If I hide in it now, will you take me for a ride?
Geez! She felt her cheeks heat. She’d never had such constant, lustful thoughts about a guy before Grant, but as surprising as they were, they were also exciting and enticing.
She tried to push those thoughts away as the one-story, weathered bungalow came into view. She’d been there many times over the past few months to try to coax him out, but he always turned her down—and she’d never gone inside.
She made her way to the screened porch. The screens had holes and tears, and the new wooden railings on the steps that had been added when Grant had moved back to the island looked out of place against the rest of the aged structure. The small deck to the right of the screened porch was missing railings like a gap-toothed mouth, and the trim around the windows and roofline were broken in several places. Spiny brush and thick vines snaked up the sides and back of the bungalow, clinging to the roof like tentacles beneath the leafy limbs of an enormous tree, as if a sea monster were slowly consuming the structure.
Jules had never understood why Grant preferred to stay in the run-down bungalow when he came home to visit, since his family was the wealthiest on the island and he could have stayed in any one of their beautiful houses, or even in their resort. Bellamy had finally told her that Grant’s relationship with their parents had always been tense. That explained it, but she had a feeling that even if his relationship with his parents weren’t strained, he’d still have chosen to stay in the beachfront hideaway this time.
He might as well be a hobbit, the way he hid away out there.
Wind whipped over the dune, rattling the trash bins on the other side of the porch. She crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she’d thought to bring her jacket, and pulled open the creaky door. She heard music as she stepped onto the screened porch. There were no lights on inside, but she knocked anyway. When Grant didn’t answer, she peered through the windows. There was only one main living area, sparsely furnished, with a bookshelf, an old couch, an end table, and a small stone fireplace in the corner. The kitchen consisted of one long counter with nearly empty shelves above it, beside which was a large bay window, the view blocked by those overgrown plants crawling up the back of the house. She saw a blanket bundled up on the couch and wondered if he’d slept there. She didn’t like the thought of him spending so much time alone out there on the dunes.
She followed the sound of music off the porch and peered through another window into Grant’s bedroom. His bed took up most of the space. There was a pair of crutches leaning against the wall beside a wooden chair and a tall dresser next to the closet, but she found no sign of Grant. She went around to the garage and peeked through the door. Grant was lying on a bench press, shirtless, wearing only black sweatpants and sneakers. Her pulse quickened, her eyes riveted to his arms, bulging and flexing as he pushed the loaded weight bar up and then lowered it, repeatedly. He had the sexiest biceps she’d ever seen. Her eyes drifted down his body to the bulge in his sweatpants, causing tingles to race over her skin. She tried to look away, but couldn’t as he put the bar on the rack and sat up, bringing his thick chest and chiseled abs into view. She itched to run her fingers through that perfect dusting of chest hair and, holy hotness, that treasure trail…
Her mind soared through all the sexy things she read about couples doing in romance novels. She longed to feel safe enough with a man to try them out, to feel passion pulsing beneath her skin from his touch, and in her mind, Grant was that man.
He dragged his forearm across his forehead, and she ducked out of sight, plastering her back against the garage, trying to calm her racing heart. Ohgodohgodohgod. Why did she think she could get him to go anywhere with her when that deliciously sexy man did all sorts of crazy things to her body? She could barely think straight. She closed her eyes.
I can do this. I was voted best actress in high school.
But this is a far cry from playing a role.
My feelings are so real.
And dirty…
Ugh! I have to do this. For him. For Bellamy.
For myself.
She pushed past her lustful thoughts and peeked through the window again. Her heart nearly stopped. The room was empty. What the…?
“What’re you doing here?”
She startled at Grant’s baritone voice and bolted upright, stumbling backward into a wall of muscles.
“I said—”
“I heard you!” she snapped as she spun around. “I hope you didn’t break my wings!”
At five one, her eyes hit a peppering of scars over his torso. She felt an ache whisper through her, but her heart was racing too fast to focus on it. “Geez, Grant! Did you just transport out here or something? You’re like a ninja.” She forced her eyes up, drinking in his shaggy brown hair and scruff and those shadowed eyes that held so much sadness behind the sheen of seriousness, she wanted to hug it out of him.
“What do you want, Jules?”
“You, you big oaf.”
The edge of his lips tipped up, and a devilish spark glimmered in his eyes.
“Not you, you.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. “But…Ugh. Go get a shirt on. You’re coming with me to the Halloween party.”
He crossed his arms, his eyes drilling into her. “Not happening.”
“You listen to me, Grant Silver.” She poked his chest, glowering up at him. “Bellamy is my best friend and she misses you. I am not going to let you make the nicest girl on this island sad for another stinking minute. Do you hear me?”
He turned and walked toward the front of the house.
“Oh, no you don’t.” She stomped after him, stepping over clumps of prickly brush. “Grant! You can’t do this to her. You missed her singing and dancing to ‘Thriller’ again.”
Grant stopped, and Jules was so focused on watching where she was stepping, she nearly ran into him. She huffed out a breath and hurried around him so she could see his face. But before she could say anything, he dragged his eyes down the length of her, making her entire body tingle and flame, and her thoughts fractured.
“What are you wearing?”
She planted a hand on a hip. “I’m a zombie fairy. A pixie. You know, like Tinker Bell in Peter Pan?”
“Figures. Well, guess what, Pixie, you’re not sprinkling your happy dust on me.”
“We’ll see about that.” She grabbed a handful of his chest hair, tugging him toward the house.
“Ow!” He swatted her hand away and rubbed his chest. “What the hell, Jules?”
“Don’t mess with a Steele girl. I’m serious, Grant. How many times do I have to come out here and beg you to spend time with Bellamy? It won’t kill you to spend half an hour at a party with your family and friends who love you.” She softened her tone. “But it just might kill them if you don’t show up.”
He gritted his teeth.
She clasped her hands together under her chin. “Please? For Belly?”
“Damn it, Jules.” He shifted his eyes away.
“Just for a few minutes? It would mean the world to her.”
“Fine,” he barked.
“Yay!” She threw her arms around him. “Thank you! She’s going to be so happy!” She took his hand, hurrying toward the screen porch. “You need a black shirt, and I’ll do your makeup. I’ll make you into a zombie, like me.”