Busted (Promise Harbor Wedding) - By Sydney Somers Page 0,55
his lower belly, following the faint arrow of hair that disappeared into his boxers. Her shorts pooled around her ankles, his hand still teasing and stroking along her slick center.
She yanked at his boxers, and he didn’t even wait to shove them down before he tucked the tip of his cock against her, sliding along the seam of her.
“Hayley!” Her grandfather's voice boomed through the answering machine. “I need to see you. Now. It’s important.”
“Forget the damn robe. I’m not here to fulfill your Hugh Hefner fantasies.”
Hayley stopped in the doorway of her grandfather’s hospital room. Gramps stood opposite Trudy, a four-foot-eleven nurse. His cheeks were flushed, his big bushy eyebrows slanted in a fierce frown. Although he’d lost nearly thirty pounds since his chemo treatments, he was still just as overbearing and grumpy as ever.
Trudy was used to it, though. Even though Gramps towered over the fortyish nurse with her meaty arms, wide hips—which had accommodated seven children and she didn’t let anyone forget it—and wicked mean streak, Hayley’s money was on Trudy.
“Maybe you can reason with him.” Sighing, Trudy walked past Hayley.
Gramps looked at her. “She wouldn’t let me watch the NHL draft, and I’m the unreasonable one?” His voice rose on the last part, guaranteeing Trudy heard him, along with everyone else in this wing.
“I’ve got Ativan and I’m not afraid to use it,” came the threat from down the hall.
To prevent her grandfather from engaging in a verbal sparring match, Hayley closed the door. It wasn’t the first time she’d walked in on him giving one of the nurses a hard time. Usually it stemmed from boredom on his part, and torturing the nurses was how he entertained himself. Trudy had caught on long ago and dished it out as much as he did.
Gramps sat on the end of his bed, staring at the blank TV screen.
“Matt is recording the draft for you.”
“Not the same,” he grumbled, then focused all seventy-two years of weathered face and perceptive eyes directly at her. “You haven’t been by the last couple days.”
“I dropped by yesterday. You were napping.” Granting her another reprieve from talking about the bar fight at Stone’s and taking Jackson away in cuffs. The longer she could avoid the subject, the better, as far as she was concerned. Her time looked to be about over though.
“Hmmph.” He took a sip of water from his glass, crunching on a piece of ice. “Heard you arrested Jackson.”
She’d known it was coming, but she still winced. One of his friends had probably called him on speed dial the second she left the bar with Jackson in cuffs.
“Hayley Delilah Stone.”
Sighing inwardly at the use of her middle name, she squared her shoulders. “No charges were filed.”
His brows crumpled together in a familiar expression that usually preceded a threat to take the stick and show the kid which end he was supposed to be shooting with. Instead he surprised her by bursting out laughing.
Wondering if she’d slipped into the Twilight Zone, Hayley could only stare. He was amused by that? His laughter triggered a nasty cough that rattled his chest hard enough to break a rib.
She handed him the glass of water, and he sipped from it until his coughing subsided.
“That’s my girl.”
“You’re not mad?” She had assumed he would be at least disappointed. Annoyed had been more likely, and it turned out she was wrong on both.
“Boy probably had it coming.” Gramps sounded anything but surprised.
“Wasn’t his fault, really.” She’d seen Jackson dive into fights with far less provocation, and although most of those had been on the ice, at least he hadn’t been the first one to make a move this time.
“He always did think with his fists first.”
Hayley shook her head. “The other guy got in his face, Gramps. Didn’t leave him with much of a choice.” Hadn’t left her with much of one either.
Gramps amused smile vanished. “It’s true then.”
“Yeah,” she answered vaguely, unsure if they were talking about the same thing.
“Goddamn it.” He bolted to his feet, moving faster than Hayley had seen him go in years. He nearly knocked her backward in his rush to get to the small closet across from his bed.
He riffled through his clothing more efficiently than a fashionista at an outlet store.
“Trudy has eyes in the back of her head and will be shooting you full of Ativan if she thinks you’re trying to make a break for it.” Gramps had always insisted on staying in the hospital, refusing to