the air.

  “Grant?” she asked, seeing him sitting with his back to her. He turned, his cell phone to his ear, hair still tousled like he’d just gotten out of bed himself.

  “Yeah, yeah, we’ll discuss this more next week,” was all he said into the phone before hanging up.

  “Sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, coming to stand before her. His bare chest was warm, and she wanted him nearer. But she couldn’t shake the odd scene she’d just walked in on.

  “Who was that?” she asked. Then realized it was none of her business, and whatever feeling was taking over her entire chest was heavy and gross.

  “The office,” he answered simply.

  “At five in the morning?”

  He smiled. “It’s eight a.m. New York time.”

  That made sense. She just nodded.

  “Come on, let’s go back to sleep.” He ushered her back to bed and got her under the covers. Then climbed in and wrapped her up in his arms.

  Hannah lay with her cheek against the heartbeat of the man she’d fallen for six months ago, the man she’d fallen for again today, with the strange notion that she didn’t know everything there was to know about Grant Laythem.

  Yes, Hannah worked at a bar. And yes, she worked the late shift a few nights a week, which meant that yes, she’d deal with drunk people at midnight.

  She just wasn’t in the mood this particular night.

  The place was packed. Everyone was drinking and having a good time. The big fireworks show over the ocean brought in a ton of people. Yachats put on the same show of popping colors lighting up the sky once a month. And after, it seemed like half the town flooded into Goonies. Which was a good thing for the business. But Hannah had a ton on her mind.

  Mostly Grant.

  “You better watch your mouth,” a drunk twenty-something-year-old said to a guy sitting at the bar. Drunk guy was pushy and obviously trying to get close to Hannah to flag her down for another drink. Instead, she walked to the opposite side of the bar and helped the customers there first.

  The entire place was loud, and she worked like a robot as various orders got shouted at her.

  “Rum and Coke, with a lemon.”

  “I need a Corona, no lime, and three shots of Cuervo.”

  “Can I get a sex on the beach and two Coors?”

  Hannah made the drinks fast. Popped the tops to the beers and slid them to the customers. Grabbing cash and one credit card to start a tab. She turned to the register, then back to the bar, poured more shots, shook more drinks, more beers . . .

  She wondered what Grant was doing. Was he making more mysterious calls? Sure, he’d said it was the office, which made sense, but there was something going on that felt just a little sneaky.


  And it was making her brain tick with the slightest anxiety.

  Maybe he has another woman in New York?

  Tick, tick, tick.

  Maybe his business isn’t exactly legal?

  Tick . . . Tick . . . Tick . . .

  Maybe he’s hiding something—

  “Hey, woman!” the drunk guy yelled and stomped toward her, ramming into people. “I’ve been waiting on a drink and you’re fucking ignoring me!”

  “Glad to see you’re still astute,” Hannah yelled back at him, mixing a martini.

  “Bitch,” he grumbled, but yeah, she heard it. Every once in a while she got a customer like this. Some douche who got too drunk and mouthed off. She had a bat behind the counter, but in her years of experience, she’d only needed to break it out three times. Which wasn’t bad. Occupational hazard.

  “Watch it, asshole,” Adam, the local mechanic, said to the drunk. The drunk guy shoved Adam, which made the large mechanic stand up, his tattooed muscles pulsing against his T-shirt.

  Shit. This was about to get bad.

  Adam stepped toward the drunk, and Hannah grabbed her bat and hopped over the bar. Everyone was backing away, creating a small circle of drama and watching intently. The crowd hummed as Hannah got between the two men.

  “Adam, go sit down,” she said in the cool yet demanding voice she’d come to harness over her almost thirty years. “You, douche bag, get out of my bar.”

  The drunk laughed at her and then threw his beer glass down, shattering it on the floor.

  “No fucking woman is going to tell me what to do,” he snarled and took an aggressive step toward her.

  Hannah went to hold her bat out, but Adam tugged her back. Hannah wasn’t ready for that, and it made her lose her footing. She crashed into a customer, catching an elbow to the eye.

  Fuck, that hurts!

  She stood just in time to see the drunk take a swing at Adam. The mechanic staggered back, the drunk pressing forward.