Best Man for Hire (Entangled Lovestruck) (Front and Center) (6 page)

“Oh, God, don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured, his voice making pleasant vibrations against her sternum as his lips trailed from one breast to the other.

She let one hand stray down his back and nearly groaned at the feel of all that muscle. Did this guy spend every waking hour at the gym, or was he just really gifted?

Really gifted
, her brain telegraphed as his hand slid farther up her thigh, his thumb stroking her through her panties. She gasped, knowing how wet she was, how badly she wanted him, how urgently she needed his—

Ding-dong!

Anna opened her eyes and blinked, trying to orient herself amid the buzzing in her brain and the hum of pleasure pulsing through her body.

The chime sounded again, and Grant pulled his mouth from her nipple long enough to murmur, “Doorbell,” against the underside of her breast.

Then he went back to kissing her, his mouth on hers again, the heel of his right hand brushing over her nipples. His left hand was buried under her dress, fingers sliding beneath the elastic of her panties. The tips of two fingers dipped inside her, sinking into her wetness as he stroked her with his—

Ding-dong!

“Oh, God,” she gasped as the pad of his thumb found her clit, circling and sliding and making her crazy with heat. He buried two fingers deeper into her, using her wetness to glide and tease and stroke her to the brink of delirium. Anna closed her eyes again as his thumb circled faster, finding a rhythm as his fingers pulsed inside her and drew back, then pressed into her again. She gripped the back of his head, urging him on as he drew one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it in dizzying circles as Anna gasped and writhed and urged him to plunge deeper with his—

Ding-dong!

“Oh, for crying out loud!”

She opened her eyes and looked back through the house, thinking seriously about throttling whichever salesman or religious fanatic hovered out there on the damn porch. Grant sat up, blinking a little like a man coming out of a trance. He took a breath.

“I’m sure whoever it is will give up and go away,” he whispered. “If it’s important, they’d call.”

“Right.” Anna licked her lips. “Maybe we could sneak to the bedroom and—”

“Grant?” From the front of the house came a voice. A woman’s voice. It was shrill and choked with something that sounded like tears, and Anna felt her blood run cold.

“Grant, are you home?” the woman cried again. “Oh, please—there’s an emergency! I need you.”

Chapter Five

Grant closed his eyes and counted to ten.

Okay, it was more like two. The panicked voice of the little old lady who lived next door was enough to send him sprinting into the house before the chime of the doorbell stopped echoing.

He grabbed the doorknob and hesitated, turning back to see Anna right behind him, buttoning up her dress. She was flushed and tousled and so goddamn beautiful he wanted to burn the house down to make the damn doorbell stop ringing.

Instead, he turned the doorknob.

“Oh, Grant—thank goodness it’s you!” On the front steps, his plump, elderly neighbor stood blinking in the dusty sunlight on his porch. She wore an oversize pink chambray shirt that billowed around her like a big pink tent, and her chubby cheeks were flushed with terror. “Oh, dear, I just knew you were home, I heard voices a minute ago. I’m terribly sorry, dear, but—”

“Mrs. Stein,” Grant said, throwing the door open all the way and pasting on his best Boy Scout smile. “What seems to be the problem?”

His gut tightened at the sight of the old woman’s tear-streaked face. He scanned her from head to toe, looking for injuries before he turned his gaze to the street for potential assailants. He wasn’t sure whether to reach for a pistol or a tissue. Behind him, he could feel the heat of Anna’s body, and part of him still ached to grab her again.

Mrs. Stein began sobbing in earnest, which was enough to send all the blood rushing back to Grant’s brain where it belonged. “Mrs. Stein,” he tried again. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Rumpymuffle. He’s gone up a tree, and I don’t know what to do. Oh dear, he’s never been outside before, and the sun is going down soon. Help me!”

The woman wailed again and launched herself at the front of Grant’s shirt. Given her considerable bulk, he had to brace himself to keep from toppling backward. He patted her shoulders, feeling faintly guilty about where his fingers had been just seconds before. He glanced at Anna, who had regained her composure and was looking on with an expression of intense concern.

Rumpymuffle?
she mouthed.

“Her cat,” Grant supplied. “Mrs. Stein, this is Anna Keebler. She’s my sister’s wedding planner. Anna, Mrs. Stein lives next door with a great big Maine coon who’s never set foot outdoors.”

Mrs. Stein drew back and sniffled. “I went to take the trash out and must have left the door ajar. I wasn’t gone more than a minute, but something must have scared him and—well, look.”

The old woman pointed to the large coconut palm that separated Grant’s house from hers. Grant followed the direction of her finger, his gaze landing on the quivering form of Rumpymuffle gripping the tree for dear life.

“Shit,” he muttered, then felt bad about it. “I mean
shoot
. He’s at least twenty feet up there.”

“I saw you had a ladder when you were painting your house, so I thought maybe—”

“No, that won’t work,” Grant said, eyeing the tree. “My tallest one is an extension ladder, but I can’t brace that against a trunk that narrow. A rental shop might have an A-frame ladder that could work, but they’re all closed at this hour.”

The old woman began sobbing again, and Grant patted her back, thinking hard. He had a buddy with a small crane, but that was over on Oahu. Here on Kauai, he didn’t know anyone with the sort of gear he’d need to get up that high, much less get down with a frightened cat. He looked at Anna again. Her eyes were big and round, and she was looking at him as though she expected him to be some sort of savior.

Far from it, babe.

His gut clenched. Part of him wanted to run. The rest of him was already forming a plan.

“Look, here’s what we’re going to do,” he said, keeping his voice as soothing and upbeat as he could. “I’m going to run inside and see what I’ve got for gear. I did some jungle combat training at Camp Gonsalves in Japan. We learned to climb palm trees there.”

Anna eyed him dubiously. “With an angry cat in your hands?”

“With an M4 carbine with a collapsible stock. Probably not much different.”

“Good point.”

“Anna, can you hang out here with Mrs. Stein? Keep an eye on Rumpymuffle, and yell if he starts moving. I’ll be right back.”

He bolted into the house, his brain working on warp speed. He wished like hell he had some climbing gear, but he hadn’t had much use for that on Kauai.
Gloves
, he thought, sprinting for the garage where he found a pair of bright gold work gloves with rubber grips on the palms and fingers. He started to grab for his work boots, then changed his mind. His feet were toughened from running on the beach, and he’d have a better grip without shoes.

He spotted a sturdy carabiner in his toolbox and grabbed that, his brain working through the logistics of climbing down with a squirrely cat in his arms.

Helmet,
he thought, and frowned at his bike helmet. Not enough protection from falling coconuts, and there’d been several big ones in the tree. He sprinted back into the house and down the hall to the office where he found his grandfather’s old McCord MI helmet from World War II. He grabbed it by the webbing and fastened it on, grateful Gramps had taken damn good care of his equipment. It might be an antique, but it still felt sturdy. He fastened it snug with the chin strap and knocked twice on the top to make sure it was solid.

He moved down the hall toward the bedroom, trying not to let his brain take a detour when he remembered Anna bent over the bed inspecting the carved headboard. Her ass had been pert and perfectly round, the short dress riding up to expose the tops of her thighs.

Don’t think about that now.

Instead, he grabbed a laundry bag printed with bright yellow ducks. His sister had given it to him as a housewarming gift, and it had a sturdy drawstring at the top. He turned and yanked the top sheet off his bed and sprinted back outside. Mrs. Stein was at the base of the tree talking sweetly to Rumpymuffle, who showed no sign of moving up or down. His tail twitched a little, which seemed like a good thing though what the hell did Grant know about cats?

A few feet away, Anna stood with her cell phone to her ear. “Hang on, Mrs. Stein. I’m calling my friend, Kelli. She’s a veterinarian. Maybe she’ll have some suggestions.”

Good thinking,
Grant thought, wondering why it hadn’t occurred to him to call Mac’s new wife first thing.

Because you want to be the damn hero. You need to save the day.

He shook off his inner voice as Anna turned to face him. “No answer,” she said, looking glum. “I forgot she and Mac were going to the movies tonight. She’s probably got her phone off.” She bit her lip and looked back up the tree. “Mrs. Stein says Rumpymuffle takes special medication for a thyroid condition. He’s already a couple hours past when he’s supposed to take it. She’s worried he’ll get weak and won’t be able to hang on much longer.”

“We’ll get him down,” Grant said. He held out the bedsheet. “Here, take this.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “This wasn’t what I had in mind when I imagined myself getting familiar with your bedsheets.”

“Later for that. You and Mrs. Stein can hold the corners and use it as a sort of rescue net.”

“For you or for Rumpymuffle?”

“For the cat.” Grant gave her a feeble grin. “If I fall, I’m pretty much on my own.”

She bit her lip. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“No, but do you have a better one? The sun will be going down in a matter of minutes.”

And I won’t be,
Grant thought, trying not imagine himself with his face buried between Anna’s thighs.

She frowned, then shook her head. “I already tried the fire department. Apparently they’re busy dealing with an actual fire.”

“Okay then,” Grant said, looking up the three. “Commence operation cat rescue in three, two, one—”

“Nice helmet,” she said. “It goes great with your shoes.”

“Thanks,” he said, moving barefoot across the grass toward the massive palm. He pulled the carabineer out of his pocket and knotted the cinch string from the duck-printed laundry bag around it. Pulling it tight, he hooked the carabineer through his belt and clipped it shut.

“Wait,” Mrs. Stein said, wriggling out of her pink chambray work shirt. You’ll scratch your arms if you don’t have long sleeves. Try this.”

“I don’t think—”

“Please,” she insisted, thrusting the shirt at him. “It’s the least I can do. Please hurry.”

Seeing no point in arguing, Grant shrugged into the shirt. There was no way it would button around him, but he didn’t need it to. He just needed protection for his arms. The oversized fit of it, coupled with the fact that Mrs. Stein probably outweighed him by forty pounds, meant the garment actually fit his shoulders pretty well.

“That’s definitely your color,” Anna said, managing a weak smile. “Between the gold gloves, the bare feet, and the helmet that looks like you stole it from a museum, you’ve got a head start on your next Halloween costume.”

Grant offered her a mock salute and turned back to the tree. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready to pose for the next issue of
Cat Rescuer
magazine.”

He stood at the bottom of the tree and stared up, trying to remember what he’d learned in jungle training. No one was shooting at him, which was a plus, but doing this without any sort of climbing gear was probably not much safer.

“Are you sure about this?” Anna asked.

He turned to look at her, surprised by the look of concern in her eyes. Mrs. Stein sniffled and wiped a tear from her cheek.

“Yep,” Grant said, and pulled on his gloves.

He turned back to the tree, eyeing the tree scars ringing the thick trunk. He reached around the tree and placed one palm behind it. He moved the other hand around the front of the tree at chest level, hugging the tree as tightly as its girth allowed.

He flexed his legs on either side and coiled himself to jump. He leaped up, the soles of his feet landing on either side of the trunk. He anchored his feet against the bark, his palms pressing tight from opposite directions, his feet doing the same from below.

Coiling his muscles, he sprang up with his legs, using them to push himself up the trunk frog-style. He squeezed the tree between his feet, extending his upper body up to find the next handhold. The tree bark bit into his palms, and he was grateful for the gloves as he clenched the tree between them. Hell, he was grateful for the stupid pink shirt, come to think of it.

Keeping his upper body affixed to the trunk, he used his legs to frog-hop upward again. He glanced beneath him, expecting to see more distance between himself and the ground. Six feet below, Anna gave him a timid little wave. Hell, she could probably jump up and grab his foot if she wanted to.

Don’t think about Anna grabbing any part of your body right now
, he commanded himself.
Focus.

Grant turned his attention back to the tree trunk and leaped again, moving his hands upward. His legs followed, feet crawling slowly up the tree. The bark was biting into his knees, but he had a good grip. He hugged the tree tighter and moved up two more feet.

Don’t lose your grip. They’re depending on you.

He leaped again, finding his rhythm now. It had been years since jungle training, but the movement was feeling familiar. Not easy, and his wrists would be scratched to hell where the shirt was too short, but this was doable.

He was ten feet up the trunk now, and Rumpymuffle’s fuzzy butt was in plain view above him. “Hang on, big guy,” Grant called, trying to sound calm. “I’m coming for you, buddy.”

Mew.

The kittenish sound gave Grant a sharp pang in his chest, and he hopped again, gaining another couple feet. He kept going, closer now, nearing the top where the branches split into leafy green fronds.

He could almost touch the cat.

Mew.

Rumpymuffle glanced over his furry shoulder, took one look at Grant, and skittered farther up the tree.

“Dammit,” Grant muttered.

“Are you okay?” Anna yelled from below.

“Never better,” he called.

“Please be careful.”

The concern in her voice gave Grant the energy he needed for another surge up the trunk. He leaped again, just a foot from the frilled top of the palm. He let go with one hand and finessed his arm up through the palm fronds. Tugging a lower branch, he realized it couldn’t possibly hold his weight. He stretched his arm higher, sweat pooling on his brow and dripping down his arms. His feet were killing him, and a boulder-sized coconut swayed dangerously over his head. His fingers found another branch and gripped it hard. Tensing every muscle in his body, he pulled himself upward through the branches.

Mew
, said Rumpymuffle, glancing at him again.

“That’s it, big guy. I’ve almost got you.”

Grants legs were shaking with exertion now. His left foot slipped—probably from all the damn sweat—and he heard Anna gasp below him.

“Everything’s fine,” he called, regaining his grip and pushing himself higher. “Almost there.”

Mew,
the cat said again.

“That’s right,” Grant coaxed, letting go of the branch with one hand. He reached behind him and yanked on the mouth of the laundry bag, making sure he had a nice, wide opening. He grabbed hold of the branch, steadying himself, regaining his strength.

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Stein called. “Do be careful. You’re so high up there.”

Grant wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or the cat, but it didn’t matter. A fall from this height would be pretty fucking painful for either one of them.

Don’t fall
, he commanded himself.

He let go of the branch and stretched up, his fingers brushing the cat’s soft fur.

“Shit, I need a few more inches.”

He could’ve sworn he heard Anna mutter something beneath him, words that sounded a lot like, “Not from what I could tell,” but he was probably imagining things. The damn heat was making him dizzy. He flashed on the memory of Anna’s hand stroking him through his shorts, her knuckles grazing the head of his cock as she pressed his face into those beautiful breasts.