The Trouble with Tomboys (Tommy Creek #1)(12)

B.J. snorted. “Well, I can’t. Amy was important to me too, you know. She’d be devastated if she knew I was letting you pretend you’re not alive. You need to join the real world again, Slim. Quit wallowing—”

He whirled toward her so quickly she jerked an intimidated step back. From between clenched teeth, he hissed, “I’ll live my life however I damn well please.”

When she sucked in a breath, he blinked like 35



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he’d just realized she was cowering. Letting out a low growl, he reeled away and raked a shaky hand through his hair. “Jesus,” he whispered. “Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?”

B.J. could tell his control was splintering. But she fully believed it’d be healthy for him to lose it.

For once in his life, he needed to let out some of the pressure. He needed to alleviate the pain that had been brewing inside him since the moment his wife died. He needed to go a little crazy.

“It’s probably because you bring it on yourself,”

she said.

He glanced menacingly at her. “Excuse me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come off it, Slim. If you really wanted everyone to stop feeling so sorry for you and treating you like some kind of wounded animal, you’d stop acting like one.”

Shock filtered across his cheekbones with a red tinge. His mouth fell open. “What? I do not—”

But his gaze landed on the wet shirt clinging to her breasts, and the words died in his throat.

Looking taken aback by the fact she was nipping, he gaped at her with slack-jawed shock. On pure impulse, she pulled her shoulders back a fraction, pushing her chest forward to goad him. For the briefest of moments, his lashes lowered, and he sucked in a quiet breath through his teeth. Then he tore his eyes away, muttering a curse.

B.J. blinked, taken aback. She’d just gotten a response from the ice man. Grady Rawlings had looked at her with sexual awareness. Thinking this might be good for him, she licked her lips and quickly planned her next move.

The elevator stopped on their floor; he shot through the doors as soon as they began to open.

B.J. stuck to his heels, grabbing his arm.

“Don’t,” he said and shrugged her away, not

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once stopping his long-legged stride.

She clutched his wet, slippery sleeve again, ignoring the warning.

With a snarl, he swung around, grabbing her

wrist in a bruising grip and ripping her hand off him. The scorching heat in his eyes was deadly. “I do not ask for anyone’s sympathy. The last thing in the world I want is for everyone to treat me like some kind of—”

Ignoring his tirade, B.J. rose onto her toes and stamped her mouth against his, moving so fast, she gave him no time to back off or evade her before their lips were firmly sealed together.

He froze on contact, making a muffled sound of irritation. B.J. tasted his surprise, but she only pressed closer until the front of her soaked shirt clung to his. Then, lifting her hand, she touched the side of his neck. He jerked his face to the side, dodging her.

Not wanting him to break their connection, she bit down on his bottom lip.

In response, he growled and gripped her face in his hands, trying to pry her away, but not

succeeding because she dug her teeth in and refused to let him go.

He buried his fingers under her ponytail and balled his hands, capturing two fistfuls of hair and grasping them tight like he was wrapping horse reins around his knuckles. Knowing he intended to yank her off him by the roots of her hair, she retreated instantly, letting go of his lip with a sob of surrender.

They both froze, gaping at each other, chests heaving. His hands remained buried deep in her hair, ruining her ponytail all to hell. Her mouth trembled, moist and swollen. She tasted blood. His blood. Needing some semblance of order in her scattered brain, she licked the salty flavor off her 37



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bottom lip.

For some reason, that was his undoing.

With a moan that wasn’t quite human, he

tightened his fingers in her hair until she gasped.

Then he attacked, dragging her back to him and kissing her senseless. He took control, becoming the aggressor. His mouth punished as it moved against hers, bruising and savage. When she opened for him, he plunged his tongue deep, letting out an agonized, hungry sound and ravaging the moist, hot cavity within.

He grew hard against her stomach. She

whimpered, envisioning the heated length of him buried deep inside her.

“Grady,” she moaned. But his breathless name on her lips must’ve alerted him to reality because he yanked away, wheezing furiously, and spun blindly toward the wall to brace himself with one arm.

She panted too, gaping at him through her wet lashes. Oxygen chugged into her lungs so fast it burned her chest. His shoulders lifted and fell with their own erratic, unsteady rhythm.

He wouldn’t meet her gaze as he held up the

wall. But when he blew out a shuddered breath and turned, she saw his side profile and caught sight of a flushed expression with glazed eyes. Pulling himself together, he cleared his throat, stepped past her, and once again started for his room, staggering unsteadily.

B.J. wasn’t about to let him go. “You responded to me,” she said, hurrying after him. “Are you just going to ignore that?”