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

and shut the door.
Could she not pay attention for five minutes?
“You and I had sex last night. We slept together.”
    “Yes, we did.” She looked unconcerned.
    “So what was that, then?”
    “Fun?”
    “Fun? That’s all it was to you?” It was the first time he’d had sex with someone since Heather died. Not that there hadn’t been offers—he just hadn’t been interested. This was big for him. Momentous. A changing point in his life. And she thought it was just . . . fun?
    She shrugged. “I mean, it was really good and all, but what do you want me to do, Grant? Move in or something?”
    He was actually thinking of something like that. “If you wanted.”
    Brenna blanched, looking ill at the thought. “I’ll pass.”
    “You’ll . . . pass?”
    “Yep, I’ll pass.” She patted his chest. “You’re nice and all, Grant, but I’m not interested in something permanent. I thought we were just having fun.”
    He stared at her. “Fun,” he repeated in a flat voice.
    “Yes, fun. With a side benefit of being really, really convincing.” She grinned and headed to the front door. “I’m going to grab some pants and then head in for work. Shower’s all yours.”
    And she waved at him and slipped out the front door.
    He stood in his kitchen, staring at the door and trying to register what had just happened. She’d turned him down. Flinched away from his casual affection. All she’d wanted was a nice bit of fun last night? Seriously? That was all it was to her?
    Last night had been amazing. He’d never had such incredibly intense sex with anyone, not even his wife. And she’d seemed to be as in to him as he was to her. What the hell had changed? His eyes narrowed at the door, as if imagining her still standing there.
    He felt . . . used. Which was stupid, but there it was.
     • • • 
    Well now, that had been uncomfortable
.
Brenna trotted down the steps, heading across the grass to her own cabin a short distance away.
    Stupid Grant.
Why couldn’t he just enjoy a night of sex and not think anything about it? Why’d he have to start attaching feelings and commitment to things like that? When had sex ever meant you must move in tomorrow?
What the fuck?
It made her angry—angry that she couldn’t just enjoy him without him trying to turn it into something more.
    Sex didn’t have to mean a relationship. It didn’t have to mean moving in together and for better or for worse. In her eyes, those sorts of things only brought more pain. Permanence was a cosmic joke. Nothing ever lasted, not really. You enjoyed what you had for the day and forgot about it the next. That was the best way to live life. Anything else and you were just setting yourself up for failure.
    She slipped into her own stripped-down cabin, eyeing the bare walls and spartan furnishings with relief. No artsy clutter here. One lamp, one table, one chair, one twin-size bed. The necessities. In her kitchen, she had one plate, one set of utensils, and one glass. That was all she needed for a home. Just enough to get by. Grant’s cabin had been clean, but there had been enough artful decor—a rug, a statue, a wall hanging, a shelf of books—to make her anxious, the pit of her stomach clenching at the sight. Things like that could easily turn into mountains of useless junk.
    And she just couldn’t live like that.
    Brenna pulled out a pair of jeans from her small pile of clean laundry and slid them on, adding a pair of ballet flats and then pulling her hair back into a messy topknot with a rubber band. She was presentable now and feeling more like herself after seeing her own refreshingly spare cabin.
    They still had to work together. Sex wouldn’t change that. But she could act like nothing had changed between them, of course. Nothing really had, except that now she knew that he was fun in bed and had a nice, hard stomach that sucked in when she kissed it, and hair that was perfect for knotting her fingers in, and a tongue that