Going Hard: Steele Ridge Series

by Kelsey Browning

  She was like a real-life Jessica Rabbit. The kind of woman who set off sexual pings in every person in the room regardless of his or her gender preference.

  Jonah drew his date toward Carlie Beth and said, “Carlie Beth Parrish, I’d like to introduce you to Genevieve D’Artois.”

  This was one of those situations where she wished people had been trained to call her Elizabeth. But the reality was, she was a Carlie Beth, not an Elizabeth. She reached out to shake the other woman’s hand, expecting a limp, bored touch. But the woman’s grip was surprisingly firm and her smile was genuine, if a million and three watts.

  “It’s great to meet you,” Jessica…er…Genevieve said. “Jonah’s told me all about you.”

  Carlie Beth shot him a quick look. Really? Because she’d bet her favorite cross pein hammer he hadn’t said a word to anyone about Genevieve. “It’s wonderful to meet you, too. Do you live here in North Carolina?”

  Genevieve laughed. “Oh, no. This is my first trip to the state. I live in San Francisco.”

  Interesting. “Well, welcome to the boonies.”

  “It’s a beautiful area. Jonah’s promised me a full tour of Steele Ridge, the sports complex, and his mom’s house tomorrow.”

  Even more interesting that she wasn’t staying with Jonah out at Tupelo Hill. Then again, maybe he was sleeping over somewhere with her.

  Carlie Beth felt a big warm hand skim her back and looked up to find Grif standing there. When he stroked his hand down the sensitive skin of her inner arm, she couldn’t hold back a little shiver, which made him flash her a secret smile that said he’d be caressing way more than her arm later.

  Jonah made introductions again between Grif and his date, but didn’t offer up any additional information about Genevieve.

  When it came time for Jonah and Grif to make speeches, Carlie Beth and Genevieve stood next to each other and watched the two most handsome men in the room. Grif outlined a short but punchy economic development plan that hinged on a multiday pro-am tournament where registrants would be teamed up with big-name athletes to compete in a variety of sporting events from kayaking to rock climbing. Assuming it was a success—a guarantee with Grif in the driver’s seat—the event would be held once a year and would be the cornerstone to attract tourists back to Steele Ridge.

  Genevieve leaned toward Carlie Beth. “Are they all this panty-incinerating?”

  It would be silly to pretend she didn’t understand. “Each in his own way, yes.”

  “But your knickers only catch on fire for Grif.”

  Carlie Beth had to laugh at that, especially after his early comment. She discreetly waved a hand in front of her warm face. “He just does it for me.”

  “Jonah told me you two have a daughter.”

  Obviously, they were close if he’d shared that. “Yes, she’s fourteen.”

  “Between the two of you, I bet she’s a knockout,” Genevieve said, simply and genuinely as if she weren’t aware she was one of the most beautiful creatures on Earth.

  “She’s definitely coming into her own. Pretty, yes. But brains, that’s her real gift. That kid is so smart, sometimes I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

  “Jonah also told me you’re a blacksmith.”

  Carlie Beth laughed and ran a hand down her skirt. “Which is the reason this dress feels so awkward tonight.”

  “I can see where full skirts could get in the way,” she said. “Do you have any of your work for sale? I’d love to have a look before I leave town.”

  “I’m exclusively at Triskelion Gallery on Main Street. Tell Yvonne I sent you.” Scanning the room, she looked for her friend. “In fact, she should be here tonight, but I haven’t seen her yet.”

  “I’ll be sure to stop by the gallery.” Genevieve smiled and Carlie Beth had the unexplainable urge to hug the woman, just because she was so darn nice. Not at all what Carlie Beth had expected.

  People around the room clapped, which made Carlie Beth realize the speeches were over. Sure enough, Grif and Jonah strolled up.

  “Did I see you two whispering back here instead of paying attention to my brilliant economic development overview?” Grif asked.

  “Aubrey will be thrilled to meet Ian Brinkmann,” she teased. “Maybe you can put her on a team with him.”

  “Maybe I should think up another plan.”

  Jonah wiggled his eyebrows at Genevieve. “Now that all the handshaking and glad-handing is done, what do you say we get out of these clothes and go have a little fun?”

  Interestingly enough, Genevieve’s eyes sparked with a competitive gleam. “You are so on.”

  “Later, y’all,” Jonah said cheerfully and took his date’s arm to hustle her out of the room.

  Carlie Beth just stared after them while Grif laughed, a low choking sound. “Do you think they’re off to perform some kind of bedroom Olympics?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” she said honestly. “Other than with the Steele brothers back in town, it’ll never be the same again.”

  * * *

  When Grif finally got Carlie Beth back to his apartment, the first thing she did was pull off her heels. The moan of pleasure she released as they came off was like a woman riding a good, long orgasm. He could honestly say this was the first time a woman stepping out of her shoes had given him a semi.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, low and breathy. So damn sexy. “That feels sooo good.”

  Jesus, forget the semi. His dick was full-on hard.

  His chest expanded with the breath he took as he tried to rein in a little control. But he’d been half-crazed all night watching her in that dress. A flash of thigh here, a glimpse of breast there. “Want me to rub your feet?”

  “You would do that?”

  “Uh…it’s not that big a deal.”

  “You don’t understand. It’s a very big deal. To a woman, a foot rub is like a confession of…”

  He approached her and curved a hand around the back of her neck. “Of what?”

  The pulse in her throat was pumping, which made him feel powerful. And predatory.

  “I actually had a good time tonight,” she said. “If you don’t count the shoes.”

  “Next time, you can go barefoot.”

  Her eyes flared with what he hoped like hell was hope. Hope for next time. “Have I mentioned how much I like you, Grif Steele?”

  That hope inside him deflated a little. Like wasn’t nearly what he wanted. And he was a man used to getting what he wanted.

  One way or another.

  He tilted Carlie Beth’s chin up, and her breath came faster, making her breasts rise and fall. They’d been playing peek-a-boo all night and he wanted to feel them again his chest. Against his mouth.

  He released her to shrug out of his suit coat and let it fall to the floor. “Do you remember what I said earlier?”

  “You said a lot of things.” Her smile was witchy and she, honest to God, looked at him through her lashes.

  “The one about putting my hands under your skirt.”

  “I think you used the word shove.”

  And by the smoky expression in her eyes, word choice was important to her. “And did you like the sound of that?”

  “You have no idea.”

  He grabbed at her skirt, not giving a damn if he ripped it. He’d buy her a replacement. He pushed the material up to her waist, revealing a pair of rose-colored lace panties.

  “Hold your skirt,” he ordered.

  “Grif, I—”

  “Do it.”

  She grasped the fabric, scrunching it in her hands while he went down on his knees in front of her. He could smell her—warm, wet, woman.

  “And,” she panted, “you might’ve used the word rip.”

  “Seems like a waste to destroy something so pretty.” He hooked his fingers into the sides and stroked the soft skin of her hips until she squirmed. He yanked the scrap of lace down to her ankles and off one foot. Before he could get his mouth on her, her sk
irt floated down and she sidestepped him. “What the hell?”

  “Who said we’re going to do this your way? You didn’t give me a chance to tell you what I wanted to do to you when you walked in looking so handsome in that tux. I want to undress you. I want to run my hands all over your amazing body. And then I want to go down on my knees and—”

  “Now.” His brain exploded with the memory of her comment last time about putting her mouth on him, and he grabbed her hand and took off toward the bedroom. Damn, he wanted her out of that dress and in his bed. “I swear,” he growled. “I’m getting more furniture soon if I have to have someone else pick it out.”

  “Something wrong with your bed?” She cast a glance at it.

  “No, but I want to have plenty of options, and we’ve already determined the windowsill is dangerous.” He reached for his shirt studs, but she batted his hands away.

  “My turn.” Her touch burned through the tux shirt, through his T-shirt, straight into his chest. Into his heart. Once she had the studs released, she went for his cuff links, making his head spin with her teasing strokes on his inner wrist.

  She circled him, her dress making a swishing sound, reminding him she was bare underneath. Totally bare because there was no damn way she could be wearing a bra.

  Maybe that windowsill would work in another way. He would brace her hands on it, bend her over, and push up her dress. Then he’d push into her from behind and drive into her while they pretended to watch the languid traffic on Main Street.

  She slowly slid his shirt down his arms, her fingers trailing over his forearms until he was shaking from it. She tugged his T-shirt from his pants and scraped her short nails over his lower back, making Grif’s hips surge forward in response. When she pushed the fabric up his back and pressed an openmouthed kiss to his spine, he reached out to brace himself against the wall.

  She eased her hands around his sides as she dragged her tongue along his spine. When she reached his pecs, she pinched his nipples.

  “Fuck me,” he breathed.

  “Oh, don’t you worry.” She laughed. “I plan to.”

  She toyed with him, pinching in the front and nipping in the back, until Grif couldn’t tell which way was up. He reached for the hook on his slacks, and her hands immediately left his chest and stilled his. “No, sir. I’ll get to that in a minute. Be patient.”

  God, in negotiations, he’d been known as the King of Patience. He could outwit, outwait, and outlast anyone at the negotiating table. Yeah, he was a fucking survivor.

  Carlie Beth shoved at his T-shirt, pushing it up his torso. Grif lifted his arms, and she skimmed the fabric up, tickling his underarms. His breath chuffed in and out so hard he was about to hyperventilate. He couldn’t stand it anymore, so he ripped the damn shirt over his head.

  “Turn around,” she murmured against his back.

  He whipped around and she settled her mouth over his left pec and took his nipple between her teeth while her fingertips played with the other. She did that until his head was about to explode. Finally, she looked up at him, her eyes lazy and self-satisfied, and pushed him against wall. “You’re going to want to brace yourself for this.”

  She unhooked his pants as if she’d done it a million times and released his zipper. The instant relief made him lightheaded. When she shoved his boxer briefs and pants over his hips, he said, “Thank you, Jesus.”

  To hell with what she wanted, he had to shuck these damn pants. He pushed them the rest of way down and stepped out of them. Then he reached for Carlie Beth’s dress.

  She huffed a little laugh. “What about 'my turn’ are you having a hard time getting through your head? Now, get your back against that damn wall and let me put your dick in my mouth.”

  Well, that stole the breath from him like a mule kick to the midsection.

  Carlie Beth rucked her skirt up almost—almost—high enough for him to get a glimpse of heaven, then she went to her knees in front of him.

  My God, was there anything else in the world that made a man feel like this? Both powerful and vulnerable.

  Carlie Beth trailed her tongue slowly from his balls to his tip, humming to herself as she went.

  The caveman in Grif wanted to grab her hair, yank her head back, and push himself inside her warm mouth. The barely leashed civilized guy inside him dug his fingers into the drywall and waited.

  Her tongue circled the head of his dick and he knocked his head against the wall. Once. Twice. Three times.

  And then she took him in. Her mouth was hot and agile. The slide and suck made colors expand and recede behind his eyelids. She kept up that satisfied humming sound, sending vibrations though his dick into his belly, making it bunch and jump.

  He stood like a freaking statue, just trying to keep control, until she released him and said, “You’re being awfully polite.”

  His jaw was so tight he could barely grind out words, but he gritted, “It’s called staying in control. Believe me, this is what you want.”

  “What would you do if you lost control?” Her tongue touched that place on her top lip, and Grif would swear he heard synapses popping in his brain like cheap guitar strings. The caveman took over.

  He grabbed Carlie Beth by the arms and pushed her flat on the ground. His breath heaving, he positioned himself over her in the opposite direction, lining his cock up with that beautiful mouth. “This.”

  She moaned, opening her lips, and he pushed inside.

  His mind full of nothing but animal impulses, he fucked her mouth with jerky thrusts, careful to hold his weight off her with his arms. And the sounds she made deep in her throat said she was enjoying every second of it.

  Her legs came up and her knees released so that every pretty pink fold was on display. Wet. So fucking wet. He wanted…

  When she took him deeper, his thoughts scattered and his balls tightened. Oh, God. If he didn’t get control soon, this would all be over. He needed to be inside her. Now.

  He pressed a kiss to her hipbone, then tried to pull away from her mouth, but she grabbed his ass and urged him deeper. “Shit, I’m gonna. I need to…”

  She slipped her fingers between his butt cheeks and Grif lost every shred of control he’d held on to.

  His orgasm slammed through his body with the force of a plane crash until he was completely drained and his biceps were shaking from the effort of keeping his body poised over her. “Fuuuuuck.”

  31

  Well, yeehaw. Carlie Beth could feel herself grinning from one ear to the other as Grif rolled to the floor on his back, his arms splaying out on either side of his body. His delicious chest was moving like he’d just run the fastest sprint in history.

  “You’re happy with yourself, aren’t you?” he puffed out.

  “So much I’d put those damn shoes back on and do a jitterbug.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  She shifted to her side and stroked a hand down his thigh, the hair soft against her skin. Interestingly enough, his penis reacted.

  Grif raised his head and looked down at it. “No matter what it says, it’s gonna take me a minute to recover from that.”

  A feeling of power surged through her, making her smile go wider. “I can wait.”

  “As Toby Keith would say, “I’m not as good as I once was, but I’m as good once as I ever was.’”

  “You listen to Toby Keith?”

  “Along with the Arctic Monkeys. I’m a man of varied musical tastes.”

  And a man of varied female tastes, but she tried not to think about that too closely.

  Grif sat up and took her hand. “How about we move to the bed for the next round?”

  “That would be a nice change of pace.”

  He drew her to her feet, his body hard yet safe against hers, as if she could lean her head against his shoulder and never worry again.

  “But first, I’m damn well going to get that dress off you.” He quickly unzipped her and unhooked the clasp at her neck.

  She
caught his hands. “Be careful.”

  “I won’t tear the dress.”

  “No, I’m worried about my skin.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m…uh…kinda trapped. Evie had to use some special tape to keep my boobs in there.”

  His laugh echoed in the sparse room, and he caught her by the waist and fell back onto his mattress. “Are we talking painter’s tape, Scotch tape, or duct tape?”

  “Something very sticky.”

  “You glued your breasts into a dress for me. Carlie Beth, I love you.”

  They both stilled, their bodies stiff against one another. Carlie Beth’s heart was slamming against one of her tape-trapped boobs. “I…uh…”

  “Well, shit.” Grif’s voice was low and full of disgust.

  “I know what you meant. It’s just a turn of phrase. It’s fine.” No, it wasn’t fine and she needed space. She tried to scramble away, but he wrapped her tight in his arms.

  “Nothing about tonight has gone the way I planned for it to,” he said. “I have a bottle of Armand de Brignac in the fridge. Candles.” He slapped the mattress. “A set of Milos sheets.”

  She had no idea what Milos was, but she rubbed her hand over the linens. “They’re nice.”

  “When I see you in that dress, I say something crude. And hell, once we got back here, I did several things that were crude.”

  Yeah, those crude things still had her wet and achy beneath her skirt. In fact, she was pretty damn proud of everything they’d done. Proved she wasn’t just a blacksmith and mom.

  She had serious seduction skills.

  Grif slid out from underneath her and said, “Can you please work on getting that dress peeled off yourself while I grab something from the other room?”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because if I’m going to do this naked, then you’re damn well going to be naked too.” He stalked out of the room, and Carlie Beth admired the way his butt flexed with every step.

  Still off balance from those three words he’d said and what they really meant, she sat at the edge of the mattress and slowly began to peel her bodice away from her breasts. Good Lord, Evie should’ve provided a bottle of Goo Gone.