Page 38 of Dating the Rebel
The straps had already been dangling down her shoulders, but now they slipped all the way off her arms as the top fell onto the floor.
“Maybe we should have played strip poker,” he said.
“You want me to deal the cards?” she asked.
“No, I just want you to strip.”
A smile tugged at her lips. She wasn’t going to fight her desire for him. Not tonight...
She wanted him too much. So instead of arguing with him, she reached for the zipper at the top of her pants and tugged on it.
Grant’s breath hissed out between his teeth like the rasp of the zipper as she lowered it. Then she shimmied out of the leather, which wasn’t easy. The material had gotten warm and tight.
Grant chuckled. “A little trouble.”
She giggled. “I might be stuck...” The leather had molded to her thighs, so she wasn’t able to roll down the pants any farther than her hips.
“I’ll help,” Grant offered, and he picked her up and carried her into the dark bedroom.
He lowered her back onto the mattress but left her legs dangling from the side, and he began to tug at the leather. She came with it, dropping onto her backside next to the bed.
“Ouch!”
“Sorry! Sorry!” he said, and he sounded sincere despite the twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll kiss it and make it better.”
“You better,” she said as she rubbed her hip.
“Maybe we need scissors,” he suggested.
She vehemently shook her head. “No. This outfit is a gift from Blair. I can’t destroy it.”
“I don’t know whether to be grateful to her or mad at her,” Grant remarked with a sigh. He knelt on the floor next to her and began to roll the leather down her legs.
His hands were so big, so strong, but yet his touch was so gentle—so seductive. His fingers skimmed along the inside of her thighs as he pushed down the leather—then over her calves. When he pushed the pants over her feet, he rubbed them—massaging her instep. She’d had the high heels to go along with the Sandy outfit, but they must had fallen off when he’d lifted her.
She moaned with pleasure over his touch. But it wasn’t enough as tension wound inside her.
“Better?” he asked.
“That’s not what hit the ground,” she reminded him.
He leaned forward and moved his mouth over her hip to one buttock, pressing kisses along her skin—which tingled and sizzled with awareness. Everywhere he touched her became so sensitive.
He lifted her onto the bed again with just his hands around her hips then slid them up to her waist, which he nearly spanned. “You are so tiny,” he mused. “I should think about how easily you can be hurt.”
She shook her head. “I’m tough,” she assured him. And she was—both physically and emotionally. She could handle whatever came her way with the business, with her family—even with him. “You won’t hurt me.”
But her words sounded a bit hollow, like she’d felt inside since she’d thrown him out of her apartment.
“No,” he said. “I’ll just piss you off.”
“You’re really good at that,” she agreed.
“I really just knocked your purse over by accident,” he said. “I wasn’t snooping.”
She was beginning to believe him, and that was dangerous. That was what her mother had always done with all her husbands. She’d believed their lies—about their fortunes, about their sexual preferences, about their fidelity...
Worried that she probably had the same blind spot with men that her mother had, Miranda had decided long ago to trust none of them and to never marry. That way she couldn’t get her heart broken.
