Grant pulled into a parking spot at the end of the street and watched customers come and go from St. Nicholas Hardware. It had been four days since he’d almost kissed Faith, right there in the middle of her damned store. Not only hadn’t she called him to help with her pet project, but she continued to treat him as if the scorching heat between them was a figment of his imagination.
In truth, he was starting to believe it. He was starting to believe that he’d lost his ability to read a woman. That he was seeing and feeling things that weren’t there only because he wanted them so badly.
This was a simple matter of wanting what he couldn’t have. That was all. He’d never had to chase a woman, and his competitive streak just wouldn’t give up until she admitted she wanted him. At this point, he didn’t even care if he slept with her or not. He could get sex anywhere. He just wanted her to give. To acknowledge who and what he was. To show a sliver of real interest.
Then he was sure this ridiculous infatuation would end.
He climbed from the SUV, pocketed his keys, and pulled on his Braves ball cap before strolling toward the store. Grant checked out the front windows of other shops and returned friendly hellos from pedestrians. This was something he did miss about small-town life. And, he had to admit, he also found a soothing sort of rhythm in being able to focus on a project or a practice. On the quiet country setting. On the sounds of nature. All without a million other pressures on his mind.
He hadn’t realized he’d missed it until now.
As Christmas approached, now less than a week away, Faith’s store seemed busier every time he stopped in. That was great for Faith. Not so great for Grant. When she was busy, she barely gave him the time of day. On the occasions when things were slow, he’d been able to cajole her into helping him get what he needed for whatever project he’d adopted. Though, he hadn’t been able to hold her interest any longer.
He was beginning to think he’d blown it by pushing her that day—even though he hadn’t pushed her near as far as he’d wanted to. He cursed his lack of finesse. But he was who he was. He didn’t like or want slow and sweet. Which made him question his own judgment every time he had a dirty thought about “the sweetest girl in town.”
“Because I live in the boondocks, you don’t think I can think just as dirty as you?”
Her words jumped to mind, followed by a wicked flash of heat from head to toe.
“A man could dream,” he muttered under his breath.
Regardless of whether she turned out to be the biggest prude he’d ever met or the nastiest lay he’d ever coveted, Faith Nicholas was very different from any woman he’d ever been interested in. But he was pretty sure the only reason he kept coming back was her impish little tendency to pretend he didn’t exist until he put himself directly in her way and forced her to acknowledge him.
Passing the Holly Jolly Chocolatier, Grant glanced at the artistic displays of chocolates in the windows. He was three steps past when his feet halted and spun him around almost before he understood why. But something he’d heard in the hardware store earlier this week triggered in his mind, and Grant backtracked, turning into the store.
He only had the door open three inches when the warm, chocolate-scented air reached out and grabbed hold, dragging him the rest of the way in. He was having a Willie Wonka & the Chocolate Factory flashback when he closed the door behind him.
“Well, look who’s here.” Jemma came out of the back with her dark hair tied up in a ponytail, her bright blue eyes sparkling, and her white apron smeared with chocolate. “Heard you were back in town. How’s the big shot?”
He grinned. “Hey, Jemma. Man, you still look sixteen.”
“Oh, go on.”
“No, really. You’re throwing me back to high school, only in a much better way than the first time around.”
She laughed. “You’ve come a long way since high school. Got a lot to be proud of. Dwayne says you’re pitching in to help out the hockey team.”
“Word still travels fast around here.”
“Like lightning.”
Grant chuckled, hoping word of his identity had finally reached Faith. “Happy to do it.”
“What can I get you? I have a fresh batch of that marzipan your mama loves. Makes a great stocking stuffer.”
“Sure, I’ll take some. Can never hurt to please my mom, right? But I’m here because I understand Faith has an addiction to your chocolate.”
“Faith.” Jemma lifted her brows and tried way too hard to look innocent. “Oh? Did she say what, exactly, she was addicted to?”
“No. I overheard her talking about it to a friend at the store. She’s given me a lot of help this week while I’ve been working on my parents’ house, and I was thinking I’d bring her a little thank-you. Something she likes.”
Jemma pursed her lips, scrunching them sideways, her gaze cast down.
He knew that look: the naughty, guilty one.
“I’m also trying to soften her up so she’ll let me take her out,” Grant added hopefully. “Some days, I swear I’m invisible.”
Jemma’s smooth brow pulled into a deep vee. “That’s not like Faith. You may not think she’s paying attention, but she knows everything that’s happening around her. Everything that’s happening in the store. When you think ‘mind like a steel trap,’ you think Faith.”
He was having a hard time seeing that. “Can you help me out?”
Ten minutes later, he jogged up the brick steps to St. Nicholas Hardware and pushed through the door to a chorus of loud male voices.
“Stop, both of you,” Faith cut in, her voice distinctly female and clearly authoritarian. But Grant had come to recognize the dry sarcasm edging her tone. “St. Nicholas Hardware is an inclusive safety zone for all fans, Wolfpack and Tar Heels alike.”
“What the hell does a ram have to do with being a Tar Heel anyway? And what kind of name is Rameses?” Leon Simms chided Mike Lowry. “Those boys paint his horns blue? Doesn’t anyone call the ASPCA? Or PETA?”
“It’s pronounced ram-sees, Mike, and you know it,” Faith said while she rang up and bagged his items. “Don’t be starting trouble for the sake of trouble, now.”
“That’s right,” Leon said. “Listen to the lady. She knows what she’s talkin’ ’bout.”
“I do know what I’m talking about,” Faith said. “Which is how I also know you ask Mike the same questions every year when the Tobacco game comes up, just to rile him.”
Mike pointed at Leon. “You do. Every year.”
“That’s because it works. Every year.”
A chorus of laughter filled the store, and Grant was grinning at the exchange and Faith’s smooth control over everyone and everything that happened in here as he wandered into her peripheral vision. Joe Sheridan came toward the register with a customer close behind and rang up some paint.
Faith’s attention was on the credit processor waiting for the receipt, when her gaze slid left and caught sight of Grant. And she smiled. The lift to her lips, the crinkle at the corners of her eyes, they made her look cute and sweet and mischievous all at the same time. Grant was hoping to pull out more of the mischievous side. She knew he was coming in every day to see her, and she liked it. Knowing that gave him the strangest buzz. One equal to the thrill he got every time he took in the smoking way the woman wore her jeans and the way she filled out a tee shirt. But the way she kept her interest in him on lockdown frustrated the hell out of him.
“Well, look at that.” She tore the receipt off the machine and placed it in front of Mike for his signature, never taking her eyes off Grant. “Real trouble just blew in.”
He chuckled, crossed his arms, and waited. Faith’s gaze drifted to the bag he held in his hand, then jumped back to his face with a hint of surprise, an edge of question.
“Grant,” Leon said. “You’re a State fan, ain’t that right?”
“Don’t put words in his mouth,” Mike told Leon. “I happen to know Grant’s a UNC fan just like my boy Bobby, ain’t you, Grant?”
“My good sense tells me to stay out of this conversation,” Grant said.
“Smart,” Joe said without turning from the register.
A young kid Grant didn’t know came up to the front carrying five different wrenches and laid them on the counter near Faith. He wore a polo shirt with the hardware store’s logo, and he was out of breath, sweating, his face red with worry. “What about these? Is it any of these?”
Leon and Mike stopped their argument to peer at the group of tools. Joe finished his sale and joined them, looking over Faith’s shoulder. All of them studied the wrenches like they were some archeological relics.
“No, no, Billy.” Leon frowned over at the kid, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. “Didn’t you listen to me? The left-handed box-end wrench is on aisle twelve, a third of the way down, between the left-handed monkey wrench and the left-handed magnet wrench. You can’t miss it.”
Laughter bubbled up, and Grant had to bite his lip to keep it in. The poor kid wiped at the sweat on his forehead.
“No, Leon,” Joe said. “Aisle fourteen, bottom shelf on the right at the end cap, next to the—”
“Foghorn tuning pipe,” Faith finished, nodding at the kid. Her expression solemn, she patted his shoulder. “It’s all right, Billy. Try again.”
As soon as the kid disappeared into the maze of aisles, Leon, Mike, Joe, and Faith broke into smiles.
“He’s a keeper,” Leon said, voice low. “How long has he been looking for that thing now? This has to be a record.”
Faith gave Joe’s shoulder a push. “Put the kid out of his misery, will you? If he doesn’t want to belt you or quit, he can keep the job until school starts again.”
Leon and Mike said good-bye to Grant on their way out, and Faith turned to him, her grin still bright from the prank they’d collectively pulled on the new kid. “Well, good afternoon, Mr. Saber. I was starting to think I might have to go a full twenty-four hours without seeing that handsome face. What could possibly need fixing at your parents’ house today?”
That. That “handsome” was one of those mixed messages she tossed out every time he was here. The ones that didn’t say she was interested, but didn’t say she wasn’t. And they were making him crazy. They were keeping him up at night. She was keeping him up at night.
No woman ever kept him up at night.
“I hope there’s something to fix so I have an excuse to come back later. But I won’t know until I get there. I was at the rink working with the kids this morning.”
“Oh, right. Mr. Turner was in earlier. Said Colby had a few extra hockey practices over the break.”
He nodded. Waited. And got nothing. No recognition, no excitement, no indication that she knew anything about him.
Screw the small-town gossip mill. The one time Grant needed it, the damn thing broke down.
“You look good in red,” she said, her gaze on his hat, a sassy little smile tipping her mouth. “Way better than orange. Just sayin’.”
He’d been wearing this goddamned Atlanta Braves hat for four days, and this was the first time she’d mentioned it. At first he’d thought the colors were too similar, both blue caps with different brim colors. Sure, they had different emblems, but he was trying to give the girl the benefit of the doubt. She had a shitstorm pummeling her life, after all. But now he was starting to wonder if that “mind like a steel trap” comment was truer than he realized.
He put his hand over his heart. “Swear on my honor, I’ve seen the error of my ways and am now a die-hard Braves fan.”
“Hallelujah,” she said.
“So you’ll go out with me now, right?”
She sighed and stepped out from behind the counter, passing Grant with a breezy “I’ve got inventory to stock. Good luck finding something to fix today.”
He was mesmerized by that sweet sway of her hips and the way her ass looked in those washed-out jeans. She wore some type of cowboy boots, and her sweater was a deep, bright pink and cropped, showing her trim waist and flowing curves that made Grant’s mouth water. After less than a week, he was intrigued by her simple but authentic and unapologetic style. It fit her attitude and her personality, and Grant found that more refreshing every day.
Which led to today. To showing up spontaneously with no purpose, holding chocolates.
What in holy hell had happened to him?
He followed her as if she were his magnet. “Free for lunch?”
“Nope, too much to do.”
“What if I bring it here?”
“No, thanks. I really don’t have time to stop.”
“Then you might like these chocolates I picked up next door. They’re bite-size, and you can eat them on the go. They’re also part of Jemma’s private reserve.”
Her feet halted, and she stood there frozen a second before she spun on him, took a fistful of his shirt, and pulled him into an aisle.
“Whoa, girl.” He chuckled the words, thrilled he’d finally gotten a reaction out of her. “If I’d known chocolate was the key to getting your attention, I’d be a regular at Jemma’s by now.”
She let go of his shirt and crossed her arms. “You’re playing me. Jemma would never give you access to her private reserve.”
“Baby, I know you seem to be immune to my charms, but not every woman is.”
She leaned one shoulder against a shelf. “You’re not going to go away, are you?”
He mirrored her, loving this tiny sliver of her complete and total attention. He’d never had to work so hard to get something so simple in his entire life. But the zing he felt all through his body when they really connected was well worth the effort. “You’re not going to cave, are you?”
She grinned, a sexy, flirty little grin that shocked Grant all the way to the pit of his stomach. “Must be hard for a handsome stud like you not to have every woman drop at your feet.”
He exhaled and offered a melodramatic “I can’t tell you how refreshing it is to be understood.”
She laughed. Her eyes twinkled. And, God, something really different was happening here. Some wild sort of chemistry he’d never had with any other woman. And he hadn’t even kissed her.
“All right, hot shot, I’ll indulge you in your game. What have you got in there?”
“Just your favorites.”
She shook her head. “Jemma wouldn’t tell you my favorites.”
“The way she wouldn’t tell me about her reserve collection?”
She smirked.
Man, he was having way too much fun. He opened the bag and peered in at the chocolates. The rich, intoxicating scent hit him, and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. “Mmmm. Damn, that’s better than a drug.”
“Tease,” she muttered.
He opened his eyes. “I do have Tease in here. Not too sweet, not too rich, but just right to leave you wanting more.”
She sighed as if she were barely tolerating him.
“I also have Long, Slow, Deep, Wet Kiss.” He let his gaze fall to her mouth and licked his bottom lip. “Mmm. This chocolate couldn’t compare to the real thing with you.”
She took a deep breath, ready to blow him off. “Grant—”
“Let’s see.” He returned his gaze to the bag. “I suppose it would be appropriate to move on to Nip, Tug, Suckle. Mmm-hmm. And oh, wow, then we dive into the really good stuff.”
Lifting his gaze from the bag, he met her eyes directly, deliberately, and was a little surprised to find her lids heavy, her eyes lusty. He’d begun to believe she was truly unaffected by him.
“This is a little quick for my taste,” he murmured. “I’d rather build slower, savor longer, explore in depth, but I also aim to please, so let’s skip to your next favorite—First Penetration.” He closed his eyes as the idea slid through him in a heat wave. “Mmmm. Damn. Always so good.”
She heaved a sigh. “All right, Saber. You’ve had your fun for the day. I really have to—”
“Long and Slow, one of my favorites, right along with Deep and Hard. Both have so much pleasure potential, don’t you think? All leading to the Peak, the Break, and…Ecstasy.”
He was pretty sure he’d done nothing but turn himself on and reached into the bag with the intention of torturing her by eating the chocolate himself. He held out one little dark square decorated with a single yellow flower petal. “But wait, what’s this?”
“Bareback,” she said, her gaze hot, almost challenging, on his. “The ultimate sweet ride.”
A lightning strike of lust cut him straight down the middle. “Ah. Right.”
He pulled another. This square a little lighter and topped with a purple pansy. “And this?”
“Fling.” Her lips curved a little. “Leave your chocolate-commitment fears behind. This bold baby is here to satisfy when you’re interested.”
He laughed softly and held the chocolate higher, like a gem to the light. “I should have known you’d have these memorized.” Lowering the square, he dropped it into the bag and shook his head. “Oooo, so much possibility. Too bad it will all be wasted.”
She was grinning, the look a little smug. “Wasting Jemma’s special reserve will earn you a fate worse than death.” She pushed off the shelf and, with one quick swipe, grabbed the bag from his hand. “I’d hate to see something like that happen to a guy as thoughtful as you.” She turned toward the back of the store. “Thanks, handsome. Have a great day.”
Grant opened his mouth to argue and took a step after her.
“Faith!” They both turned toward the voice. “Faith, Faith, look.” The kid they’d been messing with jogged up to her, carrying a handful of large sheets of paper. His wide eyes darted between Grant and Faith. “George just dropped these posters off, and look.”
By the way the kid was pointing at something on the page while giving Grant those starstruck eyes, Grant was sure those were the posters announcing his participation with the festival and the hockey team.
He grinned, his ego inflated. The anticipation of Faith finding out he was a sports star filled him with a ridiculous level of excitement and satisfaction.
“What?” she asked, looking over the poster before telling the kid, “Just put them up in the window where we always put the local promotions.”
“No,” the kid said, then pointed to Grant. “It’s him. He’s…look.”
Faith laughed, the sound light and bubbly and truly humor filled. “God, you are adorable,” she told the kid. Then to Grant, she said, “Give him an autograph before you leave, will you?”
She turned and continued toward the back room. Confusion shocked Grant’s brain still for a long second. He looked at the kid, said, “I’ll catch you on my way out,” then caught up with Faith and slipped his hand around her elbow. “You wait just a damn minute.”
She had a chocolate in her hand and took a bite. Her eyes closed in a look of bliss, and the hum of pleasure that rolled from her throat seemed to funnel blood straight to his groin.
“You know who I am?”
When she opened her eyes, a hint of humor edged the heat there. “Grant Saber, son of Hazel and Martin Saber. Center for the DC Rough Riders. Benched for a shoulder injury but headed back to the ice any day now. Bachelor extraordinaire. And an amazing judge of chocolate. I’ve really got a lot to do.”
When she tried to turn, he pulled her to face him again. “How long? How long have you known?”
“Since the day you offered to help me with Dwayne’s lights.” She lifted the bag and gave him a sweet grin. “Thanks again.”
He didn’t let go. “Then why are you still resisting me?”
She turned to fully face him, serious now. “That spotlight has fried your humility. Out here, in the real world, not all women fall on their backs just because you’re good-looking, built, and rich.”
He immediately thought of Dillon and how quickly he’d replaced Faith after so many years together. Guilt snuck in. And, yeah, maybe a little shame too. Because he was expecting his status as a star NHL player to impress her out of her pants. It had always worked in the past.
To lighten the conversation, he added, “You forgot famous, charming, and funny.”
“The famous part goes against you in my opinion. As far as charming and funny goes, those traits seem highly variable, depending on whether you’re getting what you want or not.”
“You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
“Grant, you’ve been in my store three or four times a day for a week. That’s more than I see most of my customers in three months, and I know their life stories.”
He frowned, thinking back over the week. Wondering what he’d said or done to make her think she’d figured him out. Hell, he hadn’t even figured himself out.
“I’m sorry I’m not speechless over your star status. I just happen to believe that all the great stuff in here”—she tapped his chest with an index finger—“is what really matters. And you’ve got enough stuff in here to make your hockey stats and your bank balance and your shiny new Range Rover pale by comparison.”
The woman turned him inside out on a dime. To push aside the uneasy feelings in the pit of his stomach, he said, “Whoa. Let’s leave my Rover out of this.”
She laughed and gave him an exasperated shake of her head. “Go on. Leave me alone so I can get some work done. We don’t all get R&R for a shoulder injury.”
She tried to turn away.
He should let her. He knew he should. But he held on and pulled her to face him again. When he opened his mouth to say…he didn’t even know what, a customer wandered out of one aisle and into another.
Grant walked Faith backward the last few feet into the storage room and kicked the door closed.
“Grant…” she said, in that I-don’t-have-time-for-this sort of way.
But he turned and pushed her up against a wall. Her laughter died, and heat sparked in her eyes. She lifted her hands, pressing them against his chest, but didn’t push him away. He leaned in until their hips met and their thighs brushed. Her breath quickened. Her pupils dilated. And the look on her face… She wanted him just as badly. She just didn’t know how to jump.
But Grant couldn’t keep playing this game with her. He didn’t do games at all, yet she’d dragged him into this one. And as enticing as it might be, Grant didn’t have enough time. Or enough patience.
She needed a push.
He slid an arm behind her and drew her in with a forearm at the base of her spine. Her softness pressed against his growing erection, and pleasure washed through the lower half of his body. He moaned softly and rocked against her until she made the same sound. Until her lids grew heavy. Until her fingers curled into his shirt. Until she murmured his name in that voice that said make me come. “Grant…”
“Is this what you want, Faith? If you want me to take control, I will. But if I lead, I’ll do it my way.”
Her gaze jumped from his mouth to his eyes. “What’s…your way?”
For a split second, he considered lying. He thought about telling her what she wanted to hear just to get her into bed. He wanted her that badly. And that reality—more than anything else—pushed a very harsh description from his mouth.
“If I did it my way, I’d do you right here, right now, up against this wall.”
Her breathing picked up. Her eyes sparked with surprise and lust.
“I’d cover your mouth with my hand and drive into you until you snapped in a screaming climax. All while the whole store, the whole fucking town of Holly, was just six inches away. And it would be our sweet little secret. One you’d think about every time you walked into this room.”
She made a sound in her throat. Her lids dipped. She licked her lips.
“You like that idea,” he said, “don’t you?” And wasn’t that the biggest fucking surprise and the hottest rush?
Her gaze darted away. “I…I don’t know. I can’t think…”
“Then imagine”—he told her, pushing harder, half hoping she shoved him off and walked away, half hoping she told him to take her right then—“because I talk as dirty as I fight, and I fuck as hard as I play.”
She breathed a moan, and her eyelids slid closed.
But it was the feel of her body softening, of the way she started moving with him, not against him, that finally blocked his ability to think.
“Oh, baby,” he groaned, relishing that moment of surrender. “So…fucking…sweet. Feel it?” he whispered. “Feel how good it is? Imagine how much better it could be. Naked. Skin on skin.”
She made the slightest shake of her head. “I…wouldn’t know what to do with you.”
He lifted a hand to her jaw and tilted her head back until she opened her eyes to his. “Yes. You would. You’re already doing it.” He let his gaze slide to her mouth. “Fuck, I want to taste you.”
“Grant…” she said in that voice that made him want to rip her clothes off. “I’m not… I can’t…”
“Stop talking yourself out of it and just fucking kiss me already.”
But Grant couldn’t wait anymore. He slid his hand from her jaw, around the back of her neck, and pulled her in. Too rough. Too harsh. Too fast. The way he did everything in life.
Faith gasped, and Grant took the moment to dive in. He kissed her hard. Kept her lips open with the pressure so he could stroke his tongue into her hot mouth and taste her, the way he’d wanted to taste her since she’d met his eyes at the bar with that sassy smirk.
A mewl rose from her throat and fueled Grant’s fire. He pushed his hand into her hair and closed his fingers to keep her there, keep her mouth open so he could taste her and taste her and taste her. Knowing the second he let go, she’d scamper away and never come near him again.
Part of him wanted that. More than he realized until now. Because she tasted like heat and chocolate. Her mouth was sweet and soft and plump. And suddenly, her mouth wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Wanted his mouth on skin. Wanted skin on skin. Wanted his mouth on her pussy, fucking her the way he was tasting her.
And then she kissed him back. She leaned into him, her fingers curled into his shirt, her nails scraped his skin and her tongue… God, the tentative way she tasted him back made Grant insane. He growled, tipped his head and demanded more.
A murmur broke into his fantasy. Someone calling Faith’s name. Only it wasn’t him—his mouth was way too busy to talk.
Faith moaned and turned her head, breaking the kiss. She reached out and slapped at the lock on the door, then exhaled and pressed her face against Grant’s neck.
He opened the hand in her hair and cradled her head, feeling the silkiness of the strands for the first time.
“Faith?” The male voice, clear and much closer now, jolted Grant back to reality. He lifted his head and looked toward the door.
The handle turned, and Faith tried to pull away like a guilty kid. But Grant held on while the knob jerked back and forth, and the door remained closed.
“What’s up, Joe?” Faith said.
“You okay?”
The what’s-going-on tone in his voice made Grant dart a look at Faith. She met Grant’s gaze.
And smiled. A small, secretive, embarrassed little smile that knocked Grant’s heart on its ass.
“Yeah,” she said, lifting her fingers to her mouth where her lips were reddened and puffy from Grant’s kiss. A sight that only made him hungrier. “You know, just one of those days.”
“Oh.” Pause. “Okay.” Pause. “Do you want me to have the Makita rep come back after the holidays?”
She stiffened and turned her attention to the door. When Grant didn’t let her go, she closed her eyes. “No.” She winced. “Can you have him wait? I just need a minute.”
“Of course. No problem.”
They stood there a long moment, their bodies pressed together, until all auditory signs of Joe were gone. Then she lifted her gaze to Grant. And now guilt filled the pretty blue irises. “I’m sorry.”
He knew instantly she was talking about more than the interruption. And his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.
“This isn’t…” she started. “I’m not… I mean, I can’t…” She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “Shit.”
Shit was right. He hadn’t been this turned on, this fast, in for-freaking-ever.
Reality was such a fucking bitch.
“Faith?” Joe called from somewhere in the store.
She exhaled heavily, turned her head, and bit out, “What?”
The uncharacteristic snap in her voice was Grant’s signal to put an end to this. He loosened his hold and eased back.
“Sorry, honey,” Joe said, “but the register is wigging out again. Only you can get it to behave.”
“Okay.” Faith closed her eyes, crossed her newly freed arms, and rubbed her forehead. “I’ll be right out.”
She looked at Grant with apology pouring from her eyes. “I’m sorry, I have to—”
“I get it,” he cut her off, trying to pretend the rejection didn’t matter. Because they both knew it wasn’t the store keeping her from jumping into the deep end with him. “Life’s demanding.”
She dropped her hand and looked between the door and Grant again before she walked out, leaving the door open.
Disappointment pierced Grant’s gut. A kind of disappointment that rivaled losing the Cup. Which was absolutely asinine.
He ran a hand over his hair, closed his eyes, and whispered, “Fuck.”
