Making the Play (14 page)

Bethany disconnected the call and studied the picture. She wished she knew for sure what Grant had been looking at. Obviously the photographer had been along one side of the street to catch this vantage point. However difficult it might be to figure out what attracted his attention, the look on his face was easily deciphered. He was angry. The question was what had made him that way—­his call or the subject of his intense focus?

G
RANT CLIMBE
D OUT
of the shower and wound a thick terrycloth towel around his slim hips. He was in great shape, better than when they'd carried him off the field last season, but even the hot water couldn't ease the soreness already setting in from a long day in the saddle. He'd left the actual banding of the cattle to his father and the twins who were faster at it than he and Andrew were, but it didn't lessen the physical exertion he, Ben and Andrew expended herding and moving the cattle to and from the chutes. He'd forgotten how much work was involved on the ranch, and how it never seemed to end.

Or how much you actually enjoy working with your family.

It was true. It had been a long time since the seven of them had put in a full day's work together but he found it as exhilarating as it was exhausting. While there had been plenty of name calling and ribbing, there was also an unspoken rhythm to the work. Each person knew their part, like a well-­oiled machine, and they worked together flawlessly. Now that the hard part was done, they were going to grill some burgers and have a ­couple cold beers apiece while they relaxed at the fire pit. They'd probably end up giving each other crap about stupid things they'd done as kids, reminiscing and reliving memories, the way they always did when they got together, but he couldn't think of anything else he'd rather be doing.

Nothing else?

Okay, there was one thing that he'd rather be doing, something he hadn't quite managed to get out of his mind all day. He couldn't help but think about the way Bethany's soft curves had felt in his hands last night. Ever since the conversation with his father this morning, Grant had been dying to call her, but he didn't want to push her. He wasn't exactly sure where he stood with her after that kiss. He couldn't expect to just go from being a friend—­offering her advice and suggestions on dating—­to
the
guy she was dating without letting her catch her breath.

However, he wasn't willingly walking away from the easy friendship they'd developed. That was as much a part of his attraction to her as her as her tender vulnerability and her quiet strength. In truth, it was the biggest part of his attraction to her. Of course, it wasn't that he didn't appreciate her beauty, but there was so much more to her. She was as sweet and innocent as she was feisty and flirty. She didn't mind standing up for what she believed courageously but she was also willing to keep an open mind. She was as honest as anyone he'd ever met and wasn't impressed by his celebrity. In fact, she'd been put off by it, and therein lay part of the problem.

Even when he walked away from the team and left that chapter of his life behind, the reporters wouldn't just go away. At least, not at first. Once your name was up in lights, that fame was a difficult thing to shed. For most players, it took at least five years of ducking the press and disappearing off the media's radar. She was far too private a person to ignore it. He'd seen the anxiety she'd tried to hide when she read the last article about his car at her house. He couldn't ask Bethany and James to live under that kind of scrutiny and media attention.

“Oh, hey!” He heard Jefferson's voice from downstairs as he greeted someone in the bunkhouse living room. “I'll get him for you.”

His brother's feet pounded on the stairs and Grant jerked a t-­shirt over his still-­damp head just as Jefferson banged on his door. “Grant, Bethany's here.”

He opened the door, looking over the banister to see her looking up at him, her hair loose around her shoulders, looking gorgeous and agitated. He hadn't expected her to come by and, from the look on her face, this wasn't a friendly visit. James, on the other hand, looked ecstatic and Grant chose to focus on the boy's excitement first.

“Hey, little man. Are you here to whip Jefferson at Xbox? I have to warn you, he's pretty good at car racing.”

James eyes widened with delight as Jefferson jogged back downstairs. “You have an Xbox?” He spun on his mother.
Can I play?
he signed.

Jefferson wisely looked to Bethany for confirmation before he agreed. Bethany pinched her lips together tightly. He could tell she was upset and wondered what had happened.

“Fine, for a ­couple of minutes while I talk to Grant.” Her gaze slid past James and his brother, who were already heading for the couch, and lit on him again. The yellow flecks in her eyes glowed brightly.

“Why don't we go outside?” he suggested, opening the back door for her. She glanced back at James. “He'll be fine with Jefferson for a few minutes. You look like you need to get something off your chest and I'm thinking you might prefer to do it privately.”

She pinched her lips together again and he knew he'd hit the bull's-­eye. He held open the back door for her, ignoring the surprised looks from Andrew and Ben as she headed toward the barn. This wasn't looking promising for him.

“Okay, what's on your mind?” he asked as he led her into the aisle of the barn. The horses greeted them with quiet nickers and the sweet musty scent of straw surrounded them.

“This.” She pulled a folded newspaper from her purse and slapped it against his chest. “I thought you were watching James.”

Grant scanned the headline of the paper, his gaze falling on the picture his father had pointed out earlier. “I was. He was hungry, so we went for burgers and fries.”

“Looks like James wasn't what you were watching here. This burger place is across the street from Rosetti's.” She tapped the picture. “Were you spying on me?”

Grant clenched his jaw. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her the truth. He could easily confess that he'd been jealous of her date, but seeing the picture of him on the phone with Wolf reminded him of just how insecure his future really was. For all he knew, he could be out of a job by the end of a week and, as of right now, he had no real prospects. Regardless of the conversation with his Dad this morning, even though he knew he
wanted
her, he had nothing solid to offer her. He had no idea where his career was headed, or where he would end up. And there were plenty of guys in Hidden Falls who could offer her the privacy and security Bethany craved in her life, something he wouldn't be able to give her for some time. It wasn't fair for him to ask her to wait, or make her a promise he might not have the power to keep.

 

Chapter Fourteen

B
ETHANY WASN
'
T SURE
what had possessed her to show up unannounced at his home like she really had any reason to be angry at Grant. But seeing the look on his face staring back at her from the front page, knowing he'd been across the street while she'd been on her date, realizing that James could have seen her and misconstrued even a handhold, had infuriated her. Almost as much as the damn guilty grin he had plastered across his face right now. She wasn't about to let him charm his way out of this.

“Okay, let me explain,” he began, reaching for her hand.

She jerked it away. His touch had a tendency to scatter her thoughts and turn her into a puddle of Jell-­O. She needed every ounce of her focus to confront him.

“Explain what?
You
were the one who convinced me to go out with Steven in the first place. What could you possibly say to make this okay?”

Grant took a deep breath, patiently waiting while she lashed out at him. When she paused, he answered. “Bethany, I called the paper and told them where to find you on your date. I was there, trying to make sure that reporter, whoever it is, showed up to get a picture of you with someone that wasn't me. That was the original idea, remember? To prove that
we
aren't a ­couple.”

She'd forgotten. The revelation took the steam out of her tirade. After arriving home after her date and trying to recover from Grant's kiss, which had left her hungry for more, the reporter following him had been the last thing she'd worried about. After his sudden rejection, little else had commanded her thoughts. Assuming that he'd followed her because of jealousy gave her a reason to confront him and had taken some of the sting out of the way he'd walked out last night. Now, she wasn't sure whether to be grateful that he'd been trying to help her reputation or confused by his mixed signals.

“Then why do you look so mad in the picture?”

“I got a phone call I wasn't exactly expecting.” Grant clenched his jaw, his tone suddenly clipped and almost angry, but he didn't seem inclined to share more information than that with her.

“I see.”

“No, Bethany, you don't.” Exasperation and sheer frustration colored his voice and he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You think you understand, but you can't. Because I had a life all planned out, in every detail. I was coming back here to recuperate and returning to Memphis, back to my job but now, who knows?”

He ran a furious hand through his hair, making it stand up. Her fingers itched to brush through it and lay the strands back into place. She had no clue what he was talking about but she could see the aggravation in his face, the anger building in the way his muscles tensed. She'd never seen him lose his temper, not even during press conferences, and she wasn't sure what she'd said to cause it. Grant threw his hands into the air and spun in a circle, looking at the barn around him.

“I could stay here, but that isn't exactly a long-­term option. I'm not a rancher and I'd go crazy.” He beat a hand against his chest and it hurt her to see him feeling lost. “I'm a football player—­it's what I do, who I am.
That
is the only thing I know how to be successfully. But I may not even be that anymore. I'm not a coach or a mentor. Those guys don't want to listen to me.”

Bethany was confused and wasn't sure what she could say to help him so she simply remained silent, letting him vent his anger until it was spent. Grant slammed his palms against the wall of the barn, turning his back to her.

“Damn it,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “I didn't mean to lay that on you.”

“It's okay.” Bethany stepped closer, suddenly understanding that his anger stemmed from fear—­fear of what his injury might have caused, fear of whether he'd have a future with the team, fear of the unknown. She could understand that kind of fear.

Laying one hand over his against the wall and the other over his heart, she looked up at him, wanting him to see her empathy. Regardless of what had happened between them on the stairs, he'd been a good friend to her and James in the past week. He deserved for her to be a friend in return.

“What do you want to do, Grant? What would make you happy?”

He looked at her hand, splayed over his chest then back to her face. As much as she might try to deny it, she didn't miss the desire that flashed in his eyes before they shadowed with regret. Grant closed them and shook his head. “Don't ask me that, Bethany. Please.”

“Grant, you've made me face some hard truths in my life this past week. Maybe it's time for you to face a few as well.”

“Bethany,” he warned, looking away from her. “This is a Pandora's box you don't want to open, trust me.”

“I do trust you.” She reached her fingers to his jaw, turning his face back toward her. “What about you? What would make you happy, Grant? What do
you
want to do?”

His eyes were sorrowful and it hurt her to see him agonizing over this decision she couldn't help him with. Their meeting might have been unorthodox, but in the past six days he'd made more of an impact on her life, on James' life, than anyone other than her parents. He was teaching her to trust again and it pained her to know he didn't feel he could lean on her as well.

He looked into her eyes and she could see the inner war he was fighting. He wanted to open up to her, even opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes clouded and he closed it again.

“Damn it,” he muttered.

She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the agonizing rejection that wanted to steal her breath from her lungs. She couldn't force him to open up, to tell her what he was holding inside. Searching his eyes, Bethany questioned whether she was sure she wanted him to. It would change things, even more than their kiss had. She wasn't sure how she knew it, but Bethany was certain that Grant telling her whatever he was holding inside would alter their friendship.

“Okay.” She nodded, unsure where they could go from here.

There was an unspoken wall between them now that hadn't been there before, not even when she'd been trying to keep barriers between him and James. He had secrets he couldn't share, or wouldn't. They were no longer on a level playing field and she couldn't allow herself to be open with someone who was closed off with her. She had to walk away, regardless of how much it hurt, if she wanted to save face at all. Otherwise, she'd look just like all of the rest of the football groupies throwing herself at
the
Grant McQuaid. She closed her eyes and fortified her resolve as she turned her back on him.

Grant's fingers brushed her waist as he reached for her. She paused midstep but didn't turn around. Bethany felt him move toward her, his chest pressing against her back, the heat of him scorching her through her clothing. She stood still, waiting for him to do something, to
say
something, to explain himself and reach out to her emotionally. His arms moved around her waist, enveloping her, and she felt the tornado of need spiral through her. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“You make me happy,” he whispered.

He didn't sound happy. He sounded tormented, like the admission was being ripped from him.

G
RANT TR
IED TO
stop himself, tried not to confess the truth but the anguish he saw in her eyes was his undoing. When she'd turned away from him, he'd known he was losing her for good. She'd had enough hurt in her life. He refused to be the reason she had more.

His hands cupped her shoulders as he turned her slowly to face him. His fingers ached to touch her face, to slip into her hair and tip her head back. He wanted to kiss her—­was dying to kiss her—­but he knew that if he gave in, he would only hurt her more if he left. However, his mouth didn't seem compelled to listen to his brain's logic.

“I want you, Bethany, and I can't seem to stop it.”

She smiled up at him, sweetly, her eyes lighting up with a pleasure he couldn't understand. As her hands cupped his face, her thumb traced the line of his jaw. “Then don't.”

Bethany stood on her toes, pressing her mouth to his, surprising him with her sweet kiss. Wrapping her hands around the nape of his neck, she pulled him down toward her, insistent, stronger than he'd imagined someone so petite could be, and his arms circled around her back, lifting her higher. She opened to him, letting him explore and taste. Grant caught her quiet whimper on his breath as he turned, pressing her against the wall, hungry for more. She clung to him, arching into his body, as needy as he was. His hands skimmed the hem of her shirt, his fingers touching the bare skin beneath and she sighed, letting her head fall back against the wall.

As his lips found her jaw, pressing hot kisses over the delicate curve of her neck, his hand felt the slight indentations of her ribs. Moving higher, his hand cupped the soft mound of her breast and Bethany whimpered, her back arching, pressing it fully into his palm. His entire body seemed to tense as he fought to maintain some small semblance of control, but he knew he was losing the battle. He slid one hand over her rear and her entire body seemed to answer his, molding against him, as if they were made to fit together seamlessly.

“Grant,” she whispered on a sigh.

“Hey, bro, are you out here? You've got a call. It's your agent,” Jackson yelled from the back of the bunkhouse.

Grant froze, his palm filled with the flesh of her breast, as they both gasped for air, trying to catch their breath. Grant looked down into her face and could see the redness along her jaw from where his stubble had scraped her sensitive skin. Her lips were swollen and pink from his kisses. He could still taste her and, like a drug, it wasn't enough. He needed more.

“Grant?” Jackson called again, this time closer.

He knew they would be caught in a moment and moved his hand from under her shirt, but was unable to move away from her without pressing one last quick kiss to her lips. “You make me forget. That's dangerous.”

“Grant?” Jackson's footsteps were just outside the barn and Grant stepped in front of Bethany, shielding her from his brother's view. One look at her would be enough for any of his too observant brothers to know what they'd been doing. The thought of doing it again was enough to force him to adjust his jeans.

“I'll be right there, Jackson.” The footsteps stopped. “Tell him that I'll call him right back.”

“You got it.” Grant was grateful for the unspoken communication he had with his brothers.

Bethany's hand slid along one side of his spine, tracing the curve of the muscles in his back. He felt his body respond to her touch with a shiver of hungry desire and nearly groaned aloud at the pure, enticing pleasure of her touch. Her hands circled his waist from behind and he covered them with his own, looking back at her over his shoulder. “I'm beginning to wonder if you don't like living dangerously.”

“You're a terrible influence on me, Mr. McQuaid. First horseback riding and now making out in a barn. What would my father say?” she teased, her eyes shimmering with humor.

He'd remind me that I gave my word not to hurt you.

If there was one thing he was, it was a man of his word. Right now, his word was the only certain thing Grant had left.

G
RANT WALK
ED BACK
to the bunkhouse with her hand in his. As much as she didn't want to let go of him or stop the way his thumb brushed over the pulse racing at her wrist, she couldn't risk James seeing them this way. She already knew she was risking her own heart, she couldn't take a chance with James'. Grant wasn't wrong; they were dangerous for one another.

“Grant?” She turned toward him before he reached the door and opened her mouth to explain to him why they needed to keep their relationship a secret from James when he put a finger to her lips.

“I know.” His eyes were dark and shadowed with regret again. “I completely agree that it's best to keep what happened in the barn between the two of us. It'll confuse James.”

Bethany frowned. James wouldn't be the only one baffled by their relationship. She was present, a willing participant, and still thoroughly confused as to where she stood, or what either of them really wanted from one another.

“Why don't the two of you stay for dinner? We were just about to throw burgers on the grill.”

She looked at the door, picturing her son playing video games inside. “It's a school night and you have a phone call to make to your agent,” she reminded him.

His eyes clouded even more and she wondered what she'd said to upset him. He looked like he was lost in his thoughts for a moment. Suddenly his expression cleared and he gave her a lopsided grin, that dimple cutting into his cheek and making her heart beat heavily and the lower regions of her body throb.

“What about dinner tomorrow? I'll meet you at your house and we can have a movie night.”

“I'll have some work to take home.”

He arched a brow. “Ms. Mills, are you trying to let me down easy?”

“No!” She cleared her throat and lowered her voice. “I just . . .” She took a step toward him and let her fingers fall against his t-­shirt, feeling the washboard abs tense underneath. Her eyes lifted to his, searching for the answer to the question she so desperately needed to ask. “What are we doing?”

Grant slid his arms around her waist and smiled down at her. The tenderness in his eyes made her want to settle into his embrace and remain there forever. “I know you're out of practice but this, Ms. Mills, is me asking you and James out on a date.” He dropped a kiss to her nose. “A real date this time.”

“What about the reporter following you?”

“He's going to have to find something better to write about for Wednesday's paper because I'm going undercover. Nothing is going to mar our date. There won't be any evidence, I promise.”