Page 53 of Worth the Fight

What is this, twenty questions?

“To see an old friend.”

“Huh.”

He continues to glare at me without saying anything else, and I’m more confused now than ever. What happened to the man who kissed me on the head this morning as if we were husband and wife? I want that guy back. Not this version who’s treating me as if we’re a married couple on the verge of splitting up.

“Grady? Why do you seem pissed at me?”

“Because I am.” The way he says it—void of all emotion—knocks me on my heels for a second.

“But why?”

His aqua eyes are impenetrable, and that muscle in his jaw tics as he clenches and unclenches it. Without a word, he pushes off the counter to leave. Aghast that he would just walk out like that, I go to say something, but he stops right in front of me and crushes his mouth to mine.

It takes a second for my mind to catch up to what my body is already reacting to—the onslaught of everything that is Grady Malone.

Because this isn’t a let’s-play-house kiss.

Oh no.

This is a take-no-prisoners, no-holds-barred kiss.

His hands are everywhere. On my waist. On my breasts. Sliding up my back beneath my shirt.

His lips are on my lips. On my neck. On the slopes of my shoulder. His tongue waging an all-out war against my senses.

There’s so much greed. So much need. So many pent-up emotions that I feel each and every time our bodies connect.

My fingers thread through his hair. My palm runs over the coarseness of his five o’clock shadow. My body presses against his in the most delicious of ways as he pins me with his hips against the kitchen counter.

I don’t have time to think. I don’t want time to think, because Grady is intoxicating in his finesse and demand for more.

His hands frame my face and direct my head back as he breaks from our kiss. The same intensity as before is in his eyes as his chest heaves against mine.

“Thank fuck he isn’t here because I’m going to fuck you, Dylan. It’s all I’ve been thinking about. I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t pull you into this, but hell if I’ll be able to stop myself until I’m buried in that hot, wet pussy of yours. You got that?”

My head dizzies with his explicit promises. He waits for my answer, his gaze fused to mine, and I know there is no way I will deny him. Not that I want to. The thought has crossed my mind more times than I care to count, and I’d be five shades of foolish to turn him down. And my body will disown me if I let the feel of him hard and ready pressed against me go to waste.

But can I do this? Can I sleep with him and then live with him without getting involved? Without letting my emotions get involved?

Yes.

His eyes darken and hands tense on my bicep.

Christ, don’t make this complicated. It’s one time. It’s what I need. Grady said so himself. The best way to get over someone is to sleep with someone else.

Yes.

He waits with muscles so taut that his body vibrates from the restraint.

There’s only ever been one answer when it’s come to thinking about this question.

Yes.

I keep my eyes on his as I slowly run my hands down his ribcage and scrape my fingernails ever so slightly over those incredible abs of his to the button of his jeans.

I love hearing his quick intake of air. I revel in seeing his eyes widen in surprise before they darken with lust. “Dyl . . .” My name is the sexiest of groans on his lips as I tug his zipper down and slide my hand inside his boxer briefs.