Page 36 of A False Start
The worst part is it doesn’t deter me from soaking him up. Strong hands, inked forearms that ripple under the warm summer sun, and the two lines that form between his brows when he scowls at me. I want to see the lines near his eyes crinkle when he smiles. That’s what my dreams are made of. Older, growly, protective men.
Especially one named Griffin Sinclaire.
Hearing him laugh undid something that was holding me back, and I swear all I dreamt about last night was being manhandled by him.
Dreaming about my big brother’s best friend strikes me as a bad idea, but the more time I spend around Griffin, the more I wonder why I even bother trying to deny it.Why is it so bad?
I’ve never been attracted to someone the way I am to Griffin. The fourteen years between us aren’t a deterrent for me at all. In fact, I’m almost positive they add to the fantasy.
A dull throb takes root behind my hip bone, right where the tips of his fingers just dug in, and in an attempt to clench my thighs, my heels come up.
His hand shoots out, cupping the back of my ankle and pulling down steadily. “I said down, Nadia.” His voice is so authoritative, his entire delicious body filled with so much tension right now. With his broad chest puffed up, he’s like an overfull balloon, ready to explode.
I get off on his intensity. It makes the lighter moments much more rewarding. Butterflies dance in my stomach when I look down and see his hand on my body.
And then he mutters, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you just want me to force you into position.”
His eyes shoot to mine from beneath the low-slung brim of his cap, a pink hue staining his tanned cheeks.
I should ignore it. I should really, really ignore it. That’s the mature thing to do, but...the spirited twenty-one-year-old in me comes out to play.
A smile takes over my face. “Maybe I do.”
His jaw pulses, and I can almost hear his teeth grind. “Go again,” he bites out, completely ignoring my innuendo-drenched comment.
And then I’m back to riding in circles, practicingrelaxing my hipswhile Griffin barks instructions at me.
I’m fucked up enough to kind of get off on it, too.
By the end of our lesson, I’m exhausted. But not too exhausted to make a joke about how he worked me so long and hard that my legs are about to give out.
He tries to scowl at me, but I swear he almost smiles.
* * *
“I’m hereto pick up my dog.”
The door slams, and I glance up from where I sit at the front desk of the clinic. And I do a double take.
Because a cleaned-up Griffin Sinclaire is standing before me, and I literally feel my mouth dry out and my kitty flutter. And by cleaned-up, I mean hair slicked back, beard trimmed, white Henley, and dark wash jeans.
The man is a fucking snack. And I let my mind wander back to how he looked with his cock in his hand. It’s branded into my brain. Right where it belongs.
He doesn’t try too hard to look put together, it’s just the way he carries himself with confidence. Like he can make a woman come so hard that her vision goes black. It’s effortless, and I’m sure he has no idea he gives off that vibe. Or maybe that’s the athlete in him.
“Are you done with work?”
“Um...” I swivel around, like he’s talking to someone else. Especially considering the man has all but avoided me for the last several days. Even when I’m at his house to groom my horse and cold hose his swollen leg, he doesn’t come out.
I’m sure he thinks I don’t notice him peeking at me out his kitchen window, but I do.
Boys are dumb like that.
“Me?” I tap a finger against my chest.
He crosses his arms and sighs, like I’m the most exasperating person in the world. “Who else, Nadia?”
I mean, fair point. “Yup. Yes. I can lock up in...” I trail off and check my watch. “Five minutes.” Griffin showing up here is throwing me off. I’m fumbling around. Like he can see what I’ve been thinking about when I use my showerhead in ways it’s not really intended. Don’t even try to tell me a woman didn’t design a removable showerhead.
