The Expert's Guide to Driving a Man Wild by Jessica Clare

his muscles. His voice was a low murmur in her ear. “I guess you could hold
my
pole.”
    Had he just made a joke? A joke filled with innuendo? Stiff, proper Grant? She couldn’t resist a response. “Won’t your mother be scandalized?”
    “Only if you don’t catch something.”
    “Huh?”
    Reggie returned at that moment, holding four fishing rods. “I’ve only got four on the boat. Brenna, you can use Grant’s.”
    Ah. His
pole.
Her brain must have been frozen.
    “That’s fine. My hands are full at the moment anyhow.” Grant’s voice sounded easier than she’d ever heard it. Relaxed, even. And she could have sworn that he’d lightly tickled her through the pockets of his jacket.
    This was not normal for Grant. Not in the slightest. A bit weirded out, Brenna reached an arm out of the jacket and took the pole that Reggie offered her. “I don’t know how to fish.”
    One of Grant’s hands wrapped around hers over the pole. Brenna blinked as she realized how big his hands were, and how warm. Not that she hadn’t noticed last night. But she was really, really noticing it right now.
    “Here,” he murmured in her ear, and that small sound shot her body full of hot, wet longings. “Let me show you how to grip that.”
    And just like that, her mind went to dirty, dirty places.
    He was doing it on purpose; she knew that. It was obvious that Grant was determined to make her suffer since her scheme had gotten him into this, and since she’d declined to be his little woman. So he was clearly intending on showing her what she was missing.
    Normally she’d just smirk and go right on with her life, enjoying perverse pleasure of thwarting his wishes more than anything else. Normally. Except right now? Right now she wanted to crawl back into his bed and play games with him.
    If he wanted to fool around? She’d show him that two could play this game. Brenna leaned back against Grant, feeling his warm arms around her. She sighed and wiggled her bottom, circling her hips in a subtle motion that wouldn’t be noticed by anyone but the man she was pressed up against, and then leaned forward to cast the line, making sure her ass pressed up along his best parts.
    By the time they got off the boat he’d be just as hot and bothered as her.
     • • • 
    The afternoon of family time? Sheer torture for Brenna. She didn’t understand wanting to spend endless hours just hanging out with family. To her, family were people you tolerated because you had to, and you escaped at the first chance. But Grant seemed to love spending time with his parents and his sister, and no one seemed in a rush to leave the boat.
    No one but Brenna, of course.
    She was turned on. She couldn’t help it. Grant was sitting there, so very Grant-ish in his dark sweater and glasses, his hair mussed by the wind on the lake. He’d given her attention, solicitous to the bone. Polite, attentive, and utterly different from the man she normally encountered. Oh sure, Grant was nice and pleasant to all the visitors they had at the survival school, but to her? He was a scowling, nasty-tempered beast who was never pleased with a thing she did. This whole “nice” Grant thing? It was throwing her. She kept waiting for him to nitpick how she held the fishing pole or the way she stood. But he didn’t. He simply kept his arms wrapped around her to keep her warm, nuzzled her neck upon occasion (as if he couldn’t help himself), and was generally pleasant.
    And he watched her like a hawk, too. That was probably her fault, since she’d decided to even the odds between them and had begun to brush her body against his, pressing her breasts to his chest when she said she was cold, and making sure her bottom was nestled against his cock when she fished. Running her hands all over him as if she couldn’t help herself, either . . . and she couldn’t.
    She just kept thinking of the hours when she’d be able to get him alone again.
    When the sun began to set,