The Best Friend Incident (Driven to Love) Read online

  A splotch of bright pink reflected off the mirror, and his heartbeat kicked up. She was at the far end of the room, and he openly admired her in much the same way when he’d picked her up. The low-cut, backless gown she wore was a sexy blend of innocence and temptress.

  She was light and perfection, happiness and kindness and caring wrapped in a sexy package. She made him believe, for one tiny moment, that he was part of something larger, something better, something far more satisfying than being alone.

  A trace of irritation ran through him. It was likely due to Trisha jabbering at him about her latest real estate brokerage sale and the huge commission. It definitely wasn’t because Stacey seemed to be involved in a deep conversation with some relatively good-looking guy. Feeling territorial was plain stupid. She deserved to be happy, even if he wasn’t part of that equation.

  His gaze flickered back to the blonde, and, not bothering to wait for a break in her one-sided conversation, he said, “You take care, Trisha. Gotta go.”

  He swirled the glass of bourbon in his hand and walked away. He fought the temptation to tug at his bow tie one more time and scanned the crowd again. Where’d Stacey go?

  Ever since the kayaking trip, they’d managed to get back to the easygoing relationship they’d always had. Thank God. Every time he thought about the possibility of losing her, his stomach churned. What a relief he hadn’t lost her, that they were still friends. And he’d made damned sure he kept his hands and his dick to himself from that point on.

  “There you are.” Stacey came up behind him, a smile on her pretty face. Errant strands of hair fell forward, and he itched to tuck them back, to skim a hand across the planes of her smooth face…to lean forward and kiss her…

  Keep your hands to yourself. And his lips, too, if he knew what was good for him.

  The reminder had him shoving his free hand in his pocket while the other brought his glass to his mouth.

  Oblivious to his inner turmoil, she casually looked around. “So, I see your ex is here tonight. How is she?”

  “Fine, I guess.” He searched her face. Clearly, she’d adjusted well to going back to their best-friend status. Sex must not have affected her as much as he’d expected.

  Why did that bother him so much? He should be grateful that sex hadn’t affected her, that she didn’t obsess about it, or turn all pouty and moody when they took a step back.

  Wait. That wasn’t exactly something a guy should be proud of, was it?

  Didn’t matter. Grant wouldn’t freak. It wasn’t his place, and likely would earn him a tongue lashing at the least. Not the good kind, either.

  “One thing I’ve never understood,” Stacey began, her brown eyes boring into his. “You’ve got all these commitment issues, and yet you hung onto her way longer than you should’ve. What’s up with that?”

  He scowled. “That was all your fault.”

  “My fault?” She raised an eyebrow, almost daring him to speak. “Oh, this I’ve got to hear. The woman was a leech, looking at your potential versus who you really are. She wanted you at her beck and call, and when you didn’t give her attention, she’d blow up on you. How was any of that even remotely my fault? Really.” She sniffed. “I thought you had better taste than that.”

  “You were the one who lectured me about giving a woman a chance.”

  “After you quit dating a woman because she wanted to do nice things for you like make you dinner or do your laundry,” she pointed out. “Believe me, if some woman offered to cook for me or do my laundry, I’d keep her around, not label her as ‘too clingy,’ then drop her like last week’s bad advice. But that still doesn’t explain why you hung onto Trisha.”

  “She was just the next woman to walk into my life after you tore into me about giving women a chance.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? That’s the reason you stuck with her? I’m not sure if I should laugh or cry.”

  “Neither. I followed your advice. I wasn’t what she wanted. Story of my life.” He kept his tone light, unaffected, never mind the painful stab of emotion in his chest.

  Plastering on a smile, he thumbed at the room behind him. “You having a good time tonight?”

  Her face morphed into a huge grin, excitement glimmering in her eyes while she took a quick sip of her champagne. “I made some great contacts for Dinners for Two, but the best news? I just nailed myself a new client who’s amazingly generous.”

  Clients…networking…not a manhunt. Relief washed through him, so much so that he relaxed his shoulders and grinned. “Yeah? What makes him so generous?”

  “Not just what he’s willing to spend, but who he’s arranging the dinner for.” She tilted her head to one side. “And, I haven’t had guys do this sort of thing, but he’s offering a thirty percent gratuity and a write-up in a Pacific Northwest e-zine. Pretty neat, huh?”

  “That’d be great exposure for you. Congratulations.” He pasted on a smile. “Who’s the guy?”

  Stacey’s sparkling brown eyes widened. “He wants his identity to remain anonymous,” she said.

  “Why bother to keep it such a secret?”

  “It’s more romantic that way, silly.” She huffed out a breath. “Of course, he said that I could shout it from the top of Chinaman Hat if things go smoothly.”

  He frowned. Obviously, the guy thought there was a good chance he’d strike out, but at least Stacey had landed a new client. Why shouldn’t she be excited? She worked damned hard and poured her heart and soul into what she did. She had a passion that was rarely seen in most people.

  She had a passion for everything she touched. And her passion fed everything she touched. Especially when she touched him.

  Grant stared at her upturned face, her eyes all sparkly and her mouth curved into that blend of mischievous and sexy that belonged only to her.

  Awww, hell…

  He caved. Despite all the mental arguments he’d had with himself, he reached for Stacey, his hand sliding over her bare arm. Skin on skin contact—he needed it, drowned in it. He hadn’t realized until this moment how much he’d missed holding her, missed the feel of her in his arms.

  Hot and cold flashes undulated through his body like Klaxon alarms. What the hell was he thinking? But even as the thought raced through his brain, he knew.

  Stacey was perfect for him.

  That thought swirled around his head, nipped at his psyche and pulled back, a strange mix of emotions hot on its trail.

  “You okay?” The slight frown on her face and the concern in her voice tipped him over the edge. She looked past him at the crowd. “You’ve already done your bit for the distillery, so I’m okay to leave if you are.”

  Oh, he wanted to leave all right, but not for the reasons she was thinking. Grant tugged her toward him, wrapped his arm around her waist, and pressed her to him. Surprise registered in her eyes when she turned her face up.

  In one slow move, Grant lowered his head and captured her mouth in a soft, reverent kiss. The way she deserved.

  …

  His mouth was firm, gentle, coaxing rather than demanding, and brief. Stacey had barely closed her eyes when he pulled away and teased her with an equally gentle smile.

  She stared, mesmerized by the curve of his lips, by the playfulness in his eyes, by the way he softly caressed her face. She wanted to taste him, wanted to feel him, all of him. She wanted to give herself up to the moment and just be.

  Stacey blinked. Blood thrummed in her ears and pulsed through her temples. That was something she hadn’t experienced before with Grant, and definitely not with any other man. It was good. Too good. Not possessive, yet possessing every sensory system in her body so that she was attuned to this man, this moment.

  Damn.

  “Considering we have a bit of an audience, we should probably hang out awhile longer,” he said.

  An audience?

  She glanced behind her at a couple of blue-haired women who stood off to the side. Their raised eyebrows and polite
smiles made it painfully clear they were eavesdropping. Stacey turned away and pushed him back as she walked forward, effectively moving them away from the women. “Who cares what they think?” she asked when they were a few feet away.

  He cupped her face briefly, then tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “Normally, I wouldn’t. But those two own Milestone Media.” He squeezed her hand. “They could probably run a story on you one day, and as conservative as they are, I’m guessing the last thing you want is to give them the impression that you’re unprofessional because you publicly sucked face.”

  “Good point.” Milestone was pretty progressive as a whole, but acting in a less-than-serious-businesswoman mode probably wasn’t in the best interest of her business.

  “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s get fresh glasses.”

  Glasses? She looked at the champagne flute in her hand. Good God, she was seriously losing it.

  He guided her toward the bar, one hand placed on the small of her back. And not for the first time that evening, she was glad she’d chosen a backless gown, one that dipped just below her waist. The warmth of his hand seared her, branded her in much the same way his kiss had just moments before.

  And in a flash it dawned on her. She’d known Grant since they were kids, knew every secret he had, every battle he’d fought, and had even fought alongside him in some cases. But she’d never been prepared for the possibility that the hardest battle she’d have to fight was the one waging inside her now.

  With one sweet kiss, he’d torn down every defense she believed she’d possessed, every shred of logic that told her their friendship was all they had, all she could hope for.

  Stacey stared straight ahead and swallowed back the tide of longing.

  Dear God. She was so in trouble with this man.

  And she suspected she’d enjoy every minute of it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Grant stood outside Stacey’s door. The six-pack of beer he had with him was normal, the bouquet of flowers he clutched was not. He frowned. The flowers were just an afterthought when he picked up the beer. That was all.

  Then again, maybe the flowers were overkill. He should ditch them. Unfortunately, his only option was to toss them over the stairway that led to her third-floor apartment.

  He gave himself a mental shake. Stop. Slow down. Think.

  He was acting like an idiot. This was Stacey, for God’s sake. Her invitation tonight was some sort of an emergency. Something about testing out a last-minute recipe. Which was weird, to be honest. Carly normally tested recipes, not Stacey. Then again, knowing Stacey, she probably wanted to prove she could cook, that cooking was just another language she could learn by simply following a recipe, as she liked to say.

  So how come he was so fucking nervous?

  He sucked in some air and blew it out slowly. The two of them had been tight for years. What the hell was he so afraid of?

  He knocked on the door before turning the knob and walking in. “Hey,” he called out. “I’m here.”

  “In the kitchen.”

  The smells were fragrant. He walked into the kitchen, his mouth watering, then stopped.

  She was barefoot at the stove with her back to him. Her dress fell to mid-thigh, exposing firm, creamy skin. “Hey.” She glanced over her shoulder and her gaze landed on the bouquet in his hands. “You brought tulips.”

  The appreciation in her voice tugged at his heart and challenged his sensibilities.

  “Yeah, well…” He searched his brain for some smart-mouth comeback, something that would throw her off, throw the conversation off. It was either that or acknowledge that many other men were on to something with the whole romance thing. Or replay what it’d been like to have her legs wrapped around him when he took her home after the charity ball.

  Damn.

  If he was going to make it through dinner, he’d have to get past thinking about her naked. Well, maybe with a pair of panties on…and heels. Like the kind she’d worn that night. She’d kept them on long after he’d undressed her…

  What the fuck? He mentally shook his head. Not helpful, buddy.

  “Let me take those from you.” She crossed the short distance between them and took the bouquet. “I love tulips.” There was that shine in her eyes again. He’d never get tired of seeing it, and he’d never get tired of putting it there, either. Why hadn’t he brought her flowers before?

  “What’s the big emergency?” he asked, setting the six-pack down.

  “My new client.” She opened a cabinet underneath the sink and bent over, the hem of her dress inching up so it barely covered her ass. “I think I’ve got a vase in here somewhere.”

  Nice view. “I bet it’s way in the back. Might even have to get on your hands and knees and dig for it.” He grinned.

  She wiggled her cute ass at him before straightening with a vase in hand. “Nice try, goofball.”

  She said the words but the sarcasm was clearly missing.

  “What’s for dinner?” He grabbed a beer, then searched through a drawer for the bottle opener. “I hope it goes with beer.”

  “It’ll go with beer.” She placed the vase on the counter.

  “You sure? Because your clients usually want those two-bite kinds of food.”

  She remained silent, which was just plain weird for Stacey.

  “Look,” he said, “if it’s a two-bite kind of thing, it’ll be okay. I promise.”

  She stood with her back to him as she arranged the flowers in the vase. “About that…ummm…there is no client.”

  No client. He frowned. “So, dinner tonight…”

  “Is because I wanted to.” She turned around and shrugged, and there was that hint of insecurity again, the kind that made him want to have her in his arms, telling her it’d be okay. “I wanted to make dinner for you.”

  He felt his eyes go wide. “You did?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, I wanted to do something special, so I figured I could make you dinner.”

  He wasn’t sure what shocked him more, that she’d made dinner or that he actually planned to eat it. After all, it wasn’t like cooking was her forte.

  “I guess you’re finally using that cookbook I got you for Christmas three years ago,” he blurted.

  Brilliant. Fucking brilliant. Okay, it wasn’t exactly what he was going for, but there was no way to take it back now.

  There was a strange look on her face, almost like she wasn’t sure what to say.

  “I meant,” he started. “You’ve talked about cooking a lot, so I’m glad you’re getting into it.”

  She sucked in a deep breath, her gaze locked onto his, and then nodded, like she’d reached a conclusion. “Come.” She took his hand and led him through the kitchen to the dining area. “I wanted to… I mean, it seemed like… God, I don’t know. Maybe this was a bad idea.”

  He frowned. What had her so flustered? The question barely registered when his eyes landed on the small table, its center occupied by a miniature racetrack and a lone red car. Just like the one he’d played with when life was simpler, when all he’d had to worry about was keeping it away from his younger brother.

  A well of emotion pierced the center of his chest, the memories tumbling forward and crashing past the barriers he’d erected since that afternoon his mother had dropped him off to play. Before she got in her beat-up sedan and drove off.

  It wasn’t until that moment that he’d felt the fear as he chased after the car, that clawing, strangling sensation that threatened to overwhelm him, take him under, and keep him there. He’d run as fast as an eight-year-old’s legs could take him, stopping only when the social worker had grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him off the street.

  He reached a hand out and tentatively touched the red racecar, the metal cool under his fingertips. It was a long time ago, and even though he’d spent the better part of his childhood being shuffled between foster care homes, he knew he was better off just rolling with life than struggling against it. He
swallowed past the lump in his throat, swallowed down the fear, the pain, the loneliness.

  “Where… How…” Great. Now he couldn’t string a simple sentence together.

  “Took me a while to find it,” she said quietly. “I got this online. It just came in today.”

  He turned to face her. “But why?”

  She wrapped her arms around herself, looking so damned vulnerable he wanted to gather her in his arms. “Sometimes the best way to face the future is to embrace the past and recognize it’s a part of who we are, you know? The past shaped you into the warm, caring person you are today, Grant. I thought you should know that.”

  Had it shaped him? Given his childhood start, maybe that was true. But to examine it now…well, that wasn’t something he was ready to take on. Not when a beautiful, caring woman had gone through all the trouble of making a special meal for him. No matter what it tasted like, he’d eat it. “You went through all this trouble for me?”

  “Trouble? Are you kidding me? You’ve helped with my business, and you were great with Julian and Martha…” She shrugged. “I just felt like doing something nice for you.” She glanced at the table. “I hope it’s okay.”

  He followed her gaze, recognition burning into him when he spotted a kayak at the base of a candleholder, the racetrack encircling it. Underneath it all was a map. He angled his head to get a better look.

  “Alaska?” He alternated his attention between each item and the tentative smile on Stacey’s face.

  “The racetrack’s from your past, the kayak is your present, and the map of Alaska…well, I can’t possibly know what your future looks like, but you mentioned taking a road trip through there, so I thought…”

  All he could do was stare. No one had ever put together something so thoughtful for him before. No one. And then it struck him as plainly as a peaceful day on Spearhead Lake: she brought into this moment the kinds of things that made him happy, things that reminded him to savor what was most important in life.

  He took a deep breath, did his damnedest to infuse the memory into every cell in his body. Only someone special would do something like this for him. That’s exactly who Stacey was. Someone special.