He's No Prince Charming (8 page)

“Get your hands off my ass,” she grumbled, but her husky, breathless voice sent an entirely different message to Grady.

“What if I don’t want to?” Grady asked in a teasing tone, knowing he should let go and allow her to run out the door, but he just couldn’t help himself.

“I’m warning you.”

“Ask me nicely.”

“Kiss my ass.”

Grady grinned. “Gladly.” In an instant he flipped her over onto the bed. It was his intention to give her a smacking kiss on each cheek, give her a swat and then let her go, mad as a hornet at him, so that she would never allow herself to get in this situation with him again. Getting girls came easy to Grady, but relationships did not, and she deserved better than the likes of him. Ah, but when he laid eyes on her sweet little rump, his kisses lingered. She moaned, clenched her hands in the sheet when he pushed her shirt up higher on her back and kissed a moist trail up her spine.

“Though you look good in my shirt, Sierra,” he said as he tugged it up to her shoulders, “you would look even better without it.” He leaned down to her ear and whispered, “Take it off for me.”

Sierra inhaled sharply when he slid his palms up her back. She hesitated, though, suddenly feeling insecure, but then turned over to face him. “What’s goin’ on here, Grady?” she asked softly. “Are you messin’ with me?”

Grady felt guilt wash over him. He should not have sex with Sierra for a lot of reasons. She was his friend. They worked together. And he cared about her.

Sierra inhaled deeply and closed her eyes for a moment before looking up at him. “Thought so,” she said, mistaking his reasons for hesitation. “Let me up, and you get your butt on back to your Barbie doll bimbos,” she added while pushing at his chest.

Grady caught her hand and wouldn’t let her budge. He gazed down at her and wanted to thread his fingers through her thick curls and kiss her senseless. But the longest he’d ever dated a woman was about three months, and that was stretching it. “Sierra,” he said, prepared to tell her that she shouldn’t get tangled up with a guy like him, when a little voice in his head whispered that maybe it would be different with her. Maybe it wasn’t him, but the women he dated. Why not give it a shot? “Hey,” he began, “maybe—”

“Maybe nothin’,” she told him with a firm shake of her head. “Let me up, Grady.” She pushed harder at his chest.

“I wasn’t toying with you, Sierra.” For some reason, he couldn’t stand her thinking the worst of him, even though it had never really bothered him what women thought of him before this.

Her expression softened. “Look, we got caught up in the moment. As far as I’m concerned, it never happened. Deal?”

“Okay, deal,” Grady said, but then felt a shot of disappointment in his gut when he realized she was giving him an easy out when she had a real reason to be ticked. She truly was different than women he dated and that, he suddenly realized, could be a very good thing. “But—”

Sierra stopped him with a finger to his lips. “But nothin’. I’m not your type, and we both know it. This would have been a mistake,” she said, but something flickered in her eyes, and he had to wonder if Sierra had feelings for him.

“Okay.” He realized too, that this was a way for her to save her pride, and so he nodded in agreement and then moved to allow her to get up.

“I’ll wash your shirt and bring it to work tomorrow.”

“Okay, thanks.”

She gestured toward the bed. “And don’t worry about the sheets. I’ll change the linens too. Just toss the coffee cups and trash when you’re finished with breakfast.”

“Gotcha,” Grady said, but felt a sense of loss after she left that he couldn’t shake. He flopped back down onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. A few minutes later, Gil trotted into the room and hopped up to join him. “Hey there, buddy,” he said absently. Gil, not one to be ignored, nudged Grady’s arm with his nose. “Aw, okay,” he said, and scratched his loyal dog behind the ears.

With a sigh, Grady mulled over the events of the morning, trying to make sense of his feelings and reactions to a woman he had always considered one of the guys—a buddy, someone to joke with or shoot a game of pool with. But the feel of her silky skin beneath his hands let him know that tough little cookie or not, Sierra Miller was all woman and then some.

It suddenly occurred to him that he always looked forward to seeing Sierra, and, in fact, bantering with her had been one of the many things he enjoyed about working at the marina. He dropped in on her every day just to say hi.

“I hope we can go back to the way things were,” Grady said to Gil, who looked at him with eyes that seemed to understand, even though Grady knew his dog was probably daydreaming about soup bones and chasing cars. “She said she would pretend this little incident never happened. Think we can do that, Gil?”

Gil yawned and rolled over, begging for a belly rub. “Oh, all right.” Grady came up on one elbow and obliged. “I mean, I’d hate to lose her friendship, ya know? And she’s right. She isn’t my type at all,” he continued, but then remembered how amazing she felt in his arms. “Damn.” Grady shook his head, trying to get Sierra’s sexy and sleep-rumpled image out of his head. “Who knew she was hiding that hot little body beneath sweatshirts and jeans?” Grady glanced at Gil, who was in doggie heaven. “I know what you’re thinkin’. What about friends with benefits? Think she’d go for that?” He stopped long enough for Gil to give him a deadpan stare. “Yeah, you’re right. Not gonna happen. She’d probably knock me right on my can.”

Grady flopped back onto a pillow, tucked an arm beneath his head. “Guess I’ll have to head on into Dewey’s later on and find me a sweet little thing to get Sierra off my mind. Sound like a plan?” he asked, even though the prospect didn’t hold much appeal, and deep down he knew why. He glanced down at Gil, who had fallen asleep on his back with his paws dangling at his sides. “Damn, dog, you’ve got the life,” he commented with a chuckle.

“What the heck?” Dakota mumbled and sat up in bed. Disoriented, she shoved her hair out of her face and blinked into the sudden sunlight invading her pupils. “Where in the world am I?” She glanced at the other side of the bed and then sighed with relief, remembering she was in her daddy’s cabin and no longer in California. “Thank goodness.”

She put a relieved hand to her chest, since she had thought for a wild moment that Trace might be lying beside her. She might have drunk dialed him a few times. Or maybe she’d just dreamed of being in his arms. Whatever. He had been on her brain when she went to sleep and continued to be so even in the light of day. She shook her head and tried to recall the events of the night before, but they were fuzzy. Oh yeah, she had located a bottle of Chardonnay and had consumed most of it.

Boom, boom, boom.

“Dakota! I know you’re in there. Open the doggone door!”

“Sierra?” Dakota scrambled from the bed and hurried down the hallway. “Hold your horses, I’m coming!” she shouted when Sierra knocked again.

“Are you deaf?” Sierra demanded after Dakota let her in.

With a wince, Dakota wiggled her finger in her ear. “I might be now! What is your deal?” she asked, and then noticed the big blue T-shirt and pointed. “Ohmigod! You slept with Grady, didn’t you?”

“No.” Sierra pursed her lips in a pout. “Just with his shirt.”

“Oh.” Dakota eyed her skeptically. “Are you sure?”

“Are you blond?”

Dakota put her fists on her hips, but it was difficult to look tough in her little pink nightie. “Well, last night is a bit fuzzy for me, what with all the drinking, and now you’re wearing nothing but the man’s shirt.”

“You drank three lousy beers!”

“I do believe it was four.” She held up her fingers to prove her point. “And I drank some wine later on!”

“Wine?” Sierra rolled her eyes. “Whatever, lightweight. We will have to work on your redneck skills.” Sierra glanced around the room and then wrinkled her nose. “Ew. Aren’t you going to get rid of that?”

“Get rid of what?” Dakota asked. She followed Sierra’s gaze, put her hand to her chest, and screamed.

Trace tossed Grady the T-shirt he had asked to borrow and then stopped in his tracks. “Hey, did you just hear a scream?”

“Sure did,” Grady answered, and looked toward the open front door. “Came from Dakota’s cabin.” He pulled the shirt over his head and tugged it down his torso. “Imagine that.”

“Not again.” Trace shook his head and then walked out onto his front porch. An awareness washed over him just thinking about Dakota, and it annoyed him. He couldn’t sleep for thinking about her last night, and she was already on his mind this morning. Shading his eyes, he peered across the road and then asked over his shoulder, “Looks like Sierra is over there again. Think we need to check it out?”

Grady jammed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Mmm, I’m not too sure Sierra will be all that happy to see me.”

Trace narrowed his eyes. “Did you sleep with her, Grady? If you hurt her, I’ll tear you a new one.”

“Hey, hold on there, hoss.” Grady pulled his hands from his pockets and raised his palms in the air. “I didn’t sleep with her, even though I could have.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a liar,” Grady replied with a touch of anger. “You know me better than that.”

“You’re right,” Trace conceded. He wanted to know what happened, but decided it was none of his business. “She’s a good girl, though, Grady. She doesn’t deserve—”

“I know, I know. She doesn’t deserve the likes of me,” Grady said, jamming a thumb at his chest. “Think I don’t realize that?” He folded his arms across his chest and gave Trace a level look. “You know, I think it’s pretty safe to say that it takes one to know one. I’ve heard the stories about your PBR days. Buckle bunnies in every city?”

Trace sat down on the porch railing and rubbed his thigh, which suddenly started aching. “Yeah, but those women knew what they wanted and so I didn’t give a damn. Dakota is different.”

“Dakota?” Grady arched an eyebrow.

“I meant to say
Sierra
.”

“Did you?”

“Yes,” Trace insisted, even though he knew he was busted. He was saved from further explanation when another scream came from Dakota’s cabin. “I’m gonna have to check out what the hell’s goin’ on over there,” he grumbled, and pushed up from the railing. “You comin’ with me?”

“Guess I better.”

The gravel crunched beneath their boots as they hurried across the road. Dakota and Sierra’s voices carried through the screen door as Trace and Grady approached the cabin in a déjà vu moment. Trace was about to knock, but Grady put a hand on his arm. “Wait,” he whispered. “This might be good.”

Trace thought better of it, but hesitated and then listened.

“Come on, Dakota, sweep it onto the dustpan.”

“It moved!” Dakota insisted, and then squealed.

“Dakota, it’s a little bitty mouse. And it’s deader than a doornail. Now sweep the damn thing into the dustpan.”

“What I need is a cat, and then I wouldn’t have this problem. Maybe we should call Trace. He said he’d do this for me.”

“We don’t need to be botherin’ Trace,” Sierra replied, prompting Trace to nudge Grady and jerk his head toward the road.

We should go
, Trace mouthed, and Grady nodded in agreement, but then reared back his head and sneezed.

“Damn!” Grady winced and got a glare from Trace. “Busted again.”

“Did you hear that?” Dakota asked from inside, and a moment later was at the front door. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We heard screams,” Trace explained. Dakota stood there in a pink silky-looking thing. He opened his mouth to further explain, but one spaghetti strap slipped off her shoulder and all coherent thought fled his brain. In her excitement, she didn’t seem to notice, however, and eagerly opened the screen door.

“We caught a mouse!” she explained with wide eyes, and padded across the hardwood floor in bare feet. Dear God, the pink thing she was wearing was thin enough for him to see matching pink short-shorts underneath—a combination of sex and innocence that had him breaking out into a sweat despite the cool morning breeze blowing through the open windows. “There!” She pointed and then swallowed hard.

“We coulda handled the situation ourselves,” Sierra declared. Trace noticed that she avoided looking at Grady, but Grady, on the other hand, had no problem gawking at her. Not that he could blame him. With her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders and wearing nothing but Grady’s T-shirt, she looked uncharacter istically sweet and feminine, and he would have been gawking too, if he didn’t think of Sierra as a baby sister. What Trace did feel was protective of her, and would kick Grady’s ass if he made even one teardrop fall from her too-trusting face.

“I thought I saw it move,” Dakota declared in a stage whisper to Trace, “or we would have taken care of it a while ago.”

“It’s dead, Dakota!” Sierra announced, and rolled her eyes. “Guts are comin’ outta his mouth!”

Dakota put a hand to her stomach. “Oh! You didn’t have to tell me that!”

Trace noticed that Sierra seemed a bit embarrassed at her outburst and she glanced at Grady, who had taken it upon himself to sweep the trap into the dustpan.

“I’m just sayin’,” Sierra continued with a small shrug. “The mouse is toast. He wasn’t gonna hurt ya.”

“Grady, check the trap in the kitchen, will ya?” Trace asked, and then turned to Dakota but carefully kept his gaze on her face. “I’ll set new traps later today, and then you should be rodent-free.”

“Thanks.” Her smile seemed sweet and genuine, touching a chord in Trace that he never knew existed. “Sorry to be such a bother. No more screaming. I promise,” she said, raising her hands in the air. When Sierra snorted, Dakota shot her a look and said, “I’m trying to acclimate myself. Give me a few days, okay? You might not be so huffy if you were in L.A.,” Dakota challenged, even though she had never quite felt at home in L.A. either, and Sierra knew it.

“Oh, whatever, Pop Princess.” She wiggled her fingers in the air.

“Kiss my grits, Kitchen Queen,” Dakota shot back with her hands on her hips.

Trace and Grady watched the sparring as if it were a tennis match.

“Kiss my grits?” Sierra sputtered with a shake of her head. “Dakota, you have to do better than that, for Pete’s sake!
Day-um
, my work is gonna be cut out for me.”

“And you think mine won’t be?” Dakota replied, but then put a hand to her mouth as if she were revealing some big secret.

Trace frowned. “What are y’all talkin’ about?”

“Nothing!” Dakota insisted, and gave Sierra a look of warning, making Trace wonder what the two of them were up to. But he refrained from asking. He needed to stay as far away from Dakota as his job would allow.

“Okay,” Trace said, “well, I think we’re done here.” He glanced at Grady. “You ready?”

Grady nodded. “Yeah, see you ladies around.”

Trace nodded to Dakota, but noticed that Grady stole a glance at Sierra before they walked out the door.

“Just what do you think those two are up to?” Grady asked before whistling for Gil, who was running around in the woods.

“Damned if I know,” Trace commented, “but it’s gonna involve trouble. You mark my words.”

Grady threaded his fingers through his hair and nodded slowly. “I do believe you’re right. Well, I’m headin’ out. Gonna crash for a while, since I didn’t get much sleep last night,” he admitted with a yawn, and opened the passenger’s door of his truck for Gil to hop in.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Trace agreed, knowing just how his young friend felt. “See ya tomorrow.”

Grady walked over to the driver ’s side, but paused before getting in. “Hey, I’ll most likely be goin’ in to Dewey’s to shoot some pool later on. You wanna come?”

Trace hesitated. For the first time in a long while, the idea held some appeal, but then he shook his head. “Got some paperwork to do tonight.”

“Okay,” Grady said, but gave Trace a lopsided grin. “But you hesitated this time. I think I’m finally wearin’ your sorry ass down. If you change your mind, give me a holler.”

“All right,” Trace agreed, wondering just what the hell was coming over him. . . . But then again, he knew it wasn’t
what
but
who
. After Grady drove away, Trace glanced back over toward Dakota’s cabin and sighed. She was making him wish for things he didn’t want to long for, and he didn’t like it one bit. With a little growl of frustration, he entered his cabin and was met with the same silence that always greeted him, but instead of the sense of peace that he usually found in the quiet, Trace felt empty. Lonely.

While fisting his hands at his sides, he inhaled sharply and shook his head. Keeping the marina and fishing camp in the black was difficult enough without dealing with Dakota on the side. If she kept poking around, she would realize the slim profit margin and perhaps consider selling. And then where would he go? What would he do?

The muscles in his bad leg tensed up, causing an intense ache that pulsed and throbbed. “Damn!” Trace limped over to the sofa and sat down. While staring blankly out the window, he absently attempted to massage the pain away.

The logical part of his brain whispered to him that this self-imposed loner lifestyle he had been leading was ridiculous and there was no reason not to slide back into the land of the living. He didn’t even fully understand where the anger in him was coming from, but then again he had been knocked from his pedestal at the top of the PBR circuit as if a sniper had taken aim and hit the bull’s-eye. He had wanted to retire the sport in a blaze of glory, waving to the adoring crowd like Justin McBride did at the PBR World Finals in Vegas.

Imagining that shining moment had gotten Trace through grueling and painful rehab. The doctors had warned him that he would never ride again, but Trace was a competitor, a champion, and never once doubted he would get back on the bull riding circuit or have the opportunity to best the bull who had done this to him. For Trace, this had been the ultimate failure that he still could not accept, even though he knew he should face the facts and move on. It was so much easier to hold on to his anger and hide from the world. He had been doing a good job of it until Dakota Dunn landed here at the marina, shaking up his life in more ways than one.

Trace uttered a dark oath when the image of Dakota in pink silk slipped back into his brain. He didn’t want to think, to feel, to want. To need. “Stay the hell away from her,” he warned himself. “Running the marina is a big enough challenge,” he added for good measure, while reminding himself that her well-being was not his responsibility.

Trace inhaled a deep breath and blew it out. If only she weren’t Charley and Rita Mae’s daughter, he could probably buy into his reasoning. But she
was,
and dammit, he couldn’t allow any harm to come to her, even if it was something as silly as a doggone mouse. While rubbing his thigh, he told himself to be polite but distant, and for God’s sake never to invite her for another soak in his hot tub.

“You can damn well do this, Coleman,” he mumbled under his breath. How hard could it be?