Page 2 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
There’s another giggle. A murmured sound of satisfaction. Both make me cringe to open my bedroom door.
But I do. Curiosity gets the best of me.
I’m blinded momentarily as the sun from the open front door reflects off one very sexy, slinky, and daring silver sparkly dress. A pair of sky-high strappy heels is in one of her hands. Her other is threaded through the hair at the base of the neck of the man whose back is to me.
I shouldn’t stare, but I do.
And not because I’m being rude but because of the immediate sense of inadequacy I feel when I look at her. My frumpy robe admittedly makes me feel out of place next to her in her party dress.
“I’ve gotta go,” she murmurs against his lips and, of course, her voice sounds like she looks, sultry as all hell.
“Mmm. You sure?” His laugh is a deep rumble that fills the hallway.
Another kiss. The run of his hand down the side of her torso until it rests squarely on her ass.
“No . . . but yes.”
They both chuckle as their lips meet again before she steps out of the open doorway, their arms stretching between them, giving me a full view of her for the first time.
Mussed, brown hair that makes bedhead look sexy. A body I’m used to seeing in the Los Angeles perfection I escaped but know I’ll never have: long legs, subtle curves, defined arms, great boobs. Simply put, she’s gorgeous.
I don’t even fear she’ll see me, because her eyes are so completely focused on him that I fade into the background.
They look like an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. Their positioning—her body turned toward his, the pout on her lips, the undeniable attraction between them.
Dear God. Is this what I’ve moved into? Perfectville?
After one more hesitation, she walks away with him staring after her and me looking at the back of him.
A car door shuts. An engine starts. His focus still on her.
“Are you just going to stand there and stare? If you were interested in joining, I’m sure Mal would’ve been all for it.”
His words blindside me, but nowhere near as much as the sight of him when he turns to face me.
Wow.
I open my mouth to speak. Close it. Open it again. Sputter. “I don’t—I’m not—she—” I manage to get some words out, but they come off sounding just how I look: frumpy. In my white fluffy bathrobe—that I’m holding closed at the neck—I look like someone’s aunt Gertrude while he looks like . . . that.
Perfection with a little bit of grit thrown in.
Those aqua eyes of his pin me motionless as they narrow and stare. “Well?” He lifts his eyebrows as he folds his arms across his chest and leans his shoulder against the wall. The hardened expression on his face transforms instantly when his mouth turns into a carefree smile. “Relax, McCoy. I’m just teasing you, but I have to admit, the look on your face was worth it.” In the same amount of time it takes me to breathe a sigh of relief, he crosses the distance of the foyer and reaches a hand out to me. “Grady Malone.”
“Dylan McCoy.” I look at where our hands meet, and my attention is hijacked by the abs in the background, peeking out from behind his unbuttoned shirt. All eight of them. “But you knew that. Thanks for letting me . . . uh—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says as he walks past me and into the family room. “Sorry I didn’t know you were here or else I would have”—he shrugs in an adorably sheepish way that is in complete contradiction to the pure, heady maleness of him—“not made so much noise.”
“My car’s in the driveway. Can’t be much more obvious than that,” I say, fully aware I’m being sarcastic when he doesn’t deserve it. But, he opened the door with his initial comment.
And frankly, I’m sick of taking shit from men. After Jett . . . ugh. After Jett is all I need to say to remind myself why I’m allowed to be snarky.
“I never use the driveway.” He looks at me and lifts his eyebrows unapologetically.
“And I’m supposed to know that, how?”
“Are you always this combative?” His tone sounds as if he’s irritated, but his smile says anything but.
It stops me from saying more, and I remind myself he isn’t Jett. Grady Malone isn’t the man who broke my heart. He’s not the reason I’ve set off for the next few months to lick my wounds and gain some distance to grow immune to his charms before I have to face him again.
