Alabama’s walking away now. Before she goes down this road with Griff. Again. For years, she’s kept her distance, preferring to compete instead of pine, wanting nothing from him. And now, after a week of being in his orbit, he’s got her back in his clutches. The smooth talker that he is, he had her seeing the Griff from years ago, the what-could-be, the what-she-always-wanted. Hell, he had her kissing him. Her body feeling things it hadn’t felt in years.
Well, she ain’t doing that. No goddamn way.
She can’t compete. She won’t.
All she can do is get away from him. Fast.
Anger roars in Alabama’s ears, louder than a freight train as she marches toward the bus. It’s parked some feet away from where Griff had ordered Sam to wait for them.
She’s nearly to the stairs when a hand grips her arm and whirls her around.
Griff stands there, shopping bags hanging off his arm, a crooked smile on his face. He’s hustled to catch up with her; his breath comes in small pants. “Those boots make you fast, Al.”
She yanks her arm from his grip. “Take my boots and shove ’em up your ass, Griff.”
The roguish grin drops off his face. “Sweetheart ...”
“Save your sweetheart for someone else, because that ain’t me.”
She bangs on the side of the bus. Instantly, the locks click and she grabs the handle. Somewhere in the distance, a bright boom of a light. Cursing the photographers, ignoring Griff, she opens the door, climbs the stairs.
Blessedly, the bus is empty.
“Goddamnit, Alabama, would you listen to me?” Griff’s heated voice is at her back.
There in the darkened lounge, she spins around to face him, clenching her teeth. Griff stares at her, his forlorn eyes pleading with her for another chance.
Well, he doesn’t get one. Not again.
“There’s nothing to say,” she says, digging her heels in. “I won’t do it, Griff. I won’t be another one of your girls.”
His golden eyes widen, right before his face darkens. “Now wait a goddamn minute. You think you’d be just another girl to me?” Disbelief and anger stain his voice.
“I do.” She closes her eyes, opens them. “I think I risk everything and you risk nothing, and at the end of the day, or night, or bed, or whatever, it’d be a mistake, my mistake and I—”
But whatever she planned to say next never makes it out because Griff’s lips get in the way, crushing hers as his big hands grip her waist, pinning her against him. His lips are sweet and hot, muttering sharp reprimands—curses at himself, at her, for both being idiots—as they hover over hers, devouring her mouth.
She brings her arms up to shove him away, to hit him, but her body won’t let her, and her arms drop helplessly to her side.
Everything falls away. Every ounce of protest, of anger, dies a slow death. It’s just her and Griff. Big-time adults with big-time lust.
Alabama kisses him back, almost as roughly, as if to show him she can give as good as she gets. He rips away from her, his pupils big and blitzed. A desperate man, near over the edge, looking at her like she’s his undoing.
His hands come up to grip her face, the coolness of his rings intermixed with the heat of his palms. “I want you, Alabama, and no one else.”
Her breathing speeds up and her chest heaves.
Magic words? Maybe.
For now.
Their lips meet again and then Griff’s walking her backwards, walking her down the hall, neither of them saying anything between kisses, between hungry gasps of air.
He picks her up when he gets to his room and carries her inside, lowering her onto the bed. Kneeling in front of her, he peels off her boots. Alabama tingles at Griff’s touch, his hands running up and down her legs, creeping higher to caress her inner thighs. Her body’s rocked by a trembling shudder. Just his touch, it’s a spark—it’s Griff. It’s better than she remembers.
When he glances back up, his eyes pin hers.
“What about tomorrow?” Alabama breathes. Despite the heat building, she can’t help worrying, wondering, playing it safe.