Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector #2)(23)
Her room. Her traitorous body flashed hot at the possibilities. Joanna grit her teeth. Stop it. Wasn’t the woods enough? Actually, it wasn’t. The pleasing array of orally induced orgasms had served quite nicely as an erotic appetizer, but now every nerve ending she possessed was ready for the main course. This was playing with fire and she’d sworn she wasn’t going to do that anymore. Now here she was, ready to strike the match that would either ignite the potentially best relationship she’d ever had or incinerate her precariously reconstructed plans for the future.
Damage control. This calls for damage control. “You’re not joining the tour again tomorrow, are you?” She had to either convince Grant to back out or piss him off—either choice would guarantee that as soon as they reached the inn, he’d leave—like stand-on-the-porch-and-not-even-enter-the-inn leave. He did not, under any circumstances, need to walk her to the door of her room.
If he did, she could pretty much guarantee that Grant was going to think he’d hit pay dirt and was about to be blessed with an entire evening in the company of the founder and chief operating officer of “Sluts-R-Us.” He’d have quite the opinion of her to pass on to his brothers.
She picked up the pace and smiled over at Grant, who seemed as preoccupied with the situation as she was. “I know Hazel and her cronies came up with that scheme to keep us together under their watch, but you do know you don’t have to play along with the oldsters, right?”
“They’re expectin’ me,” Grant said quietly, avoiding Joanna’s gaze as he waited for her to pass so he could lock the chain gate back across the path. “By not tellin’ them I wouldna be there, I more or less gave them m’word that I would. I canna go back on it now.”
“I’m sure they’d be fine if you didn’t show up,” Joanna said with as much reassurance and certainty as she could muster. She had to convince him to blow them off. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to spend the next two days with him. The problem was she wanted to very much—and the nights as well, and those feelings scared the living shit out of her. No way could they go back to their playful flirting after what had just happened in the woods.
She needed some room to get her head back on straight. Get some breathing room and build up some antibodies against his highly addictive touch. She paused on the porch, purposely hanging back while Grant held open the door to Miss Martha’s B&B. “I’ll tell them a business issue came up that only you could handle and that you send your heartfelt apologies. How ’bout that?”
“We are goin’ t’yer room t’finish this,” Grant said, his voice deep and low, his gaze locked with hers.
“Why?”
“Ye ken why, well enough, I’m sure.” Grant’s eyes narrowed. If possible, his stare grew even hotter. “Now ye can either walk to yer room under yer own steam or I’ll be more than happy t’carry ye.”
Oh shit. You carry me and this’ll be the first multi-orgasmic staircase in Brady. She sure as hell couldn’t tell him that. He’d take it as a freakin’ dare.
“I don’t have…” Joanna paused as a pair of late-arriving out-of-towners with suitcases in tow walked past them. She cleared her throat and gave him a look that she hoped he’d understand. “I don’t have the…uhm…articles…required for our meeting.” Believe it or not, I’m not like a teenage boy in heat. I don’t carry condoms everywhere I go.
“Mistress Martha has a wee necessities gift shop for personal items travelers might need.” Grant nodded toward the check-in desk, then pointed at the floor between Joanna’s feet. “Wait here.”
Thank God these running pants are black. Grant had made her so wet with “wait here,” she’d soaked them. She glanced at her watch. What the hell was she thinking? It was getting late and she had to mentally spar all day tomorrow with the gangster grannies.
Grant reappeared in the entryway, a pleased-with-himself smile on his face and a small brown paper bag in one hand.
An expectant shiver starting at Joanna’s core arced and spread like erotic lightning. Ms. Give It to Me Now was back in all her lusting glory. Who cared how late it was? She turned and darted up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. A flicker of guilt, the faintest shadow of remorse, swept across her as she twisted her room key in the door, pushed it open, then stood staring at the twin-sized bed littered with the contents of her backpack. I’ve got no self-control. If this goes bad…
The door lock clicked behind her. The room was so quiet, she swore she heard Grant draw in a deep breath. The uppermost branches of the oak tree outside her windows rattled against the glass, tapping out a hypnotizing Morse code as the tree danced with the wind. Grant was standing close behind her. She was keenly aware of him, feeling his presence like an energy that was about to wrap around her and squeeze. She felt everything. The heat of him. His pending touch. The pleasure about to ensue.
“She did put bars on the windows,” Grant said. “She said she would do it just t’vex them and stop their yammerin’. Said it would save her on the insurance but still stay as she wanted.”
“What?” Joanna turned and faced Grant. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Grant nodded and pointed to the double windows on the other side of the attic room, set back in their own alcove with a padded and pillowed bench beneath them to create a cozy little nook. “Mistress Martha said her insurance company was givin’ her fits over lettin’ this room in the attic when the windowpanes werena sealed for safety’s sake. She wanted her renters t’be able to open the window when they wished for a bit of fresh air. Said she’d put iron bars on the windows afore she’d seal the panes. Looks as though she did it.”