The Best Friend Incident (Driven to Love) Read online

  She swallowed, lifted her chin, and her face morphed back into a woman in control. “I guess he wasn’t the guy I thought he was after all.”

  “Hey, I’m sorry.”

  “That’s it. I’m done with this conversation.” She stared at him, her eyes flashing as she crossed her arms. “Get out. Now.”

  Not until he’d done damage control. He folded his hands behind his head and settled in. “Shouldn’t we talk about this? You know, they say couples should never go to bed angry.”

  “I’ve seriously had it, Grant.”

  “Fine.” So much for trying to lighten the mood. Under normal circumstances she’d have taken his lead and they’d be laughing by now. He blew out a breath and rolled off the bed, then reached for his sneakers. “For the record, you were the one kissing me.”

  “Because I thought you were someone else.”

  Ouch.

  Okay, he’d asked for that. But why should he be surprised? Through all the years they’d known each other, not once had there been anything like that kiss between them. The thought had crossed his mind, but he didn’t do the kind of relationship Stacey was after.

  Relationships weren’t permanent. Neither was love. Not for someone like him, anyway. Grant reached for the other shoe. Still, it was too bad. He kinda liked the kiss.

  Wait. That was a stupid thought, one destined to have him severing his friendship with the only woman he’d allowed close enough to know him, warts and all. She was his best friend, for God’s sake. That’s where the relationship belonged. Firmly in the friend zone.

  And that’s where they’d stay.

  Chapter Two

  Stacey snuggled deeper under the covers, languishing in the space between dream and reality, and fighting desperately to keep her eyelids shut. It seemed like no matter how late she fell asleep, her body was damned determined to rouse her out of bed at almost exactly seven a.m. So much for the blackout curtains.

  She’d spent part of the evening waiting for Leo to call, finally texting him around midnight. After a heated text-battle-turned-phone-call, she discovered he really was married.

  Asshole.

  Then she’d spent the better part of last night trying to forget what it felt like to straddle Grant, to touch him, to be touched by him. Even now her body responded, tightening at the memory of him, the feel of him, his kisses…

  She rolled onto one side. Really, it was a simple mistake, right? Best to forget about it, and definitely no need to make a big deal out of it. She’d put their friendship back on firmer footing, back in a place that made sense.

  Her brain understood the concept. Her body, on the other hand… She clenched her thighs together and tamped down the rush of longing. She’d never reacted that way with any of the guys she’d dated. Ever. But she wasn’t silly enough to believe that Grant was anywhere in the running for anything other than being her best friend, and he had that position pretty well tied down.

  Even if he was a viable option, he didn’t want a relationship. The fact that they were good friends, the best of friends, was more than enough for Stacey. It had to be.

  No denying he’d been as aroused as she’d been, but he was a guy. In that situation any guy would’ve reacted the same way. Bottom line: Grant still wasn’t relationship material. End of discussion.

  There. It was so much better when her brain was functioning logically. Besides, it wasn’t unusual for him to be in her bed. They’d been sitting with their backs on the headboard, watching movies off her laptop for years.

  Today was a new day. She’d get up—eventually—and head to her favorite coffee shop. It’d get her out of her apartment, something she needed to do if she was going to encourage the universe to send her “the one.” Maybe she’d go back to online dating… Nah, none of those dates had ever worked out. How could a computer algorithm possibly compete with what the universe had in store for her? She needed to meet him organically, and she would.

  Still, last night’s memories lingered in her head, a reel of chick flicks and action movies that had her somewhere between awareness and oblivion, just on the precipice of falling asleep again.

  Clank.

  What the hell? Her eyes flew open, and she sat up and gripped the sheets, her gaze zeroing in on her half-closed bedroom door. Her heart hammered. Was that a real sound or one of those annoying dream-state intrusions designed to get a person’s ass out of bed?

  It had to be the dream thing. No one would be in her apartment. No one. Despite the assurances, her heart thumped out a fast beat, and fear clutched at her chest. Which was totally silly. She was safe. She’d chosen her apartment in one of the safest, lower rent areas of the city. Her dad had approved, and so had Grant.

  And Grant was only a few blocks over, close enough that it’d take him less than two minutes to get here if she needed him. But she didn’t need him because no one was here. She was alone and her brain was playing funky tricks on her. Really, she needed to get it under control.

  Wait. Was that a crinkling sound? She strained to listen. Where the hell was it coming from? Her heartbeat kicked up again, and a shot of adrenaline hit her system.

  Breathe.

  Her phone? Where was her phone? Shit. She’d deliberately left it in the kitchen to charge after her oh-so-unpleasant conversation with Leo last night. In the end, she’d had to block his number.

  Her heart pounded as she considered her options. She was on the third story, so climbing out the window wasn’t a good idea. Unless she could tie some bedsheets together?

  Get a grip, Stacey. What had her father always taught her? That it was easier to come up with a solution when you had control over your emotions. Not that he’d ever been hunted by a serial killer in broad daylight before. At least, she didn’t think that’d ever happened to him.

  There was that crinkling sound again. Maybe the killer was getting duct tape out so he could tie her up, keep her quiet. Then God knew what the hell else he’d do. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled. Damn Grant and his insistence on watching action thrillers when it was his turn to pick a movie.

  Okay, that did it. She wasn’t going to be a victim. Not ever, and definitely not in her own home. She pulled the bedcovers aside and fumbled for the closest hard object on her nightstand. So far, there were no other sounds coming from the apartment’s main room, but just in case the killer was still there, she couldn’t march out with only words as a weapon. She’d never cursed her 5’2” height before, but damn she wished she were taller. Broader. Meaner.

  Well, she could certainly act mean. She crept toward the door and peered outside. Whoever was there wasn’t going to know what hit him.

  …

  Grant swore under his breath. Changing out a lock was supposed to be a piece of cake, but it was ten times harder when a guy had to be quiet while he did it.

  There was no other way to get it done, though, since there was a better than fair chance that Stacey would never agree. It was his fault for forgetting to get the key back from her creepazoid boyfriend, so it was either this or Grant would have to stand post. God knew he didn’t have time to take that on.

  The screwdriver slipped out of his fingers and dropped onto the tile entryway. It was so damned quiet the clank reverberated down the hallway as well as past the one earbud he had in, and the blast of Linkin Park coming through it.

  Shit.

  He glanced behind him at the rose petal path that still led the way to Stacey’s bedroom. He’d deliberately left one earbud out so he could hear her coming, but hoped to hell he could get this done and be out of here before she woke up. As pissed as she was last night, he was pretty sure this wasn’t going to make anything better, but he had a responsibility to keep her safe. That’s what best friends did for each other.

  Which is why he had to forget the sensual feel of her moving against him…the way his own hands had stolen over her naked back, held her hips in place…

  Damn it. He sucked in a deep breath. If he wasn’t carefu
l, he’d throw away the most important relationship he’d ever had all because of a kiss. Yeah, Stacey was that important to him. She was fun and interesting and understanding and—

  “Grant Adam Phillips. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  —and at the moment she was thoroughly pissed at him. Again.

  “Making tea,” he said. With the partially opened door between his knees, he twisted the existing knob, slid each side off, then set the parts off to one side.

  “Don’t get smart with me.”

  “You know you sound like your mom when you say that.”

  He stood…and nearly fell over. He should’ve prepared himself before facing her. Her hair was mussed and she wore a tiny pair of shorts with a thin, see-through top that stopped just above of her waist. She was rumpled and sexy and standing in front of him like the sweetest of temptations.

  “Very funny, wiseass. Answer the question already.”

  The question? He scoured his brain for an answer. He should say something, preferably something intelligent that’d break through this weirdness between them, this strange pull that demanded he take a step toward her, demanded he haul her over his shoulder and back to her bedroom. Then they could finish what they’d started last night.

  Always the mind reader, her lips parted, and her gaze met his. Confusion, uncertainty, lust. All three melded together in her whiskey-colored eyes. It wouldn’t take much. Two steps, maybe.

  Then she shifted, and his gaze flickered downward. Whoa. Was that…

  He gulped. “Stace, what are you holding?”

  Chapter Three

  Stacey blinked and followed Grant’s gaze. Oh, shit. Her dildo. She was hanging onto her dildo like a club. Of all the hard objects she possessed within grabbing distance, she’d grabbed her dildo off her nightstand.

  Her whole body flushed and she yanked her hand behind her back. “Nothing.” She shook her head, willing it to be so. “It’s nothing.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Then why are you turning red?”

  “Don’t try to change the subject.” She cleared her throat, hoping to heaven some of the mortification would go along with it. “I’m really mad at you. How’d you get in here?”

  “I’ve had a key for, like, five years, remember?”

  Oh, shit. That’s right. She gave herself a mental shake. “I mean, why the hell are you changing the lock?”

  That’s it. Keep the topic focused on him and away from the fact she’d had to use her toy just to get to sleep last night.

  But he wasn’t having any of it. “Did I interrupt something? You want me to leave?”

  She heard the words, but she also heard the lust behind them, saw the way he’d stepped toward her, felt the heat from his body, and saw the deeper question in his eyes.

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “You want me to stay?”

  Shit. How did she answer that? “Yes. No.” Both sounded like great options, and for the same reason. She shook her head, felt another spike of heat to her face. Too bad she couldn’t melt into the floor.

  Grant slowly dragged his gaze down her body and back up again, the movement slow, sensual, the air between them crackling with an invisible, electric charge. Her nipples tightened, and the sensitive spot between her legs begged to be touched. His face twisted into a half smile. “Which is it, Stace?”

  Damn it. She was a smart, resourceful woman who at the moment was having trouble articulating a thought. She heaved in a deep breath. “I meant you’re not interrupting anything.”

  “That’s too bad.” His gaze flickered to her mouth.

  The haze thickened between them, wrapped around her and tugged. If he knew she’d had her toy out last night thanks to him, that he was the one who’d consumed her thoughts…

  “Look, just answer the question, please. What are you doing here?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  “Interfering in my life?”

  “Protecting you.” He stepped back as if he, too, had come to his senses. “Have you forgotten that your boyfriend Cleo’s still out there, and he has your key?”

  “His name is Leo. And he’s no longer my boyfriend.” Strangely, that fact didn’t seem to bother her half as much as she’d expected it to. Aside from the shock last night, it didn’t bother her at all.

  “He’s not?”

  “No.”

  She shifted from one foot to the other, now acutely aware that she hadn’t bothered to throw a robe over her PJs. Proper attire seemed to be the last thing she’d needed to worry about when she’d thought she was about to be murdered, not that she’d ever thought twice about anything she’d worn in front of Grant before. “And much as I hate to admit it, you were right. Thanks to you, he’s history.”

  “Glad you see it that way. For all I knew, the guy was stalking you.”

  “When I gave him a key? Not that you didn’t do the right thing, but what planet are you from anyway, throwing him out? And if you hadn’t thrown him out, we wouldn’t have…” Stacey licked her lips, last night’s play-by-play still fresh on her brain.

  “We wouldn’t have kissed,” he finished, tapping the screwdriver he held against the palm of his hand. “Nothing we can do to change that now.” His blue eyes latched onto hers, the look a sensual mix of lust and confusion.

  She shivered at the intensity.

  So. That kiss was on his brain as much as it was on hers. Still, it meant nothing. Nothing good, anyway.

  He broke their gaze, broke the invisible pull between them, and squatted, exchanging the screwdriver for the instructions that came with the new doorknob.

  Wow. She should beat a hasty retreat to her bedroom and stay firmly locked in there until he finished. Instead, she did what she’d always done around him while he worked: sat cross-legged somewhere nearby and watched, only this time she surreptitiously set the dildo on the floor behind her. She needed to make sure to give it an extra-thorough cleaning.

  She’d never really noticed before, but he had nice hands, and he seemed to know exactly how to touch her, hold her to him, make her believe for one small moment that she was about to step into her happily ever after…

  Stacey gave herself a mental shake. Damn. What the hell was wrong with her?

  “Look,” he said, staring at the instruction sheet. “About that kiss… Let’s just forget it ever happened, okay?”

  He wanted to forget that kiss? The same one that made her want to, even now, throw herself at him? She breathed out a soft sigh. Did she have a choice? Not unless she wanted to make a fool of herself. “Sure,” she finally said, waving one hand dismissively. “Whatever.”

  “Here.” Grant reached for the paper bag beside him. “I brought you a present.”

  And just like that they’d morphed back to their easygoing style. Really, it was better this way. A whole lot less complicated, anyhow.

  She took the bag from him. “You came by last night to give me a present?”

  “No. I came to unload.” He turned his attention back to the partially opened doorway. “Remind me not to go out with anyone Stephan sets me up with again. What a disaster.”

  Stephan Porter was one of Grant’s partners at Mile High Desert Distillery. But it wasn’t Stephan’s good looks or playboy charm that captured her attention. Grant had been out on a date last night and it hadn’t gone well. Wasn’t that just too bad?

  Not.

  She swatted away the twinge of jealousy. “What happened?”

  “The usual thing that’s wrong with most women: she couldn’t stop trying to sell herself instead of just kicking back and relaxing. We were on our first date, for God’s sake, and she was practically picking out matching towels.”

  Stacey handed him the screwdriver at the same time he reached for it. Their fingers brushed, and every ounce of awareness in her shot straight to the surface. She held her breath, traces of electrical charges racing through her, the feeling so foreign, so exquisite, she was almost sure
she’d imagined it.

  He swallowed and looked away. “Open the bag.”

  The bag. Right. She peered into it. “Pepper spray?”

  “Yeah. I figured since you have an aversion to learning how to handle a gun, this was the next best thing.”

  A soft warmth filled her and she smiled. It’d be just like Grant to think about pepper spray. “Good idea, but what made you think I needed four of these?”

  “One at work, one on your bike, one in your purse, and one in your bedroom.” He frowned. “Maybe I should’ve gotten one for the living room, too.”

  She whistled. “Pretty thorough, there, Grant.” Come to think of it, he was pretty thorough with most things in his life, which probably meant he was pretty thorough in bed, too.

  Easy there, Stace.

  She needed to get a grip before things got way out of hand and she did something really stupid. Like fall for her best friend.

  …

  Goddamn, she looks hot as fuck.

  Trying to distract himself by giving her the pepper spray hadn’t worked. Nor had focusing on the doorknob like it would explode if he tightened the screws wrong. No matter what he did, Grant couldn’t stop illicit thoughts from swirling through his brain. And he sure as hell wished she’d quit staring up at him as she sat cross-legged on the floor. It was bad enough her shorts showed creamy white thighs, but it was what they hid that had his insides in a twist. In this moment, he could honestly admit she was fucking killing him.

  “Just remember to keep one with you.”

  She pulled a pepper spray out and peeled the plastic wrapper off. “Feels easy enough to handle.”

  Her fingers wrapped around the cylinder in a way that fed Grant’s imagination. Coupled with her position on the floor, looking up at him, even the innocent statement had his dick interested. He swallowed, visions of Stacey on her knees in front of him, her mouth working his—

  Fuck.

  Keep your brain in gear, buddy.