Free Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) by Jacie Floyd Page A

return the shape to a lump then cupped her hands around it,
kicking up speed while the clay climbed into a thick cylinder with a bulbous
top.
    It reminded
her of the day she and her best friend Tanya had created outrageously large
penises. They had tried to pass off their handiwork as an anatomy project, but
Mother had dubbed the day their Phallic Period. She said no female artist worth
her salt could resist the temptation to create the perfect male organ.
    The same
temptation gripped Gracie again. She extended the height and refined the shape.
Leaning back, she assessed the result from arm’s length. Not bad. Bigger,
better than any real one she’d ever seen. A girl could dream, couldn’t she?
    Absorbed in
the moment, she only noticed the exterior door standing open when a draft began
drying out the clay. She turned rather guiltily to face her grandmother. But
Dylan stood with one foot crossed over the other, a broad shoulder propped
against the doorframe.
    A smirk on
his otherwise gorgeous mouth made Gracie’s cheeks flame, much more embarrassed
than she’d been when her mother had caught her red-handed at the same activity.
In one motion, she flattened her design.
    “Ouch,” he
said with a wince. “I hope that wasn’t symbolic of some deep-seated need to
emasculate.”

Chapter Seven

 
    Gracie
dreamed big, Dylan would give her that. He admired women with great
expectations. But if she’d actually known a man of such epic proportions, he’d
have to admit to the classic case of penis envy.
    “If only it
were that easy.” A flare of defiance replaced her embarrassment. “Ever notice
how many men think having a dick gives them a license to act like one?”
    He shoved
his hands into his pockets instead of forming a protective shield over his
jean-clad crotch. “A Bradford,” Grandfather always said, “never allowed himself
to show fear.”
    “You have
anyone specific in mind?” Dylan asked.
    She ticked
off a list on her muddy fingers. “Sexual predators who prey on innocence,
doctors who think that earning a medical degree turns them into gods, and my
former fiancé.” The forced smile became a grimace. “Oops, the last one was
redundant.”
    Former
fiancé? Interesting . Dylan tucked
that information away for future reference. “I’ll try to remember not to get on
your bad side.”
    “Smart
man.” Gracie reformed the squashed clay into a ball. “What are you doing here?”
    “Couldn’t
sleep.”
    After he’d
brought Mrs. Lattimer home, he’d been drawn into the night as thoughts about
his father and Clayton tumbled through his head. He’d headed toward the shore,
but beyond the well-lit perimeter of the inn, the dark, unfamiliar coastline
appeared sinister and threatening. The glistening tail of a skinny sliver of
moon turned the water into a cold, remote, and endless force.
    He’d moved toward
the light in the carriage house like a masochist gravitating toward pain. Half
expecting to find Gracie entertaining Clayton, Dylan had been relieved to look
through the window and discover her alone.
    Now, as she
scraped the blob off the wheel, disappointment tugged at him. “Don’t stop on my
account. I was enjoying the show.”
    She peeked
at him from beneath lowered lashes. “I’m done for tonight.”
    “You’re
very good with your hands.” Her calm, efficient movements as she stroked,
massaged, and manipulated the clay were more erotic than the suggestive subject
matter.
    While she’d
been absorbed in the creative process, he had studied her face. Expressions
ranging from melancholy to delight chased across her features as her hands
morphed the clay from one utilitarian shape into another. Not until she began
forming the fantasy-sized cock did the work really grab her attention. Total
concentration had required her to hold the tip of her tongue to the corner of
her mouth.
    “My
technique’s not bad, but the finished product doesn’t have any real...
passion.” She held out her hands as