Gray's Girl (3 page)

Abruptly her annoyance at Damon disappeared. She’d been pissed that he’d arranged a date for her tonight when she had been quite happy to go alone, especially when he’d told her it was one of his player friends. She knew rugby players and the last thing she’d wanted was a night of drinking and the testosterone-laden antics that normally followed. But now… She could kiss him.

Her gaze moved upward, over a strong neck, until she reached her date’s face.

Fuck me…

“Leighton?”

The sound of Frankie’s incredulous query brought Gray’s head around sharply. Her steps silent on the plush, thick carpet, he hadn’t heard her come into the room and mourned the loss of seeing her entrance. That he’d missed the look on her face as she recognized him. He swept her from head to toe with a quick, assessing look, and much as he wanted to, was careful not to linger on the areas that would get him labeled a pervert.

What he saw took his breath away, stealing the words from his tongue midsentence as he just stared. Petite and dark-haired, she’d always been stunning, but the years had filled out the slenderness, packing her delicate frame with mouthwatering curves. Curves he itched to explore, to touch, to run his hands along to make her yield all her secrets to him.

Heat flared in his body, settling in his gut and groin as all the things he wanted to do to her flashed through his mind like an erotic movie on speed. His big hand around her waist, cupping her breast as he parted her thighs…his hand in her hair as he pulled her head back, baring her neck as he claimed her with one slick, hot, wet thrust.

“Shut yer mouth, mate. You’re dribbling on the carpet.” Damon chuckled. “It’s only Frankie, for God’s sake. Scrubs up well, don’t she?”

Anger flared to mask the desire filling his body and Gray shook his head, taking the two steps to her.

“
Only
Frankie?” he said softly, his gaze claiming hers as he reached for her hand and drew it up to his lips. He had to bend a little, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now she was here.

Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, but the look in them softened at his words, her hand delicate and oh so small in his. Another crippling surge of lust almost took him to his knees. He steeled himself, using the iron control he used to keep himself on his feet on the pitch, no matter how battered and bloody he was. If he went down, then she was ending up under him and to hell with anyone watching, even her brother.

“No, only an angel,” he whispered against her skin, brushing his lips over her knuckles as her perfume wove around him. Something deep, musky, and erotic. A real perfume, the hint of oils warm on her skin rather than the cloying chemical and synthetic perfumes most of the bimbos his teammates took out wore. It was different, classy. Sexy as hell. “
My
angel.”

Her lips formed a little pout of surprise, parting a little as she wet them with the tip of a pink tongue. An unconscious movement, but one that was highly erotic. He bit back his groan and lowered her hand, resisting the urge to haul her into his arms and finally find out what her lips tasted like.

“Who do you think you are, fucking Casanova?” Damon’s laugh broke the moment, and Frankie pulled her hand back, color staining her cheeks. His back to the other man, Gray closed his eyes for a fraction of a second in irritation. If Damon wasn’t his best mate, and had been for years, he’d lay the guy out in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, well. Some of us think that there’s more to wooing a woman than some straggly flowers and a mangy box of chocolates,” he shot back, finding an easy smile from somewhere and plastering it over his face as he reached for her hand without looking, and tucked it firmly in his. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t going to get very far with the sister if he punched her baby brother’s lights out, now was he?

“I’ll have you know they were expensive! Cost me four-ninety-nine from the petrol station. They were classy, I tell you.” Damon ducked down to look out the front window at the road outside as his girlfriend, Sophie, walked in from the hall. “Taxi’s here. We’d best get a move on.”

Chapter Two

When the hell had little Leighton Gray grown up?

Frankie slid a glance at him from under her lashes as she sipped her drink. She’d been functioning in a daze since they’d left Damon’s place, not quite believing she was looking at the shy, gangly teenager she remembered from years ago. He’d been tall back then, sure, taller than she was at least. As she stood only a little over five feet, though, that wasn’t hard. But… Lord, had he grown up nicely.

A strand of his blond hair fell loose from the band at his nape and fell over his face. She itched to push it away, watching him with fascination. She shouldn’t fancy him; he was the same age as her baby brother, but her body wasn’t listening. Instead, everything female in her reacted as he turned and caught her looking at him.

A slow smile spread his lips as he angled his chair, moving closer to her. “So, do you come here often?”

The chuckle escaped before she could stop it and the people on the tables around them looked over in disapproval. She clapped her hand over her mouth, cheeks burning as the speaker at the front of the hall stopped talking for a moment to look her way in irritation.

“Does that line work often for you?”

She kept her voice low, to avoid causing a disturbance as the charity auction started. She hadn’t bothered to do more than cast an eye over the lots. With the number of celebrities and sports personalities in the room, any bidding would be way too rich for her blood.

“Oh, of course. I’m a right Romeo…not.” His lips quirked, the self-deprecating smile one she was familiar with, and she caught a glimpse of the shy, awkward boy she remembered in the hot as hell man sitting next to her.

“Oh, I don’t know. The angel line was a good one,” she commented, taking a sip from her glass only to realize it was empty again. Wrinkling her nose, she set it down. The food had been nice, if a little fancy for her tastes, and the wine excellent.

“What makes you think it was a line?”

As he leaned forward, his shirt strained over the impressive muscles of his shoulders and arms, distracting her as he lifted a bottle to refill her glass. Again. She tried to cover her glass, but he pushed her hand away and refilled it regardless. She shook her head at the charming little grin he shot her, the amusement in his eyes totally unrepentant.

If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was flirting with her. He couldn’t be, though. She was at least eight years older than he was, and she had no chance of competing with all the other players’ dates around the table. Not one of them was above midtwenties. They were all buffed and polished to a sheen, and to a woman they sported long hair extensions and perfectly applied makeup, their tall, willowy figures probably a size subzero or something ridiculous. Even Sophie, who she adored, was built like a supermodel, leaving Frankie feeling like a dowdy, plump old woman.

Which meant he couldn’t be flirting with her. Not seriously. When he could pull something like that, why bother with someone like her?

The bidding had started now, the noise level in the room increasing so much that she had to lean in so he could hear her. Mistake. As soon as she did, the scent of his aftershave, warmed by his skin, wrapped around her. Subtle scents of spices and woods assaulted her senses, shot through with a spine-tingling base note that was pure Gray. She fought not to shiver, knowing he would see it. “Anyone would think you’re trying to get me drunk.”

He leaned back in his chair and stretched his arm out behind her. The fine fabric of his shirt brushed against her skin, bared by the halter-neck design of her dress, and the shiver broke free, twice as bad because of the attempt to deny it.

His smile was purely masculine, triumph and interest flaring in his eyes as he looked at her. She had to give him credit; he looked right into her eyes, his gaze not straying to the ample cleavage revealed by the low neckline of her gown. Not as much as some of the other ladies in the room but enough to make her a little uncomfortable. She’d put on a few pounds since she’d bought the dress, and it showed. The bloody thing looked sprayed on, a fact she hadn’t realized until it was too late.

“Maybe I am. Would that be a bad thing?”

The snort escaped before she could stop it. To cover, she grabbed her glass and buried her nose in it. Tried to regain her composure. Only to have it instantly shattered again as he stroked a lazy thumb over the back of her neck. Shit. He
was
flirting with her.

“Well, it would depend on why you’re trying to get me drunk,” she said lightly.

When it was just words, comments bantered back and forth, it was easy to convince herself that he wasn’t serious. That he’d been conned into taking her out this evening by Damon, and that he was just whiling away the time until he could offload her at her apartment and go his merry way. She’d warned herself not to fall for the pretty words or read too much into it. Perhaps the touch was accidental. Perhaps he hadn’t meant it and if she did, she’d just make a fool of herself.

Holding her breath, she waited for his answer. It came as he stroked across her shoulders again, his big hand settling around the back of her neck possessively as he leaned in.

“Why do you think I’m trying to get you drunk?”

Her ability to talk died in her throat as his warm breath washed over her neck, stirring the strands of hair she’d teased from the elegant updo to frame her face. Awareness hit her, finding a home low down in her belly and radiating outward warmly. Liquid heat slipped from her, her panties instantly damp at the promise in his deep, rough voice.

Turning, she met his gaze, the room around them falling away until it was just the two of them. He looked back levelly, not avoiding her eyes, interest and desire plain to see in his. Her lips quirked, her natural twisted sense of humor coming to the fore as she pretended to misunderstand him.

“Well, if you’re looking for someone to get giggly and huggy, then fall asleep and drool all over your shoulder, then I’m your girl!”

His lips split in a smile again, but instead of reassurance, it kicked the heat running through her up a notch. “Believe me, if you go to sleep, I’m doing something wrong.”

* * *

The evening was going well. Better than well; it was going fucking fantastically from Gray’s point of view. Frankie was his idea of a perfect woman. From the moment he’d turned around and seen her in Damon’s living room, right through to making sure she had enough to drink to loosen her up and get her talking, everything was going to plan.

He sat back and watched her for a moment as she chatted to the woman next to her, a consultant from what he remembered of the introductions when they sat down. Glass in hand, he took a swallow, his gaze lingering on the delicate curve of Frankie’s neck as she laughed at something the other woman said. The heat that had taken up residence in his veins settled into his groin, forcing him to shift slightly in his seat. Thank God it was dark in here, or his reaction to her would be common knowledge.

Not that he was ashamed of it. She was beautiful, witty, and genuinely a nice person. Rather than the self-absorbed attitude he was used to from the bimbos and wag-wannabes, he’d really had to work to get her talking about herself. And with that dress clinging lovingly to her curves, she was fucking hot. All he could think of was stripping it from her. Slowly. Unveiling the creamy skin he’d fantasized about for years, inch by slow inch.

Like a soldier on parade, his cock snapped to attention. Fuck. He closed his eyes for a second, quelling the frustration rolling through his large body. He’d only just got the bloody thing down to half-mast, but now he was hard enough to hammer nails through wood again.

Large hands dropped onto his shoulders, making him jump.

“You. Bog. Now.”

Turning, he looked up into the furious expression of his best friend. To everyone else, Damon looked perfectly civil, his polite half smile one Gray recognized as his “press” face, the one he used whenever the bloodsuckers asked him questions. Smiling but all the while gritting his teeth as he fought the urge to deck the lot of them. His eyes flashed dangerously, an indicator to someone who knew him that he was pissed. Seriously pissed.

Gray twisted and stood, frowning as he opened his mouth to ask just what had gotten into the smaller man but Damon turned on his heel and stalked away. Great. Just like DC to get a strop on a night out. He was worse than a woman with PMS at times. Turning, he dropped a quick kiss on the top of Frankie’s head, over silky hair which smelled of apple shampoo.

“Just going to grab us some more drinks,” he murmured by her ear, keeping his voice down so as not to interrupt her conversation. He didn’t mention the tizzy Damon seemed to be in. She’d always worried too much about her tearaway younger brother when they were younger, but until he knew what was up with the daft twat he’d leave her to enjoy her conversation. They said ignorance was bliss, and Damon was certainly ignorant enough for anyone.

She smiled and nodded, still listening to the other woman rabbit on about child number sixty-two or something, but her look speared him to his soul. A small, soft look just for him. Interest and desire shone in the darkness of her eyes and she reached out to squeeze his hand gently. He squeezed back and straightened, his purpose adding steel to his shoulders as he made his way through the crowded room. Time to find out why Damon had his knickers in a twist.

“What the hills gotten into you?” he demanded as he strode through the door and caught sight of Damon at the sinks. If he’d needed a piss, he’d taken care of business quickly because he turned like a striking snake to grab Gray by the throat and shove him back against the wall. Hard.

“Me?” Damon snarled into Gray’s face, rising up on his toes to do so. “Wanna tells me what the fuck you think you’re playing at? In case you hadn’t noticed, that’s my sister. Not just a random shag you’ve picked up for the night.”