“Possessive?” He sputtered, shocked. “You don’t have any place to live so I offered to let you live with me. You don’t have any goddamn panties so I bought you some. What about that is possessive?”
“You’re trying to control me.” Her mouth thinned with irritation.
“I’m trying to clothe you and give you a roof!”
“A roof is not necessary. I’ve been homeless before. It’s preferable, really.”
She’d what? He stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. “When were you homeless?”
“In Alaska, when I met the boys.” She shrugged. “I was living out of my car.”
“In Alaska? Are you kidding me? It’s freezing there.”
“Only in the winter.”
“Are you crazy?”
She looked wounded at his words, as if she’d trusted him and he’d betrayed her. “Not everyone needs a ton of shit to be happy, Grant. It’s not like I stole someone’s identity and cleaned out their bank account.”
“Hell, how do I know you didn’t? It’s not logical, but neither is living out of your car in Alaska.”
“You really think the worst of me, don’t you?”
“Brenna, I . . .” His words trailed off. He honestly didn’t know what to say. Her thought process was so completely foreign to him that he didn’t even know where to begin. He couldn’t process it. And the fact that she didn’t see anything wrong with her behavior was even more baffling to him.
“Forget it.” She pushed away from him. “I’m not in the mood for sex tonight if you’re going to be like this. I can play with my own cl*t and it won’t be bugging me for commitment and stuff. I’ll go sleep on the couch in the lodge.”
Grant grabbed her arm, halting her. “Wait.”
She turned, looking toward him, and he thought she seemed almost . . . hopeful.
“You can’t go out there. The others will think we’re fighting and it’ll get back to my parents.”
That hopeful spark on her face died and she rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll sleep on your couch.”
“I’ll sleep there,” he told her, getting out of bed. “You can sleep in my bed. I’ll take the couch.”
She rolled her eyes again and thumped down on the side of his bed. “This is not some misplaced sort of chivalry, is it? Because that shit gets tiresome.”
“No. I just need to think. Not going to bed yet, which means you can have the bed.” He needed to walk around. Exercise. Something. Anything to get his mind off the dark places it was going. Brenna being homeless. Brenna being alone and without a penny to her name in Alaska. Brenna sleeping in a car while it snowed around her.
It was risky. God, he hated risk. He wasn’t going to be able to function if he thought about that. Hell, as it was, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep. Grant pushed away from the bed, ignoring her small harrumph of irritation, and skidded down the ladder. Time to go work out and take his mind off things.
It was either that, or go and shake her until she started talking sense. And he suspected that if he did, he’d be shaking her for a long, long time.
She was flying through life without a safety net, and it bothered him. He needed to somehow fix that for her. Protect her from the worst life had to offer. But how?
NINE
Brenna couldn’t sleep. It irritated her that she couldn’t, that she needed Grant curled up beside her in this lush bed. She was still smarting over his words last night, his shock at the fact that she’d thrown away his unwanted gifts. And she was hurt that he’d somehow taken “living in her car” and turned it into “one step above thievery.”
But most of all? She was aroused and incredibly frustrated.
She’d been fantasizing about Grant all day. That was her own fault, really. But when he was working and he’d look up and give her one of those focused looks from behind his glasses? She’d imagine what was going through his mind. Her straddling him while he sat in his desk chair? Throwing her over his desk and pounding into her from behind like he’d done on the couch? Him tossing her onto her back and licking her piercing until she was sobbing his name?
She’d been wet with need all day. And then he’d had to go and ruin it. And now she was sleeping alone in his big, ridiculous cabin filled with ridiculous cluttery decor that wasn’t even necessary to survival. Paintings of landscapes and expensive knickknacks and so many dishes that the man could run a kitchen.
And despite all that? She still wanted him.
She’d told him she’d just use her hand, but the fact of the matter was that her hand? Not nearly as fulfilling as Grant. She’d had boyfriends where it had been the opposite—after an unfulfilling round of sex? She’d just work herself over with her fingers and get the orgasm she’d needed and he hadn’t provided. But with Grant, she’d had orgasm after orgasm, and she hadn’t even had to work that hard for them. It was like he delighted in arousing her beyond capable thought, and then driving her over the edge.
A girl could get addicted to something like that.
If only they weren’t fighting over stupid stuff.
Brenna rolled over in the bed, staring out into the darkness, her ni**les aching and her thighs slick with her own need. She supposed she could go down to him and apologize. After all, it wasn’t a real apology if she didn’t believe it, right? Or she could just go downstairs and come onto him and see how things worked out. She wouldn’t even have to fake-apologize if her mouth was full of his cock. Then he could apologize to her for making this all difficult, and they could get back down to their regular, sex-filled, angst-free relationship.
She liked the thought of that.
Tiptoeing na**d out of bed, Brenna winced with every creak of the floorboards and the ladder as she stole into the living room. He was normally a pretty sound sleeper, so she was confident he’d still be crashed.
Except when she leaned over the couch to see his sleeping form, he looked back up at her in surprise, his eyes hollow. “Brenna? What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”
“A little something,” she agreed.
He reached for the blankets, alarm on his face. “What is it? Are you hurt? Do you need the hospital?”
What? How had he jumped so quickly to that conclusion? Strange man. She shook her head and sat down on the edge of the couch and then slid over the side, onto her back, landing on him. Her legs were up in the air and she wiggled her toes even as she glanced over at him. Her back was on his hips—not the most comfortable of positions, but she didn’t plan on being there long. She slid her hand between her legs and sighed dramatically. “My pu**y is so wet and there’s no one to lick it for me.”