Dismissing it, he leaned forward on his stool, narrowing his eyes on her.
At least she hadn’t tamed those curls. He’d loved the wild mane, enjoyed tangling his fingers in the heavy silk. The strands had been a sensory delight when they’d caressed his palms, chest…thighs. The young woman he’d known might have traded in her colorful tight tank tops and sweaters and flowing skirts for a more conservative shirt and jeans, but the free, riotous spirals and waves telegraphed the passionate, sexual creature he remembered still existed.
Not that the conservative didn’t look hot on her. With those gorgeous, more-than-a-handful breasts and fuck me curves, she would transform a burlap sack into something Victoria’s Secret worthy. And that ass. He lowered his gaze to the flesh filling out the tight denim. Swallowed down a groan on a mouthful of alcohol.
He’d had that ass. Had been the first man to slide his dick between those perfect cheeks and penetrate the tiny hole and tight-as-a-fist channel. Had been the first to stretch it, fuck it.
With a cursory scan around the room, he caught more than a few men staring, probably imagining what he’d already had.
Fuckers.
Slamming the bottle onto the bar, he surged from his stool and strode after her. The hell was she thinking coming into this dive looking pristine and untouchable? Didn’t she know that made men want to touch?
But damn if they would. Not her. She was off limits. From them.
And from him.
Just as he reached her, one asshole stretched a hand toward her, his fingertips almost brushing her arm. Griffin scowled at him, and the guy dropped his arm, but not his eyes. Maybe if Griffin blackened them for staring at what was his…
What. The. Fuck.
Where had that thought come from? Well, he knew where—straight from his mad-as-hell dick. But she wasn’t his. Not anymore. Not ever again.
So much water under that damn bridge he would need an ark to cross it.
He pressed his palm to her lower back, clenching his jaw at the stiffening of her spine. “Deal with it,” he murmured in her ear. “Every bastard in this place is staring at your ass like it’s on the fucking menu. I’m not letting you walk out of here or to your car alone.”
Wonder of all wonders, she didn’t shove his hand away or tell him what to do with his offer. Moments later, they exited the bar into the stifling June night, the humidity settling on his shoulders like a damp, smothering blanket. After half a decade, he should’ve been used to the tropical-like heat, yet sometimes the weather still seemed like a Viking’s sauna. And tonight, with the unwanted throb of lust adding its own blaze, he was tempted to strip.
“Did you read the letter?”
Griffin glanced down at Hayden, but her attention was riveted straight ahead at the parking lot littered with pick-up trucks, motorcycles and a mish-mash of older model vehicles. A far cry from the expensive, sleek, immaculate vehicles that had occupied the well-kept grounds of the Texas country club he’d frequented years ago. The world Hayden now belonged to even peripherally if she worked for his father.
A bolt of anger flashed through him at the reminder of her employer. As irrational as the sense of betrayal that had lanced him at her announcement was, he couldn’t stifle it. Two people had been privy to his bitterness and resentment toward Joshua Sutherland: Bud Sutherland, Griffin’s grandfather, and Hayden. To the public, Griffin had been the privileged second son who had been granted a position in the vast conglomerate of Sutherland Industries by his generous father. But the truth had been far different. No love was lost between father and son.
And Hayden had been aware of it. Yet, she’d gone to work for the very man who’d made Griffin’s life a living hell.
“No.” He dropped his hand from her back. “I don’t need to since I’m not interested in anything Joshua has to say.”
“He’s running for governor, you know.”
No, he hadn’t known. And didn’t care.
“I send my condolences to the people of Texas if he makes it into office. It’ll probably become a police state under his tender mercies. Wait, is that why—” He grasped her arm, and she flinched away from him. Anger and something else—something that left a bruise in his chest—flared inside him. “Does my touch offend you that much? I’m not going to attack you, Hayden,” he snapped.
“Yes, it does offend me. I pick and choose who puts their hands on me, and you’re not even on the short list.”
The sharp retort jabbed at him, landing a blow he couldn’t ignore. Not questioning the urge to push her, to make her eat those words, he crowded into her personal space. Didn’t stop until his chest was a breath away from grazing the tips of those beautiful breasts.
“I used to be,” he reminded her, voice as hard as his dick. “I used to be the only one on the list.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Not long enough to forget, though, right?” He cocked his head to the side, peered down into her face. Caught the flicker in her eyes. “No, you haven’t forgotten, have you, Hayden?” he whispered against her ear. Soft, thick curls grazed his cheek, and he subtly inhaled their apple-scented fragrance. The same one she’d used before. “Who’s at the top of the list now? Some uptight, junior executive from Joshua’s office? Some safe, boringgentleman,” he sneered, “who needs a map to your pussy, and then a manual on how to get you off once he finds it? Some prude who thinks two minutes in the missionary position is good fucking? He doesn’t know how hard and messy you like it, does he, baby? He doesn’t know how you love your pussy eaten then fucked? How you love a dick thrusting between those gorgeous tits. He doesn’t know how much you scream when a cock is sliding into your sweet, tight ass.” He chuckled, the sound rough, serrated even to his ears. “No, he doesn’t know any of that.”
Their harsh breaths filled the heavy silence in the parking lot, the raucous din from the bar not reaching them. The quick puffs escaping her parted lips bathed the base of his throat, and he craved them on his mouth. His cock. He curled his fingers into fists, tightening them until the skin across his knuckles protested. He damn sure hadn’t been a monk since they’d separated. But every fuck had been in an effort to forget her, deny the hunger that could only be satisfied by her. An attempt to search for serenity after the fury of sex had quieted. And each attempt had failed. Miserably.
Because none of them had been Hayden.
