21. Lila
TWENTY-ONE
LILA
Grant is so irresistibly cute when he’s gloating. I never thought those words could fit together, but I never met anyone like Grant before. He’s not even gloating about himself, it’s about me. He’s just so pleased I had a good time on the river—like my happiness is a prize, and he’s standing on the winner’s block.
I admit, I had a lot of fun out there, despite getting too close to yet another bird of prey. The little rapids we paddled over were exhilarating, but I never felt anything other than safe. Although, I’m pretty sure most of that was because I had Grant right beside me.
The only thing that could possibly mar the memory is the “I pee in rivers” hat my mountain man wore the whole time. I will just block that part out when I reminisce.
Also? It’s a good thing I wore a bathing suit beneath my clothes. Anything still dry after the rapids wound up drenched during the water fight. On one calm stretch of river, the four boats in our group faced off. Apparently, there’s an art to splashing someone with a paddle, and the people on the other teams had crazy talent. Grant and I changed into dry clothes when we got back to the rafting offices, but I can’t shake the chill.
“Can we turn on the heat?” We’re probably halfway back to town, and it’s pushing eighty-five out, but I’m shivering in his roomy SUV.
Grant’s gaze drifts over me. “Are you cold? Here.” He stretches his right arm behind him to grab something off the back seat and lays it over me. Then, he turns on the heater and directs the dash vents my way.
I worm into the gray hoodie he gave me and slide the zipper straight to the top. It’s soft and cozy like he’s worn it for years, and his minty-herbal scent wraps around me as if I’m cuddled in his arms. Why are men’s hoodies so much better than women’s? I’d like to trade my drafty apartment for this hoodie and live in it forever, please and thank you.
“That’s the good stuff,” I say, snuggling deeper into the fleece.
His gaze hits me again. “No arguments here.”
How does he manage to go from cute to smoldering in point-five seconds? I look like I spent the day battling Poseidon, and he still makes me feel like the most gorgeous woman in the room. Car. Wherever. It’s one of his many irresistible qualities, and warms me up even better than his hoodie that I’m already plotting to steal.
“Would this be an acceptable time to take you up on your offer to share your hot tub?” Not that I’ve been longing for a dip since I first saw it or anything.
“With you shivering like that? You’d better.”
“Ooh, it’s almost five. Will you stop at the lodge so I can get a hot cocoa first?”
“Of course. Will you stay for dinner? I was just going to make pasta and an Alfredo sauce, but I have plenty. ”
I grin at him as I slowly pull his hood up over my head. “That’s my favorite.”
“Mine, too.”
When we finally roll into the lobby, I’m delighted to discover that one of the urns for the cocoa packets is full of warm milk instead of water. The cocoa cart is loaded up with a variety of high-end mixes to choose from, a caramel syrup dispenser, and sturdy glass canisters holding marshmallows, sprinkles, wafer cookies, and toffee bits.
The cart next to it holds glass carafes full of a fuchsia-bright drink and short stacks of cocktail glasses. The carafes are labeled Madras , with a little canister of lime slices next to them. Looks yummy, but I’m not in the mood for an alcoholic drink tonight.
I’ve made enough sketchy choices lately. No need to add tipsiness into the mix.
Grant stands right next to me, his arm against mine, while I carefully pour ingredients into my paper cup like a mad scientist working out a new concoction. A couple of hotel guests sit in the lobby chatting over their drinks, but with no one in line behind me, I have time to indulge in all the goodies. I love me some hot cocoa.
“My teeth hurt just watching you make that,” he says in a low voice.
I glare up at him. “You don’t have a sweet tooth, do you?”
The snacks he brought on the hike should be answer enough. Sugar? What’s that? He didn’t really like the boba tea, either, although that might have had more to do with thinking the tapioca pearls looked like fish eggs.
Ever so slowly, he raises one hand and lightly trails his knuckles along my jawline. “I like some sweet things.”
This must be how people spontaneously combust. Grant Irwin says something sexy and barely touches them and—poof! Inferno from the inside out. Can he see the flames in my eyes? Does he have any idea what he’s doing to me?
I’m trying to come up with a flirty response when I hear Josh’s laughter behind me. Those delicious flames wink out, replaced with shards of ice. Did Grant see him first? Is that why he went full seduction just now? I’m not sure I want to know.
We turn to face him. He’s in chinos and a white dress shirt, hair immaculate, shoes shiny. Probably just waltzed in from trying to buy that company in Bend out from under the owners for less than it’s worth. His wide smile tempts me to see what his crisp shirt would look like covered in hot chocolate stains.
I resist, only because someone would have to mop up the floor afterward. Revenge sounds sweet, but not at my friend Charlie’s expense.
“Lilabird, your taste in fashion has changed since you came back to Oregon.”
Grant’s hoodie is so big, it covers my shorts. I look like I’m standing here in a sweatshirt, sneakers, and nothing else. After the splash contest, there’s no way my primer held onto my makeup the way it should. I probably have raccoon eyes to rival a deranged clown.
His gaze skates over my body like an unwanted touch. “You’d be so much prettier if you tried a little harder.”
Grant steps between Josh and me so fast I barely register him moving. “Don’t talk to her like that.”
He’s calm and collected, but his voice is the equivalent of putting up his dukes. This man is not messing around. In this moment, I don’t care about perceived gender roles and damsels in distress. I like Grant stepping up. A lot.
I peek around his shoulder to see Josh’s fake smile widen. Like right before a snake reveals its fangs. “Do you know who I am?”
It’s one of his favorite questions, and a last resort when he isn’t getting his way. Eventually, the person in question realizes that he’s from one of the wealthiest families in Seattle and owns a multi-million dollar tech firm. I’ve seen it play out dozens of times, and people always back down once they figure out he’s “somebody.”
This time around, though? Grant takes a step closer to him.
“Yeah, I know who you are. You’re the jerk insulting my girlfriend. Don’t ever do it again.”
Maybe this will be what causes all of my organs to burst into flame. Grant Irwin calling me his girlfriend. I’m a toasty marshmallow melting to goo.
He turns back to me. The hardness in his expression transforms into tenderness. “Is your cocoa how you want it?”
I fight the urge to laugh—after casually growling at my former fiancé, he’s thinking about my hot chocolate? “I’m good.”
He nods, takes my hand, and leads me out of the lodge without another glance in Josh’s direction. He storms across the parking lot, clutching my hand tightly like he needs to be sure of me next to him. When we reach his SUV, he opens the passenger door and gently takes my paper cup to tuck the cocoa safely into the center console.
He straightens and stares down at me as if he’s expecting a reprimand. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stand there and let that guy?—”
Nope. No way will I allow him to apologize for a single part of that interaction. I reach up until I’ve got one hand on his shoulder, the other on the back of his neck, and pull him to me. In the split second before I get him where I want him, understanding dawns, and his eyes darken.
Our mouths meet, merge, fuse. I am bonded to Grant, and I have no intention of letting him go. His hands trace over my back and draw me into him, removing the last hint of space between us .
His lips are firm and decisive as he quickly takes control of the kiss. He tilts my face to one side, gently maneuvering me to open up to him. He pauses the barest moment, like he’s giving me room to resist or pull away. I love his concern for my comfort, but I don’t want to stop.
I scrape my nails against his scalp as our tongues slide together. He groans against my mouth, a needy, insistent sound. There’s something intoxicating about making this easy-going man lose his cool over me. I want more.
He flexes his fingers against my back, massaging in small strokes until they rest on my hips. The kiss turns slow and languid, more like a hundredth kiss than our first. Like we have endless time ahead of us to kiss and caress and cuddle.
A teeny tiny thought whispers through my kiss-fogged brain that we don’t have endless time. I can’t keep him. He’s going home in a few weeks, and I’m fighting for my promotion here in Sunshine. This month together is all we get.
But now is not the time for sad thoughts. I shut out the reminder and focus on him. His firm shoulders beneath my hands. His insane warmth that makes me wonder why I ever thought I needed an outside source of heat. His afternoon stubble scratching my mouth in the best way.
Finally, our kisses gentle, both of us easing away until we’re staring at each other. It’s not late enough for sunset, but this might as well be the golden hour. He looks more handsome than ever in the late afternoon light. My rugged, sweet mountain man.
I think I just unlocked a new core memory, and I won’t mind at all if this one turns up in my dreams.