Dying for Love
Dying for Love
Angel Nicholas
Death is preferable to what awaits in her forgotten past…Coffee is the only thing standing between Grace Debry and a straight-jacket since she gave up swearing in honor of her foster mom. A rash of break-ins makes her wonder if caffeine is enough. Especially when the notes left behind make it personal. Her brand-spanking new life is more nightmare than dream-come-true.All Matthew Duncan has wanted since hiring Grace is to have her in his passenger seat, his arms, and his bed. As they grow closer, the feisty brunette proves to be a handful—one Matt is happy to hold. He’s determined to give her the happily ever after she stopped believing in years ago. Unfortunately for Grace, it will take more than Matt’s considerable resolve to keep her safe.Three’s a crowd—not that he cares. Every move she makes, every breath she takes … he’s watching. Waiting to reclaim what he lost.Angel Nicholas pens another wildly passionate romantic suspense with Dying for Love.
Dying For Love
ANGEL NICHOLAS
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2016
Copyright © Angel Nicholas 2016
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Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Cover design by Michelle Andrews
Angel Nicholas asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
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Ebook Edition © March 2016 ISBN: 9780008126261
Version 2016-03-01
To Grace
Table of Contents
Cover (#u7cedf413-9d34-5ad2-a446-31fd597bf0e6)
Title Page (#u613bffed-082f-5265-a665-93a6db3e050c)
Copyright (#u8c56406a-7ce3-5717-9bd1-f6a8d07ebad5)
Dedication (#u6f082944-a88f-5f8a-aaa6-60efd909299c)
Prologue (#u19f8ca46-e90b-5d73-882c-d624c8cc1cc9)
Chapter One (#u84ef63eb-8271-50c4-9391-d6c8666f9c09)
Chapter Two (#ub20f4ab6-64ea-56ef-bfbf-e9c91307859f)
Chapter Three (#u8fb168aa-f658-5857-893d-f8b8692913f5)
Chapter Four (#ub78370d6-737b-592a-972f-2c2d523db9f8)
Chapter Five (#uc5c00047-3d3b-5274-93ca-9cae313f7794)
Chapter Six (#udef0cfcf-e9e9-5675-b629-e4bf32592984)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Angel Nicholas (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#uefeb9126-c91e-593a-8c3a-2a24a9c125f0)
April 19, 1986
Cassandra’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. A wild hare hopped across the rusty train tracks and a gentle breeze blew through the open windows, mixing freshly bloomed jasmine with the smell of poverty.
She turned. Sober gazes met hers over the worn bench seat, her children’s little faces pale in the unusual spring heat. Her sweet babies had learned early in life to be very, very quiet. If they managed to blend into the woodwork, Daddy might not notice them. Being noticed was never a good thing. Not in their home.
Sandra swallowed the sob threatening her tenuous calm and tore her gaze away.
Where was the train? Closing her eyes, she pictured the train schedule—and easy feat, thanks to her photographic memory—then glanced at the dusty clock set in the dashboard. Pointless, since it had stopped working two years ago on October 9. The night her youngest, Gracie, was born.
Hoss had flown into a rage when her water broke and soaked the car seat on the way home from a high-school football game. He insisted on going to every game even though their children weren’t old enough to play and they didn’t know anyone on the team. Reliving his long-gone glory days always put him in a foul mood.
“Don’t you have any self-control, you pathetic cow?”
Spittle flew from his mouth and his big fist slammed into the dashboard clock. She shrank against her door and wrapped her arms protectively around her swollen belly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I knew the baby was comin’. I just didn’t want to interrupt the game for you.”
Mollified, he swung the big boat of a car around. The county hospital was on the opposite side of the small, downtrodden town, a full thirty minutes from where their sagging trailer sat in the woods outside the town limits.
Hoss said they lived so far out because he liked his privacy, but Sandra knew better. He didn’t want anyone to know what went on in their home. Like it was any secret. She’d seen the way folks looked at her and her ever-increasing brood of children, curious gazes lingering on shabby clothes and the dark bruises peeking from long sleeves before sliding away.
She knew better than to expect any help. People she’d grown up with, known since she was a baby, turned their backs on the obvious signs of abuse and neglect. They still thought of the man she’d married as a hero. They saw him or heard his name and got that look in their eyes.
The quarterback who’d put their small town on the map. Took the team all the way to the state championship and brought home the big trophy. Even with the evidence right in front of them, they didn’t want to believe the good ol’ Sathers boy would beat his pretty little wife and sweet babies. Or worse.
“Momma, I have to pee.”
The soft whisper startled Sandra.
She stared down the tracks again, then sighed. “All right, Suzy.”
Putting her shoulder into it, she shoved open the car door and stood. Her five-year-old scrambled over the front seat and out of the car. It had to be urgent or Suzy wouldn’t have said a word.
“Hurry, baby.” She glanced down the tracks again.
Suzy rushed to the side of the road and slipped behind a bush to take care of business. She’d been going to pee a lot lately. Sandra rubbed her arms, worried there might be a problem.
Suffocating guilt rose. Guilt was her constant companion. What kind of mother couldn’t take care of her children? Take them to the doctor. Protect them. She tried to intervene. She always tried. Even if he beat her unconscious, it was worth it if he left her babies alone. She never succeeded, though.
The first time, their oldest was just two years old and on a crying jag from the pain of cutting a handful of teeth all at once. Sandra had seen the rage in his eyes and stepped in front of him when he reached for the baby. Hoss threw her across the room, bruising her entire backside black and blue and knocking her unconscious. But the worst had come after. When she’d opened her eyes again, hell had risen from the bowels of the earth and taken over her living room. The sight of him hurting their little girl was seared into her brain.
She wouldn’t have to worry about her babies much longer. She glanced again at the tracks. From a long way off, a piercing whistle blew. Her nerves trembled—almost broke.
Squaring her shoulders and firming her chin, she took a deep breath.
Panic crawled up her throat, so she took another breath. She smiled through the open window at her little ones, sitting so quiet in the backseat. Gracie, her precious blue-eyed girl, sat on the farthest side of the car in her high-backed infant seat. There weren’t enough seat belts, so as the littlest, she was the only one securely buckled in.
The train whistle blew again.
“Time to go, Suzy.”
“Comin’, Momma.”
Suzy appeared a few seconds later, her dingy white shirt tucked neatly into her worn plaid skirt. She smoothed her neat braids as she climbed the side of the road. On impulse, Sandra knelt on the hard-packed dirt road and gathered Suzy into her arms. Tears she refused to shed burned her eyes.
“I love you so much. You know that, right?”
“Yes, Mama.”
Sandra reluctantly released her and rose. “Go on, baby.”
Suzy climbed across the seat and into the back. Legs trembling, Sandra stepped into the car and settled behind the big steering wheel. Driving had come back as easy as pie, despite not having done it for years. Her husband insisted on taking her and the children into town whenever they needed anything.
“Can’t have my family wandering ’round without my protection now, can I?” An ugly grin twisted his lips, his dark-blue eyes hard.
They never went anywhere without him. Not since she’d made the painful mistake of talking to the sheriff about her husband’s violent outbursts. The sheriff had heard her out with polite deference, then sent her home and gone straight to his old football buddy. The broken leg she suffered as a result had never seen medical attention. She’d walked with a limp ever since.
One last time, Sandra turned around. A smile trembled. She met the gaze of each of her babies, her heart overflowing with love.
They looked so pretty. She’d dressed them in their Sunday best, hand-me-downs and thrift-store finds, before leaving the house an hour ago. They were early, but she didn’t want to risk missing the train. Besides, she couldn’t stand being in the house another minute.
Her gaze lingered on the baby, still so tiny and fragile. Gracie’s little arm was swollen and bruised, her face splotchy from the silent tears still trailing down her pale cheeks. Sandra recognized the signs of a broken bone. Her belly clenched and her hands fisted. The animal she’d married had finally gone too far.
The brilliant slash of blood on the baseball bat she’d used on his head flashed in her mind’s eye. Nausea rose, but she choked it down. He was still breathing when she’d left.
How long before someone discovered what she’d done? People would be horrified, but they hadn’t lived with her husband all these years. They hadn’t seen what he’d done. How he’d stolen her babies’ childhoods.
No, she was doing what was best. For all of them.
The car began to vibrate. A whimper sounded behind her. She looked out the window. The fast-moving freight train came around the curve in the tracks.
Finally. Her shoulders sagged and tears she’d held back for years stung her eyes.
Finally.
Dusk settled around them. The lead engine completed the turn and the blinding headlight lit the interior of the car. The whistle blew, long and hard. Metal brakes shrieked. Gracie began to cry, but Sandra shut out the sound. The train wouldn’t be able to stop or slow down in time.
She’d planned their location well. With a 4.0 grade-point average throughout high school, her teachers had predicted a bright future for her. Such a shame she’d waited until now to apply her sharp intelligence. She’d had a beautiful life back then. Supportive home environment, loving parents…she missed them so much.
“I’ll see you soon, Mom and Dad,” she whispered. “You’ll finally get to meet your grandbabies.”
Sparks flew beneath the train as it roared toward them. The engineer pulled on the whistle; the high-pitched wail ear-piercing. Behind her, stifled sobs joined Gracie’s and the handles clicked uselessly on doors rusted shut years ago. The car rocked with the force of the oncoming train. The lines of an old lullaby ran through her mind.
Rock a bye, baby, in the treetop.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.
Down will come baby, cradle and all.
She resisted the urge for one more look at her babies. Not the time to be weak. She had to do this one thing for her girls. Be strong. There was no other choice. No other option.
Dear God, I’ve been a miserable failure my whole life. I don’t deserve any favors, but please … Please, take care of my babies.
The brilliant white light grew in strength until it blocked out everything else.
“Momma?” a little voice whimpered.
CHAPTER ONE (#uefeb9126-c91e-593a-8c3a-2a24a9c125f0)
Twenty-five years later
“Sweet angels in heaven, I need coffee.”
Grace Debry walked into her kitchen, hand outstretched for salvation in a coffeepot, and tripped. Her hip smacked into the granite counter and tears of pain blinded her. She righted herself, rubbing her hip, blinked her gaze clear and screamed.
Her kitchen had been ransacked. A sea of kitchen gadgets covered the pristine black counters. Kitchen towels were everywhere. Spatulas, a meat tenderizer, large spoons, and a collection of other utensils spilled from drawers. The oven door was wide open. Her entire collection of cookware covered the stovetop and sink.
“Purple dandelion blood.”
She covered her mouth, her hand trembling. If only she hadn’t given up swearing. Her foster mother had hated swearing with a passion. Always said it showed a severe lack of vocabulary. Pulse thundering in her ears, she stepped back and took in the rest of her condo at a glance. A well-executed swear word would make her feel so much better right now.
The peaceful serenity of her neat living room and cozy furniture arrangement made the carnage of her kitchen all the more bizarre. She wrapped her arms around her ribcage, trying to still her trembling. The front door and balcony slider were securely dead-bolted.
Maybe she’d woken in the middle of the night and trashed her kitchen? She shook her head. Sleepwalking wasn’t part of her repertoire. She nibbled on her lip. No, not possible. She’d shared numerous bedrooms growing up—not to mention the occasional bed. She would know. Foster kids were not merciful creatures. Neither were jealous co-workers, come to think of it. She’d kept so much to herself since moving to the area, she didn’t know anyone outside of work. Except the little elderly lady downstairs. She couldn’t imagine her or anyone else she knew indulging in a little B&E for kicks and giggles. Or screams.
Swallowing to moisten her dry mouth, she braved the kitchen again. Her heavy marble rolling pin rested against the carpet edge at the entrance. So that was what she’d tripped over.
Grace focused on the pantry door.
A kernel of caution nudged her. The intruder could be behind that door. She snatched the marble rolling pin off the floor and faced off with her frosted-glass pantry door. Reaching for the gleaming silver handle, her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth.
Banging against her front door ripped another scream from her.
“Grace? Are you alright, cher?”
Hand pressed against her racing heart, Grace spun and leapt over the mess covering her floor. She glanced at the wall-mounted clock in her living room. They weren’t carpooling today, which meant Lisette had heard her scream from across the hallway. Grace would be mortified about screaming later. Right now, she was grateful for a friend.
Grace looked through the peephole. Her petite Cajun neighbor from New Orleans bounced on the other side, anxiously twining her long hair around her fingertip. Grace unlocked and opened the door with hands that trembled.
Lisette burst through the opening. “Mon amie! What happened?”
Grace took her time shutting and locking the door. They’d become instant friends when Grace had moved in six months ago, but a lifetime of keeping her own council gave her pause.
A hiss of breath sounded from across the room. Grace turned. Her neighbor stood in the arched entrance to her kitchen. She should have known the warm bundle of energy, otherwise known as Lisette de LaCroix, aka Lisie, wouldn’t wait for an invitation.
“Soc au’ lait! What happened?”
Grace sighed, some of her fear draining now that she wasn’t alone. “I don’t know. I found it like this when I walked in for my coffee.”
Lisette’s impossibly big brown eyes widened. “Surely you heard something?”
This had happened while she’d slept. Grace paused in the middle of the living room, light-headed at the realization that an intruder had ransacked her kitchen while she slept just a room away. Her knees trembled. She snapped her spine straight and sucked in a deep breath.
Joining her friend, she shook her head. “I wear noise-cancelling earbuds at night.”
“Maybe it was done while you were at work yesterday?”
“No …”
Grace stared at the pantry door. She hadn’t checked inside yet. Hefting the rolling pin she hadn’t even thought to put down—latent terror, no doubt—she carefully maneuvered through the maze of kitchen gadgets. Her pulse skipped a beat.
“What’re you doing, cher?”
With a shaky exhale and shakier smile, she glanced at Lisette. “I was just getting ready to check the pantry when you arrived.”
“Check for…Oh!” Lisette’s eyes narrowed. She quickly selected a copper-bottomed skillet, then nodded. “Ready.”
Grace considered asking her to leave for half a beat. She’d feel awful if anything happened to the first real friend she’d made since high school. No way Lisette would go without a fight, though. Stomach clenched tighter than her hand around the marble rolling pin, Grace faced the pantry, yanked open the door and flipped on the light, ready to brain anything that moved.
Empty.
She sagged against the door frame. The floor was piled high with foodstuffs, miscellaneous kitchen tools and dishes, leaving the shelves bare. Her pantry hadn’t escaped her uninvited visitor, but at least the culprit was gone.
Thumbnail caught between her teeth, she turned. “Why would someone break into my place only to mess up my kitchen?”
Lisette tapped the saucepan against her thigh, arched brows drawn together in a frown. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”
The buzzer on the coffeepot went off. Grace jumped and slapped her hand over her mouth to smother a shriek. Just the coffeepot, Grace. Get it together. She glanced at her watch.
“Oh, crap. I’m gonna be late for work.” Leaping over a saucepot, spatula and potato masher, she ran to the bedroom. “Crap, crap, crap.”
At least her makeup and hair were done. Throwing on the outfit she laid out last night would take two minutes, racing down the three flights of stairs and along the sidewalk to her car two and a half, and the drive to the office ten—fifteen if traffic was snarled.
“You can’t go to work. You have to call the police and report this.”
Grace tugged her skirt over her hips and zipped it, frowning. “Why?”
Lisette blinked. “Because your home was broken into, cher. The police are here to protect you. Let them do their job.”
She snorted and pulled her blouse over her head, muttering, “They wouldn’t know how to do their job with a flashlight, map and CliffsNotes.”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t see the point.”
Lips tightening, Lisette planted her hands on the generous curves of her hips. “What’s wrong with you? You act like it don’ madda’! I’m a fixin’ to do it myself.”
Grace winced. Whenever Lisette’s Louisiana drawl thickened, the poo was about to hit the fan. If she started spewing French, it was time to hit the deck. Grace slipped on her shoes and jewelry, stalling. The amount of faith she had in the police could be measured in a thimble, thanks to her childhood experiences.
“Lisie, you know how my boss is. I have a presentation this morning and I absolutely cannot be late. I’ll call the police,” she tried not to gag on the lie, “the moment I get home.”
“Promise me.”
“Cross my heart.”
Lisette stepped out of the doorway and Grace flew past her. Flipped off the coffeepot, snatched up her purse and briefcase, and yanked the door open.
Lisette zapped her with a gimlet-eyed stare as she walked out. “I’m gonna be checking on you tonight.”
Grace smiled. “Thank you.”
Her friend disappeared into her own condo. Grace quickly locked her door, turned and froze. Back pressed to the door, she flicked her gaze up and down the open-air hallway. A stranger had likely stood in the very same spot before stealing inside her condo while she slept. Oblivious.
Tears stung her eyes. Her nails dug into her palm. She took a deep breath and blinked the moisture away. Life wouldn’t wait while she had a meltdown.
Forcefully shoving away from the door, she jogged down the hall. She almost tripped on the stairs in her low heels and forced herself to slow down. A goose egg on her forehead would not be a good look in the board meeting scheduled for…a quick glance at her watch nearly made her trip again. Holy rosebuds. Twenty minutes to get her butt in her office and go over the monthly report on construction progress and actual cost versus estimates before her presentation to Matthew Duncan.
Having her boss’s steely-eyed gaze focused solely on her for the space of ten minutes tried her nerves every time.
She refused to think about what it did to other parts of her body.
“Oh, Gracie. There you are.”
Oh, no. Not now. She didn’t have time. Not to mention her hands were still shaking.
Grace squeezed her eyes closed, reminded herself that she adored her neighbor, plastered on a smile and swung around. Mrs. Freeman’s massive Great Dane strolled beside her, matching his regal walk to the old lady’s shuffling gait.
“Mrs. Freeman.” Grace scanned the area for strangers. No one else was in sight. Grace relaxed a little. “How are you?”
“Just fine, dear. Off to work?”
Apollo pranced, his tongue lolling and eager black eyes focused on Grace. He never once tugged on the leash anchoring him to Mrs. Freeman.
“Yes.”
Grace sighed softly and surrendered, scratching Apollo’s head. He heaved a big doggie sigh of pleasure and leaned into her.
“What are you up to today? Breakfast with your boyfriend?”
Mrs. Freeman glowed with pleasure. “Gracie, you know Roger isn’t my boyfriend.”
“Mr. Gray adores you, and you know it. He takes you out to breakfast as often as you let him, and he’d probably take you to lunch and dinner too. Last week he even took Apollo to his vet appointment when you weren’t feeling well. If that isn’t a sure sign of devotion, I don’t know what is.”
“Roger and I are just friends. He loved his wife, and he still grieves her passing. We fill a space in one another’s life, that’s all.”
“If you say so.” She rubbed Apollo’s back. “We know better, don’t we, Apollo?”
Mrs. Freeman chuckled. “You’d better skedaddle on to work, dear. You don’t want that ferocious boss of yours getting on your case first thing.”
Grace pretended a shiver. “Heavens, no.”
“Some men hide a big heart behind a tough demeanor. My George was that way.” Mrs. Freeman’s eyes went misty. “Tough as a pit bull on the outside, soft and affectionate as an old tabby cat on the inside. Your Mr. Duncan might just need a good woman to tame him.”
“Maybe, but that good woman won’t be me.” Grace glanced at the parking lot then did a double-take. Her car wasn’t in its usual spot. The pit of her stomach fell. “Where’s my car?”
Mrs. Freeman edged her walker forward. “There it is, dear. Across the way.”
Grace followed the direction of the old woman’s trembling, wrinkled finger. Her brand- new tango-red Honda Accord Crosstour sat on the far side of the parking lot beneath a big tree. She blinked, her pulse skittering. Her lips tightened. What the hell?
Mrs. Freeman tutted. “The carport is safer than that old tree.”
“Um-hmm.”
She clutched the handle of her briefcase tight enough to leave finger imprints. No way had she parked there last night. She was never that tired. There’d better not be a single hairline scratch on the finish, or someone was going down. As a practical joke, the humor escaped her. As something more…She didn’t want to think about anything more. She scanned their surroundings again.
Casual expression firmly in place, she glanced at the elderly woman. “Have you heard about any weird break-ins in the complex?”
Mrs. Freeman’s smile disappeared and a little frown crinkled the white skin between her slim brows. “No, dear. Why? Is something wrong?”
Grace forced her stiff cheeks into a smile. “Goodness, no. Just something I overheard in the hallway the other day. I’m sure it’s nothing. You know how kids are.” Leaning down, she planted a soft kiss on Mrs. Freeman’s age-weathered cheek and patted Apollo. “Lovely to see you both. I’ll be by to take Apollo for a walk when I get home.”
She glanced back as she reached the parking lot. Mrs. Freeman’s smile was troubled. Guilt bit hard. Grace waved at Roger Gray as he eased his big Lincoln to a stop near the curb. So he was taking Mrs. Freeman out for breakfast.
As she neared her car, the hair on her neck rose. She glanced around. No face peered from the bushes, no curtains twitched and nothing shifted in the cool morning air. Rubbing her neck with an unsteady hand, she circled the car. Not so much as a fingerprint marred the gleaming finish. She tried the handle. Locked. Rummaging in her purse for the keys, so jittery she may as well have drank the whole untouched pot of coffee, she glanced around again.
A chilly spring breeze ruffled the trees. Shadows skittered for cover.
Grace shivered and hit the remote button to unlock the Honda. With a quick look in the backseat, she tossed in her purse and briefcase, slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut and locked it. She wrapped trembling fingers around the leather steering wheel.
“No boogeyman is going to jump out from behind the tree.” She glanced through the sunroof at the tree branches waving overhead. “Or out of the tree.” The whole morning had her on edge, totally creeped out and talking to herself, which was friggin’ fantastic.
Starting the car, she took a deep breath, focused on the smooth sound of the new engine and automatically checked the gas level. A paper covered the gauges.
Nice car, slut
*****
Matt Duncan peered through the door as Grace got off the elevator and walked down the hall toward her office. He snapped straight, shaking his head in disgust. Leering at an employee—he was such a pervert. In his defense, he’d been closing his door when the elevator pinged. The glimpse of Grace emerging froze him in place.
For six long months he’d worked hard to hide his attraction to her. Ever since she’d walked across his office for her interview. Marilyn Monroe couldn’t have done that expanse of polished hardwood more justice. He’d instinctively checked to make sure his tongue wasn’t hanging out. Miracle of miracles, no drool pooled on his desk either.
Her job performance, warm friendliness with the other staff, persistent charm, quick wit, and sharp intelligence had quickly made her an asset. And served to fuel and deepen his attraction. Admiration and respect rode hard alongside physical attraction.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and clicked the door shut. The day had barely begun and was already headed to hell in a handbasket. Breakfast with his mom and stepdad had rocked his world, and not in a good way. The cherry on top of his crappy morning? His receptionist reminding him of his brother’s appointment.
“Mr. Duncan?”
Matt strode over to his desk and hit the intercom button. “Yes?”
“Your eight-thirty appointment is here.”
Not what he wanted to deal with today. Especially since his mom hadn’t shared her devastating diagnosis with Jeff yet. Cancer. Damn, she didn’t deserve that. Not after all she’d been through with her ex-husband—his father—screwing around on her.
“Send him in.”
Retrieving his coffee from the bar, he carried it to his desk. A large object between him and his brother was always beneficial. Jeff threw open the door and stomped in before Matt’s butt hit leather. Great. Already sporting an attitude.
Matt leaned back, sipping cold coffee gone bitter. His brother flung himself into one of the hard chairs facing the big desk. His worn polo shirt pulled taut over his round belly. Prematurely thinning hair added to Jeff’s general resentment of the world. In less charitable moments, Matt wondered how they came from the same parents.
“Hey, big bro.” Jeff didn’t make eye contact. “What’s up?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who asked to see me.”
Jeff snorted, finally raising watery eyes to Matt. “Yeah, and I have to make an appointment with your stinkin’ secretary to even get in the door.”
“You said it was about business, and that’s how a business is run. People make appointments with one another so they can schedule their day. Makes things easier on everyone.”
“Or just you.”
Matt gently set his cup on the desk and laced his fingers together in his lap. “How’ve you been?”
“Fine.”
“How’s your new job?”
Jeff laced and unlaced his fingers, straightened and slouched and then straightened again. Matt tensed. His brother cracked his neck.
“That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. Things didn’t go so good. The supervisor was totally unreasonable when I forgot to come back from lunch last week.”
“You forgot…” Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. “…to come back from lunch?”
“Yeah. I got distracted. So, I figured, ya know, to hell with it.”
“Really.” Matt wanted to close his eyes and pretend Jeff wasn’t sitting there. That he hadn’t just blown off this latest job. One Matt had gotten for him, calling in yet another favor. He couldn’t wait to hear from the contractor. In fact, he was surprised he hadn’t already.
“I was hoping you’d let me help out on the construction site again.”
Matt bit back a sharp bark of laughter. “You think I should let you back on my job sites, where you took your buddies after-hours two months ago and let them take off with fifteen hundred dollars in materials and tools. Three months ago you almost killed a guy when you swung the crane around too fast and lost a load of lumber.”
Jeff slunk lower. “No need to get bitchy about it, man.”
“I’ve warned you before. No foul language in my office.”
“Sh…Damn, dude. What’s gotten into you?”
“During the ten years you blew off, roaming free and living off Dad, having a grand ol’ time, I’ve worked my butt off building this business. I have a reputation for well-built structures and well-run construction sites. All of my employees behave in a professional manner at all times.”
“I had my own business for a while, ya know.”
Oh, Matt knew. He knew too much about that disaster. It had taken the whole family pooling their resources to drag Jeff’s butt out of the sinkhole he’d created. Plus, a corporate lawyer, moving company and a psychiatrist. He didn’t need to be reminded of that fiasco.
“I can’t allow you on the job sites.”
Jeff stared at the floor and shrugged his shoulders. Beneath the desk, Matt fisted his hand. This shadow of a man was all that was left of his brother. He had so many memories of growing up together, playing alongside each other and on the river, hunting and camping together and the stringers of fish they caught.
He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Nah. I gotta go.”
Jeff rose but hesitated, studying the floor. Opened and closed his mouth. In the end, he just turned and walked out without another word. Matt stared after him. He had spent months working through his anger over his brother’s betrayal, and Jeff never expressed an ounce of remorse.
His shoulders slumped and he fought the urge to lay his head on the desk.
An image of Grace flashed through his mind. The shock of his mom’s news had brought the reality of life sharply into focus. Between his brother’s behavior and his mom’s illness, he didn’t know how much more his family could take. Life was too damn short. He squared his shoulders. It was time to see if there was more to his attraction.
CHAPTER TWO (#uefeb9126-c91e-593a-8c3a-2a24a9c125f0)
“Grace, isn’t that report due to Mr. Duncan. As of, like, five minutes ago.”
“Yes. I’m on my way. I promise.”
“He’s in a real mood today, ya know.” Sally shook her head and walked away.
Like her day didn’t already suck. Getting fired on top of everything else would seriously suck. She’d snagged a position that a lot of people would kill for, in a firm recently listed in the top ten list of a local business publication. At twenty-seven, she was the youngest executive in the large construction firm.
Not to mention, the job enabled her to pay for her beautiful new car.
The low-grade headache thrumming at the base of her skull kicked up a notch. She wanted to drop her aching head into her hands and sob for a few minutes. Or hours. Something…anything to release the build-up of fear, stress and delayed shock. Instead, she straightened her shoulders.
Grace hit PRINT, swiveled around in her chair and snagged a binder from the storage cabinet. Mr. Duncan insisted reports be presented neatly and properly. Printed, bound, no factual errors and no typos.
In the six months she’d worked there, only two people had made the mistake of handing imperfect work to Mr. Duncan. They were no longer employed at the prestigious firm of Duncan Construction, Inc. Personally, she thought that was a bit over the top. Matthew Duncan might be hot sin walking, but he didn’t have to act like the Devil incarnate.
Not that Mr. Duncan was interested in her opinion. Nor would she ever dare voice it. She liked her job and would very much like to keep it. Especially in this economy. A fabulous job she enjoyed was a bonus she didn’t intend to waste by bandying about her opinions about.
She’d worked too hard, for too long to get where she was.
Neatly bound report in hand, she rushed out of her office. Sally, the first friend Grace had made at work, looked up from her desk and sent her a sympathetic smile as she held up two fingers crossed for luck. Grace blew out a breath and grinned.
The click-clack of her modest black pumps followed her down the tiled hallway. The rich cinnamon scent permeating the hall was supposed to be calming. She inhaled deeply.
Mr. Duncan wouldn’t fly off the handle just because he requested this report be in his hands at 9:30 and it was now—she glanced at her watch and swallowed—9:44. Her stomach tightened and she started relaxation breathing.
“Better hurry, Grace,” a masculine voice whispered in her ear.
Without thinking, she spun around and lightly whacked Luke in the gut. “Not funny.”
Hitting her co-worker. Nice. Very professional. She winced. Too much time spent around too many boys growing up and too much…everything this morning.
Luke doubled over, groaning like she’d punched him. Lips twitching, Grace kept walking.
“Oh, man.” He caught up and clapped a hand over his mouth. His cheeks bulged. “Ooh…” One hand pressed to his stomach, he staggered across her path and collapsed against the wall.
“Good grief, Luke.” Grace rolled her eyes. “Get over yourself already.”
He straightened, grinning. “Hey, just trying to keep your spirits up. Facing old man Duncan would terrify anyone. Especially with mediocre, late work in hand.”
“Hey!”
Luke trotted off down the hall with a jaunty wave. The nerve. She did good work, no, excellent work, for this company. Mr. Duncan wouldn’t can her because of one late report. He was a reasonable man. Well, sort of reasonable. In an anal-retentive, obsessive-compulsive kind of way.
She smiled at Nancy, Mr. Duncan’s secretary. Outside Mr. Duncan’s door, she took another deep breath. The stupid cinnamon was so not doing its job.
Grace stared at the dark mahogany door, straightened the hem of her short, fitted blazer, smoothed the back of her knee-length matching tweed skirt and, in general, procrastinated as only a terrified employee could. She’d just about, kind of, almost, worked up the nerve to knock.
“Fortifying yourself to beard the lion?” said a deep voice behind her.
She jumped and almost dropped the precious report. She squeezed her eyes shut and resisted the urge to bang her head against the door. Great. Caught dawdling like a student called into the principal’s office. By her boss, nonetheless. Reminding herself to breathe, she turned.
“Why, yes.” She forced a smile.
Mr. Duncan’s bland expression betrayed none of the soft mockery she could have sworn his voice contained. Did his lips quirk, or was it a trick of the light? He was infamous for his non-existent sense of humor.
“Well, let’s not delay a second longer.” Reaching past her, he turned the knob and pushed open the door. “After you.”
His nearness and masculine scent curled around her with wanton invitation. Imagined invitation, she sternly reminded herself, splashing cold water on her overactive hormones. Dredging up confidence she didn’t feel, she smiled and strode past him into the cool interior of the immaculate office. The door closed quietly behind her.
“Mr—”
“Would you care for a drink, Miss Debry? A shot of Scotch, perhaps?”
She jerked her head up. Again with the dark humor. No, she had to be mistaken. Overwrought with stress and attraction to the point she was imagining things. Sad, really.
His back to her, he rummaged through the bar. From experience, she knew how well stocked it was.
“Um, no. I don’t think a shot of anything would be a good idea at…” She glanced at her watch and winced. Well, no point putting off the inevitable. She cleared her throat. “Nine forty-eight in the morning.”
“How terribly precise, Miss Debry. No, I don’t suppose it would be appropriate to indulge so early.”
He sighed. The unusual sign of humanity took her aback. He sounded tired. More than tired. Bone-deep weary.
“How about some coffee, then? Water? Juice?”
“Coffee would be nice. Thank you.” Swallowing might prove an issue, but he was clearly determined she drink something.
“Cream and sugar, as I recall.”
“Yes.”
Were you courteous to someone you were about to fire? A final liquid meal before kicking them out in the cold? She failed to find any comfort in his hospitality. She eyed his broad shoulders, refusing to allow her gaze to dip lower, no matter how much it wanted to. Since when did he remember personal details about his employees, like how they drank coffee? The fact he’d taken note of her preferences was bewildering.
“I—”
“Please, have a seat. No need to stand when there are relatively comfortable chairs just waiting to be of use.”
He turned from the bar, coffee cup in hand and she headed for one of the chairs facing the massive desk dominating the space. An excellent place for intimidating employees.
“No, no. Not there.”
Her eyebrows shot up at the impatience lacing his words. She always sat in one of those chairs during a meeting with him. Just like he always sat in his elegant black chair behind the large expanse of gleaming wood, maintaining the proper distance between a denizen of the construction world and his employees. Always.
“Yes, I know. I’m excessively full of what’s proper, establishing my authority and all that crap. Come sit over here.”
The conversation area he indicated faced the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. She glanced again at the low-backed chairs in front of his polished desk. Uncertainty sat low and uncomfortable in her belly. Her stomach rolled. Shoulders back, head erect, Grace walked over and sat in a comfortable chair.
She’d always assumed the hard chairs were intentional. A subtle hint that relaxing in his presence was unacceptable.
He placed the full coffee cup and saucer on the table between them, then settled in a neighboring chair. “Is that the report?”
“Yes.” She handed the paperwork to him. “I’m sorry it’s late, Mr. Duncan.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Eyes widening, she clenched her jaw to keep her mouth from dropping open.
He tossed the report on a little table. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
“No, sir.”
He nodded, staring out the windows. It was a beautiful view. Neo-classic buildings sat with cheerful disregard amongst high-rise glass structures like theirs. The oldest had been there since the city’s birth well over one hundred years ago.
The trees were still stark and barren despite the warmer weather. The river twisted like a dark ribbon through the midst of the city that had grown up around it. Hence the city’s nickname, The City of Trees.
Mr. Duncan’s dark gaze returned to her with uncomfortable intensity. She resisted the urge to squirm.
“Are you okay, sir? You don’t quite seem yourself.”
Like she knew him. She gnawed on the side of her lip, wishing she’d kept her big mouth shut. His reserve kept everyone at a distance, even higher-up executives who’d worked with him for years. She was a newbie, inexperienced in the ways of office politics and Mr. Duncan.
“Let’s just say today hasn’t turned out as expected.” A grim smile twisted his lips.
“I apologize. I had no business prying.”
Sighing, he ran a hand through his brown hair, leaving it ruffled. She’d never seen him anything but perfect. The glossy strands looked silky-soft all mussed and somehow made him more human and approachable. More masculine. Her fingers twitched with the desire to touch.
Grace threw the emergency brake on her thoughts and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. Time for a strategic retreat.
“If there’s nothing else …” She started to rise.
“You haven’t touched your coffee.”
“Right.”
Sinking back into the chair, she picked up the delicate china. The rich coffee aroma liquefied her resistance and she relaxed a little, sipping quietly. A dab of cream and a touch of sweetness. Why she was surprised to find the coffee just right, she didn’t know. Mr. Duncan did everything to perfection. It was one of the reasons his company was so successful.
She glanced up. He was watching her. Something in his eyes made her cheeks heat, but his strained expression kept her butt planted firmly in the chair. He looked grievous. Lonely?
“So.” Desperate, she searched for a safe topic of conversation. She lifted the cup to her mouth, sipped and absently licked a stray drop of coffee from the rim. “Did you grow up in Boise?”
His gaze, which had been on her lips, returned to her eyes. She had a sudden urge for lip liner and glossy lipstick. Mr. Duncan settled back. He seemed relieved, as if he’d been afraid she would abandon him.
Wow. She totally needed to get a grip.
“Yes. What about you? I know you graduated from Purdue then worked in the Chicago area for several years before moving here. Did you grow up in Lafayette?”
She blinked. Did he pay such close attention to everyone he hired? Duh. Of course he did. No reason he’d pay special attention to her.
“I grew up in Northern Indiana by Lake Michigan. I lived in Michigan City for a while, then spent all of high school with a family that lived near the border of Michigan City and LaPorte.”
“That’s right. You grew up in foster care. Not an easy childhood.”
Her eyes had to be as big as saucers. She shifted uncomfortably. “How did you know that?”
Amusement brightened his eyes. “You did consent to a full background check, Miss Debry.”
“Well, yes. But I…that is …” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know the extent of what such a check would reveal. Or that you would remember it.”
He inclined his head. “You interest me.”
Grace blinked. Interested him like an insect squashed between two slides and pressed into the plate beneath a microscope lens? “No.”
His eyebrows rose. “No?”
Her face heated. “No, it wasn’t difficult growing up in foster care.”
“Ah. Good.”
She fiddled with her cup. That was a lie, but she didn’t share her past. Besides, her mind had gone completely and utterly blank. In a gulp, she finished her coffee and gently set the cup and saucer on the low table.
Mr. Duncan met her gaze. “What brought you to Boise? It’s a long way from the Midwest.”
“I got tired of the crowds. Chicago is a beautiful city, but it’s congested and rundown. I wanted a change.”
“Why Boise?” He leaned forward. “You could have gone anywhere. You have excellent references. You’re young. The world is your oyster.”
A slight smile revealed a dimple on his left cheek. Attraction zipped through her veins without permission.
Stomach tightening, Grace licked her lips. “I Googled it. Boise sounded small enough to offer room to roam, yet large enough to offer the amenities and shopping I enjoy. Plus, the athleticism of the area appealed to me. Skiing, cycling, hiking. The Greenbelt.” She gestured toward the river. “I was able to find a great condo overlooking the Greenbelt and the Boise River, just past Katherine Albertson Park.”
A great condo easily broken into … The scene in her kitchen flashed in her mind. Her hands shook and she tucked them beneath her legs, focusing on the here and now. She chewed on the corner of her lip. Reduced to rambling. Time to go. She didn’t care how lonely he seemed. He was handsome and wealthy. No way was he lonely.
“I need to get back to work.” Grabbing the cup and saucer, Grace rose and ducked behind the elaborate bar set-up. She washed her dishes and returned them to the sleek wall-mounted cabinets. Turning to leave, she abruptly backed into the cabinet. Mr. Duncan lounged against the granite counter.
She’d never realized how big he was. Other than his demand for perfection, she hadn’t allowed herself to notice anything beyond his extravagant signature on her paychecks. Not his broad shoulders. Not his incredible eyes. Definitely not the way he moved, that somehow communicated “great in bed” to all her feminine transponders.
“Housekeeping takes care of dirty dishes.” His disconcerting dimple winked into existence again.
“I know.” She stepped closer, but he didn’t budge. “Um, I need to sort through the bids for the Peterman Project and select the contractors for the interior.”
He nodded, his gaze unwavering. There was more than enough space between him and the wall to get past. Still, her nerves stuttered and her breath hitched.
“Well, I’ll just get back to work then.” She edged past him.
He didn’t move, but his brown eyes sparked with some emotion that made her long to further investigate this new side of her enigmatic boss.
Grace wasn’t too proud to admit she all but ran. Confused and alarmed by the arousal humming through her, she hurried back to the safe walls of her office. The comfy custom chair embraced her. The bubbles floating across her monitor mesmerized her.
“So, how’d it go?”
She startled like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Luke hung halfway into her office, staring with obvious lust at her coveted corner office.
“How did what go?”
He frowned. “The meeting with Mr. Duncan. I heard your report was late.”
“Oh, right. Well, uh, he wasn’t happy. He said to make sure it didn’t happen again.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s it?”
“You needn’t sound so disappointed.”
Returned to his usual cheeky self in a blink, he grinned. “Hey, I fully intend to have my name on this door at some point.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, but you’ll have to wait until I either do something really stupid or get promoted.”
“No doubt. You wanna get lunch?”
Pulling out the estimates for the Peterson Project, she started sorting them into categories. Plumbing, electric, flooring. “Not today. I was industrious and brought a healthy lunch from home.”
“Far be it for me to compromise your lovely curves.”
She glanced up and caught his lecherous grin. “Practicing for The Shakespeare Festival already?”
The grin transformed into a pout. “At least you could pretend, Grace. You’re a beautiful woman. I’m a handsome man. Why not?”
“You don’t need me to stroke your ego. It’s perfectly healthy without my help. Besides, I adore you like the obnoxious brother I never had.”
Something flickered in his brown eyes. She laughed at his disgruntled expression.
“That’s revolting.” He stomped away.
As much as Luke enjoyed playing the office Romeo, he wouldn’t know what to do if she tried to play his Juliet. Body language was a hobby of hers and his screamed he wasn’t attracted to her, no matter what he might claim.
Mr. Duncan’s heated gaze filled her head. Now there was a man who didn’t pretend. What had he meant, he was interested in her? Because she was a benefit to his company?
He certainly hadn’t looked like he was thinking about business. The expression on his face, in his eyes. Well, he looked like he was thinking about soft sheets and sex. No, she must have misunderstood. Her foster mom always said she read too much into people.
The pang of loss throbbed. Laura had died a few months before Grace graduated from Purdue at the top of her class. She would have been so proud. If only breast cancer hadn’t cut her life so short.
What would Laura have thought of Mr. Duncan? Probably too stiff and formal, too precise for her taste. Laura had learned to live with chaos, setting aside her need for neatness and order in favor of unquestioning love. The foster children she’d accepted into her home, with open arms, demanded that and more. Laura had surrendered everything she had with a gracious sweetness that, years later, still humbled Grace.
A co-worker’s strong cologne drifted through her door. Gross. She wrinkled her nose. Mr. Duncan, on the other hand, smelled incredible.
CHAPTER THREE (#uefeb9126-c91e-593a-8c3a-2a24a9c125f0)
Matt had gritted his teeth as Grace bolted from his office. Discovering her hovering outside his door, bracing herself to meet the Big Bad Wolf in all his toothy glory, had not improved his mood. He liked that his employees were terrified of him. It kept them on their toes. But terrified was a world away from the emotion he wanted from Grace.
Hours later, he still couldn’t get the disastrous meeting out of his head. The buzz of the intercom was a welcome distraction.
“A Mr. Whiles on the phone for you, Mr. Duncan. He’s a bail bondsman.”
Matt raised his eyebrows. “Put him through.” The line clicked. “This is Duncan.”
“Mr. Duncan, my name is William Whiles. I’m checking up on an employee of yours. Grace Debry. Can you confirm she’s employed at your firm?”
Matt hesitated. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your business.”
“Bail bondsman. Protecting my investment, ya know?”
Leaning back, Matt absently picked up an ink pen. “Really?”
“Yes, sir. You can’t be too careful nowadays, not even with a pretty little thing like her.”
His jaw clenched at the overt familiarity. “Miss Debry is out on bail?”
“Yep, that’s right.”
Matt’s gut tightened and he exhaled evenly. “What exactly was her offense?”
“Can’t rightly say. Not my end of the problem.”
She wouldn’t be the first employee to have a problem with the law, but he wasn’t buying it. “You don’t mind if I put you on hold, do you?”
“Not at all. You can’t be too safe nowadays. No sir’ey. You go right ahead. I’ll wait.”
“Thank you.”
Matt dialed Grace’s extension on another line and asked her to come to his office. From his company’s initial investigation and working with her for six months, she didn’t seem like the kind of woman to get into legal trouble. William Whiles, however…
Matt steepled his fingers beneath his chin. Why would someone call under false pretenses? Was Grace involved in something dangerous? Gambling? No. She’d bought a new car a few months ago. The dealership had called after hours to verify her employment and he’d personally taken the call. Drugs? No way. His protective instincts were warring against his usual level-headed approach, making him want to punch William Whiles in the face and ask questions later.
A soft knock, then the door pushed open and Grace peeked in.
“Please, come in and have a seat.”
The gentle sway of her hips as she approached was mesmerizing. He swallowed with difficulty, thankful for the cover of the desk. She glided into one of the chairs facing his desk and crossed one well-shaped bare leg over the other. Lusting after an employee was making office life horny…thorny. Pants tight, Matt shifted.
“Mr. Duncan?”
Right. Get a grip. “I have…” He glanced at his phone lines. The blinking light had stopped blinking. “…had a William Whiles on hold. Do you know him?”
Grace frowned and he tried not to think how adorable she looked. “No, I don’t. Why?”
“He claimed to be a bail bondsman and wanted to verify your employment.”
The frown intensified. Her gaze snapped to his, fair skin flushing then washing free of color. Emerald eyes darkening, Grace’s chin notched up. “I’ve never been arrested in my life.”
Husky with anger, her voice lit his libido on fire. The way she walked and talked combined with the fire in her eyes…Maybe he should call his secretary to monitor the meeting before he lost control, went into caveman mode and alienated Grace. Not to mention got sued for everything he owned.
The simplicity of her response and obvious anger evaporated any doubt and confirmed his initial suspicion. Too bad he’d inadvertently given the guy the info he wanted. “He claimed you were out on bail. I think he was just looking for information. Unfortunately, he knows you work here now. I’m really sorry.”
The tightness bracketing Grace’s mouth relaxed, but worry lines puckered her brow instead. His skin prickled with guilt. Her hair was pulled back in some sort of complicated twist, emphasizing her frail beauty. Granted, he knew she was far from frail after countless board meetings and watching her butt heads with misogynistic contractors. Her inner strength drew him as much, if not more, than her looks.
Matt cleared his throat, annoyed with himself for mooning over her like a pubescent high-school freshman, frustrated with his inability to fix this, and concerned because she still looked too pale. “Miss Debry, is there something going on I can help with? Is someone bothering you?”
She glanced at him, then her gaze fell to her fingers, twisted together in her lap. Her lips parted and closed several times. Chest rising and falling on a silent exhalation, she smiled. “I’m fine, but thank you for your concern. I’d better get back to work.”
She didn’t look fine. Not knowing what else to say or how to convince her to confide in him, he let her go.
Halfway across the room, she turned back. “I’m sorry you were…” she waved a slender hand vaguely, “disturbed on my behalf.”
“It’s not your fault.”
Grace nodded, hesitated for another second then spun on her heel and left.
As soon as she closed the door, Matt picked up the phone and buzzed his secretary. “Nancy, was there a number for the last caller?”
“Just a second, I’ll check.”
Impatiently tapping his fingers on the desk, he stared out the window. What was going on with Grace? He wanted to help. Needed to in a way he couldn’t describe. Cursing his helplessness, he flung the pen he’d been fiddling with onto the desk.
The line clicked open. “The number was blocked, Mr. Duncan.”
“Damn.”
“Can I help with something, sir?”
“I’d really like that last number.”
“Shall I call security to see whether they can find anything?”
Matt hesitated and the line beeped.
“I need to pick up that call.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
The situation didn’t sit well. He felt like he’d harmed Grace, and that was the last thing he ever wanted to do.
*****
Grace drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She couldn’t decide if she was happy to be going home or not. Discovering her kitchen trashed had left her more than a little freaked out. The weird phone call Mr. Duncan had received didn’t help. She needed a dog. One with really big teeth.
She couldn’t call the police. What would she say? “Hi. Someone rearranged all of my kitchen stuff then moved my car to a different spot in the parking lot.”
Right. They’d think she was an escaped mental patient. Besides, her time as a foster child had painted an unfavorable picture of the police. They were sometimes called upon to deliver her from home to home. They could have been carting a cardboard box for all the interest they’d shown. Sitting in the backseat of a patrol car, throat tight, leg bouncing and separated from the uniformed officers by a cage, hadn’t left the best impression.
Like a magnet, the paper lying on the passenger seat drew her gaze. So simple and unassuming. A stray scrap of paper. Could have been anything. Yet it felt like an oversized tarantula crouched on the seat, unmoving, creepy eyes following her every move.
“Just a prank. Some kids getting off on freaking me out.”
Even spoken aloud, the words did little to reassure her. She pulled into her apartment complex and parked in her assigned space. Her car had better be in the same spot in the morning.
Trudging up the sixty-two steps to her condo—she’d counted—she hesitated outside her door. Please, please, please. No more surprises.
Grace unlocked the door and pushed. It swung inward, banging softly into the wall. Nothing stirred. She stepped inside and set down her purse, rubbing the back of her neck.
“Miss Debry?”
With a startled squeak of surprise, Grace swung around. “Mr. Duncan?”
“Are you okay?” He glanced inside, brow drawn tight.
“What are you doing here?” Leaving the door open behind her. Way to be vigilant, Grace.
His frown deepened, but when his gaze again met hers, his eyes were shuttered. “After today’s call, I was worried about you.”
“You were?”
“Is that really so hard to believe?”
“Well, yeah.”
He didn’t respond, just watched her with his unfathomable brown eyes. Heat climbed up her neck and settled in her cheeks. Okay, the polite thing would be to invite him in. She glanced through her lashes. His gaze was fastened on her breasts. Her nipples went pebble-hard in a heartbeat. Gnawing on the inside of her cheek, she gestured him in—not the most gracious invite ever.
“So.” She shut the door and faced him. “You came here just to check on me?”
The setting sun speared through the glass balcony doors and outlined him, making him appear bigger. Harder. Grimmer. Which oddly made her feel safe.
“It’s not often I have people call and lie about one of my employees, Grace.”
Grace? What happened to Miss Debry?
“Uh…”
Nice. Smooth, Grace. Way to fumble like a virgin in the backseat of a car with the quarterback. It’d been a long day. The furnace kicked on and carried Mr. Duncan’s cologne on a burst of warm air, further hobbling her brain.
She cleared her throat. “How about those Boise State Broncos?”
Mr. Duncan’s lips twitched. “I wasn’t aware they were playing.”
“They’re not?”
“No. It’s March.” The twitch spread to a smile and out sprang his dimple.
She crossed her arms. Stared at his mouth. Uncrossed her arms. Cleared her throat again. “Oh.”
His smile slipped into obscurity. That wasn’t disappointment making her sigh. Really.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
The temporary haze of desire lifted and the reality of her morning flooded back. Her muscles clenched. She glanced at the kitchen.
“Grace.” He walked like a cat. In a heartbeat he’d crossed the room and stood far too close, a breath away from invading her personal space. “Please.”
His low voice, combined with a word she’d never heard from him, turned her to mush. Totally unfair. She sighed and gestured toward the kitchen. “Have a look at my kitchen.”
He turned without question and crossed the room.
Restless from the day’s events and his presence in her space, she kicked off her shoes and curled into a corner of the couch. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Just someone messing with me.”
He turned, frowning. “Assuming you’re normally neat here, like at work, this is more than someone messing with your stuff.”
He’d noticed she was neat at work? “It’s not a big deal.”
The frown turned into a glare and she sighed.
“Fine, it is a big deal. Also, when I left for work this morning, my car had been moved across the parking lot.”
Mr. Duncan’s expression cleared, leaving him about as readable as a brick wall. “What did the police say?”
She bounced off the couch and paced to the sliding door that led onto her small balcony. “Nothing, since I didn’t call them. What would I have said? Someone didn’t like the placement of my baking tools and spaghetti noodles? My car drove itself across the parking lot? Oh, but nothing was taken, Officer. No, the car wasn’t harmed. Of course I’m not on any medication. Oh, you’d like to take me down to the hospital for a psych evaluation? On the state’s dime? How generous.”
“Are you finished?”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms.
“No damage done and nothing taken doesn’t mitigate the situation. Someone broke into your home and your car.”
“Nobody threatened me.”
He strolled toward her. “You have to be hurt or confronted to get scared?”
“No, but nothing major happened.” Her voice rose. She hated being backed into a corner, and that was exactly what he was doing. Deep breaths. Self-control. She refused to yell at her boss.
“Show some common sense. A crime was committed and you need to report it.”
“I don’t want to, Matt!”
Grace gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. She’d yelled. Called him by his first name. Holy crap. He was not the friendly, easy-going kind of boss that promoted familiarity.
His eyes dark with intensity, he closed the distance between them and gently took her hand between his. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry it upsets you. I’m sure you have your reasons, but this is important.”
Sweetheart? What… Gaze never leaving hers, he brushed his lips across the back of her knuckles.
Her knees turned to water. The look in his eyes was the same as when they had stood behind the bar in his office. Right before she’d bolted.
Nerves licked along her spine. She moistened her lips. “I do realize it’s important. It’s just…I don’t like the police. My childhood… They aren’t…” She bit back a groan and pressed her lips together, meeting his gaze. Noticed tiny flecks of light that seemed to dance in his brown eyes, enticing her closer. Fogging her brain. “I don’t like the police,” she finished softly.
His heat and cologne were an intimate invitation her body was only too happy to accept. Sat up and begged to accept. She swallowed. His finger glided along the edge of her jaw, the coarse texture against her skin surprising and arousing. She glanced down. Rough calluses lined the inside of his hand and fingers. She’d never noticed his hands before; now they fascinated her.
“Call the police.”
Minty-fresh breath washed over her face. Instinct as old as time brought her a step closer. Matt’s eyes narrowed and his gaze dropped to her lips. His head lowered.
She jerked back and slammed into the glass door. Her face heating, she reached up to rub her abused head. Matt… Mr. Duncan, beat her to it. His strong fingers massaged her scalp. Her eyelids drifted shut. Angelic cherubs above, he knew how to use his fingers. Another, much lower, throb joined the first.
Firm, masculine lips feathered across hers. How she managed to remain upright and not melt into a puddle, she didn’t know. Opening her eyes, she stared at Matt. Head cradled in his broad palm, his lips an inch from hers, she forgot how to breathe.
Regret flickered in the depths of his eyes, and he gently untangled his hand. Her happy bits whimpered in denial. Her conscience slapped them into silence—the one thing in her whole body staving off looming insanity.
Number-one mistake—fling with your boss.
“I’d say I’m sorry,” Matt shrugged, “but…”
I’m not, was unsaid, but she heard it just the same. Matt’s gaze lingered on her mouth.
She bit her tongue to stop herself from saying anything dumb. Or worse, licking her lips again.
“I’d better go.”
Doorknob in hand, he paused and seemed to consider her. She tried to meld into the glass door, struggling to wrap her brain around what had just happened.
“Promise you’ll call the police and have the locks changed, Grace. Please.”
Her knees trembled. Two pleases in the space of fifteen minutes from her intractable employer. She nodded, releasing her tongue to gnaw on the inside of her cheek. The door closed behind him and silence descended. Relaxing in small increments, she slid to the floor.
A bouquet of flowers she’d received the other day drew her gaze. They’d shown up on her doorstep without a card. Glancing from them to her disaster zone of a kitchen, she narrowed her eyes. The coincidence was too much to ignore. She rose, snatched them out of the vase, yanked open the balcony door and tossed them over the railing.
“What the…” came a male voice from below.
Grace groaned and leaned over the balcony railing. Mr. Duncan straightened, a few of the discarded flowers in hand. Flower petals decorated his dark hair and the breadth of his shoulders. He glanced up.
Perfect. Could this day get any better? She smiled weakly.
He waved the flowers. “Friends of yours?”
“Not exactly. Sorry.”
He grinned. Even three flights away, it decimated her. Sweet heaven, his smile should be illegal.
“No problem.” He waved and walked away.
She was rooted to the spot. His athletic stride carried him around the side of the building. She groaned and dropped her head into her hands.
Perfect. Just…perfect. In the space of twenty-four hours, her life had gone from pleasantly simple to anxiety- and lust-ridden. She massaged her temples. Boring was so underappreciated.
• Freaked out by stranger invading her home………CHECK
• Ticked about stranger moving her precious car………CHECK
• Mysterious flowers messing with her head………CHECK
• Flirting & considering having a wild fling w/boss………CHECK
• Men in white coats arriving soon to cart her off………CHECK
Sweet baby cherubs, her life was ricocheting out of control. Grace dialed the police with a soft groan. World’s Biggest Idiot should be stamped across her forehead.
An hour later, she ushered the uniformed police officer out and pressed cool palms to her hot cheeks as she stood in the doorway. Calmly dealing with the sanctimonious, condescending prick had taken every iota of self-control she possessed.
“Probably just a prank, miss. We’ll send a cruiser through the area on a regular basis, if it’ll make you more comfortable.”
The only thing missing was a pat on the head.
Lisie’s door cracked open and her friend’s head popped out, her eyes big as saucers and swimming with worry when they met hers. Despite the circumstances, Grace couldn’t help smiling and rolling her eyes at Her Royal Nosiness.
“You want some company, cher?”
“No, thanks. I think I’m going to turn in early.”
“Alright.” Lisie frowned. “Give me a call when you’re ready to tackle that mess and I’ll come help, you hear?”
“Bossy.”
“Is that a yes?”
Grace brought her heels together and snapped a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
Lisie snorted a soft laugh and pointed a long-tipped finger at her. “I’m holdin’ you to it.”
Smiling, Grace closed her door and leaned back against it. A glance at her kitchen and her smile slipped away on a sigh and a shiver. There be creepers out there.
CHAPTER FOUR (#uefeb9126-c91e-593a-8c3a-2a24a9c125f0)
Matt steered the heavy bike into Julia Davis Park. Bright sunshine, blue skies, warm temperatures, and a cool breeze felt more like May than March. He idled to a stop at the side of the narrow road, near a large fountain in the center of the park.
People rode bicycles, children swarmed over the playground, old couples fed ducks and teenagers played with their dogs. Fresh-cut grass scented the air. His gaze swung back to one of the teenagers with a dog and he stiffened, blindly reaching to turn off the rumbling engine.
A big dog had a female teenager down on the grass and it looked like…He shot off the bike and was running before he’d completed the thought.
The closer he got, the bigger the dog became. It loomed, massive and fierce, over the girl on the ground. The dog raised its massive head, locked gazes with him and shifted to stand over the girl. The animal’s protective stance slowed Matt. He stopped several yards away.
The girl lying on the grass tilted her head back. He didn’t dare look away from the huge dog, but an inkling of suspicion trickled through him. From the corner of his eye, pink infused her cheeks and her eyes shone bright with laughter. He might have misjudged the situation.
“Apollo, down.” The dog obeyed her firm command with the docility of a pussycat. Apollo’s gaze didn’t waver. The message came through loud and clear: watch his step or he’d be dog chow.
The girl rolled into a sitting position with fluid grace and tilted her head to the side as she contemplated him.
Daring to look away from the big dog, he met her eyes and rocked back on his heels. Hard. “Grace?”
She laughed and hugged her knees to her chest. Her cheeks were rosy from wrestling with the dog, she had grass in her dark hair and there was dog slobber on her pants. He couldn’t remember a more appealing sight.
“Hello, Mr. Duncan.”
She’d called him Matt at her apartment a few days ago.
He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”
“You mean your extensive background check missed something?” Her light, teasing tone stirred something in him. “I don’t have a dog. Apollo belongs to my neighbor. I enjoy playing with him and take him out for walks whenever I can. There weren’t any dogs in the foster homes I grew up in, and I always wanted one.”
“Really?” Apollo lay panting on the grass, watching him. Must be a male neighbor. He couldn’t imagine anyone else owning a dog like that. Jealousy sucker-punched him and he crossed his arms. “He doesn’t give you any problems? He’s awfully big.”
She chuckled and stood, brushing grass off her jeans. “Now there’s an understatement. He’s an absolute teddy bear, though. Wouldn’t hurt a flea. We were just wrestling when you came flying to the rescue.” She gave a cheeky grin.
Unbelievably, heat washed over Matt’s face. He didn’t usually get embarrassed. Ever.
Grace’s grin widened, displaying a playful side he hadn’t seen in the office. “You’re very sweet. It probably looked like he was mauling me, instead of playing. I don’t know why, but his muzzle tickles and when I start laughing, it eggs him on.”
He glanced at her jeans, enjoying the way they molded to her curves, and up to her fitted T-shirt. She filled out casual clothes very well. Very well. He’d like to find her ticklish spots.
His gaze returned to her face. Deep rose painted her cheekbones. The deepening shade of her green eyes reminded him of standing in her apartment, the soft curves of her body between the glass door and him. Their almost-kiss had fueled his fantasies all week.
Unfortunately, he still didn’t know how to handle the situation. Pursuing an employee seemed unethical. Not to mention putting him at risk of a major sexual-harassment lawsuit. Plus, he wasn’t great with personal relationships. Matt’s gaze shifted to Apollo again, jealous heat burning his belly. “The dog’s owner doesn’t mind you borrowing him?”
“No. She’s pushing eighty and is glad to have someone with a bit more energy to play with him.”
“What’s an old woman doing with a Great Dane?”
Her eyes narrowed and cooled. Well, shit. Grace’s fondness for the dog must extend to the owner.
“He’s very gentle and not at all demanding. I’m sure he’d be content to sit at home with her. He was doing exactly that before I moved in and he never appeared unhappy or neglected.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to imply anything bad about the dog or the lady.”
She nodded. In his experience, women pouted, whined and gave him the cold shoulder. They did not, ever, forgive after a simple apology.
Grace sat and patted the ground. “Pull up a section of grass.”
Only a fool would turn down an invitation to sit in the sunshine with a beautiful woman. He parked his butt.
“You look different than you do at work.” He bit off a groan. Freakin’ brilliant observation, Sherlock.
Grace laughed. “So do you.”
She was watching some kids play across the park, leaving him to admire her profile. Desire thickened his cock and tongue. He shifted, focusing beyond the physical to tamp down his arousal. Like her funny, quirky personality, the impish mischievousness he sometimes saw in her eyes and her unfailing honesty—even when it didn’t flatter her.
“So…” Matt searched for a conversational gambit to save his ass. “If you like dogs so much, why don’t you get one of your own?”
She shrugged. “I work a lot and live in a condo with no yard, none of which sounds like the ideal life for a dog.”
As much as he wanted to show up on her doorstep tomorrow with a puppy—and what the hell was that about?—her reasoning was sound. Since he couldn’t exactly buy her a house, he tossed about for another topic. Something that didn’t involve the sudden onset of a rapidly deteriorating mental state—his.
“Did you call the police?” He hadn’t seen her at work to ask. Not wanting to come off as stalkerish, he hadn’t sought her out either.
She nodded, wrinkling her nose. “Fat lot of good it did me.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“They brushed the whole thing off as some sort of prank. No damage done.” She glanced at him, then away again just as quickly. “Thank you for your help, though. It was sweet of you to be so concerned.”
Mouth pulled tight, he straightened. “The police did nothing?”
“They took a report, patted me on the head and left.” Grace plucked blades of grass, looking vulnerable as hell until she glanced up and grinned. “Just like I said they would.”
Despite the annoyance riding him hard over the police, he couldn’t resist her smile. “Yeah, yeah.”
“May I ask you a personal question?”
Matt froze, a dozen unpleasant scenarios running through his mind. “Sure.”
“The other day at work, you seemed off. What was wrong?”
Damn. Not as bad as he’d feared, but the last thing he wanted was to come across as a momma’s boy. Still, he couldn’t lie. Not to her. “My mom has breast cancer.”
“Oh, Matt.”
Her slender fingers brushed down his arm and settled on top of his hand. His work-roughened hands, thanks to time spent on job sites instead of sitting in the office. Her hands were baby-soft and pale. The contrast enhanced her femininity. Made him feel like a pheasant begging for the fair maiden. He grimaced. Yeah, he’d officially lost his mind.
“That’s awful. I lost my foster mom to breast cancer several years ago. They’re able to detect cancer so early, though. With treatment, your mom has excellent chances for recovery.”
He blinked away a sheen of moisture and cleared his throat. The depth of her sympathy disarmed him. “I’m sorry about your foster mom. I sincerely hope you’re right. My mom just remarried a few months ago. My stepdad will be devastated if anything happens to her.”
“So will you.”
“Yeah.”
Grace wove her fingers through his and squeezed. He didn’t want to think about his mom dying a slow, miserable death. Life pulsed and flowed around him, drawing him out of the gray pallor that clung to him every time he thought about his mom’s illness.
With a final squeeze, Grace released his hand. He immediately missed the contact. Apollo nudged his blocky head onto Grace’s lap. She stroked his head and envy clawed at Matt’s gut. Jealous of a dog. He’d better keep a close eye out for the men in white coats.
Grace’s gaze skimmed his heavy boots, worn blue jeans and black leather jacket over a T-shirt. He’d taken off his dark sunglasses and stuck the earpiece in the collar of his shirt. Her perusal sent his senses humming like a high-performance engine begging to be set loose.
“You aren’t exactly dressed for a day at the park.”
“I was riding through until I saw the dog on you.” He wasn’t about to admit he’d thought she was a teenage girl.
“You’re riding a bicycle dressed like that?”
He chuckled. “Not exactly.”
Matt pointed to his Harley parked at the curb. Her reaction didn’t disappoint. Those gorgeous eyes widened and her mouth formed a little “O” of surprise. He wanted to explore those lips, taste them and learn their texture. The little brush days ago hadn’t been nearly enough.
“Would you like a ride?”
Where had that come from?
Not that he regretted the invitation. The thought of her riding behind him on his bike had certain body parts growing out of proportion to the situation.
“I can’t.” Her lower lip jutted out in disappointment.
He barely managed to leash his primal urges. This wasn’t the time to introduce her to Caveman Duncan.
“I have to take Apollo home.” She grinned, impish and adorable. “Unless you’re hiding a doggy side car somewhere.”
“Uh, no.”
Her smile slipped a little and her gaze drifted back to his motorcycle.
“You like motorcycles?”
“Oh, yeah.”
The husky way she spoke had his body stomping with impatience at the gate. Damn. A glass of chipped ice would come in handy about now…to dump down the front of his pants. “How about I swing by your condo in an hour? We can go for a ride and grab dinner.”
“I would love that. Thank you.” She snagged Apollo’s leash off the grass and scrambled to her feet. “I’d better run if I’m going to be ready on time. See you soon.”
She waved and started across the expanse of grass. Matt stood rooted, mesmerized by the way her jeans cupped her swaying bottom. She turned and he jerked his gaze to her face, guilty as a horny teenager caught ogling a Playboy magazine.
“Do you remember where I live?”
He grinned.
“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “You have a photographic memory.”
With another jaunty wave, she spun on her heel. Putting his photographic memory to its best use in years, he memorized the way her hips rocked until she disappeared around a curve in the Greenbelt. Shaking off his hormone-induced stupor, Matt headed for his bike. He settled in the seat with a grimace.
Several hours of similar agony loomed in his future. With her wrapped around him like a second skin, riding behind him on the Harley, he didn’t have a prayer of controlling his body. He didn’t care. The pleasure of feeling her against him and the delight of her company would be worth it.
He straddled the bike, pulled his helmet on and gunned the engine. He had a few things to do before heading to Grace’s condo.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_987dee7a-c99e-5948-bf96-ccbd9b114a1b)
Grace let herself into her condo, collapsed against the door then half a second later pushed upright and exited the condo again. She pounded her fist on Lisie’s door, chewing on the inside of her lip, gaze repeatedly skipping toward the stairs Matt would soon climb.
The door jerked inward by a rather irate-looking Lisie, her fist planted on her hip and dark eyes blazing. “Where’s da fire, sug?”
“I’m going out with my boss.”
“Ooooh!” Lisie rubbed her hands together, shrugged out of her paint smock and followed Grace back to her place. “Watcha gonna wear?”
“Clothes?” Grace rushed into her bedroom, unbuttoning her jeans and yanking off her T-shirt. They landed in her hamper as she passed into the en suite bathroom.
The cool tile underfoot and the sea-green-and-blue color scheme calmed her. She’d spent her first weekend painting and decorating the condo. All her years moving to different foster homes had taught her how to quickly make a space feel like home. She had more resources these days, but the goal stayed the same.
She shook her head over the way she’d bolted as soon as she’d rounded the corner and escaped the heat of Matt’s gaze. Good thing she stayed in shape, or she’d never have made it to her building. Apollo loped easily at her side for the entire three-quarter mile––show-off.
Not taking the time to visit with Mrs. Freeman when she dropped him off made her feel guilty. She’d promised to stop by tomorrow after church to make up for it.
Grace splashed water on her cheeks. The cold sting helped. Exertion, desire, and anticipation hummed through her body.
“How long since ya been on a date?”
Frowning, she turned. Lisie lounged against the bathroom doorframe, examining her lethally long, meticulously manicured fingernails. “Is it a date?”
One eyebrow arched. “You tell me, cher.”
She pictured Matt standing in the park. Arms crossed, jacket straining across his broad shoulders, legs spread and denim hugging thick muscles. His casual clothes revealed a physique she never would have suspected lurked within his polite business suits. From the unapologetically masculine black leather to the gleaming chrome Harley beast, there’d been nothing polite about him today. Heaven help her, she got damp just thinking about it.
“If it isn’t a date, someone should alert my hormones.”
Lisie grinned. “Dere ya go. Is a date.”
“Hmm…” It had to be politically incorrect to want to jump her boss, even if he’d indulged in a few carnal thoughts of his own. The strain on his poor zipper would have been obvious to a blind man. She deserved a medal for not staring.
Her shiver had nothing to do with cool tiles or chilly water. He was uber-delish, business savvy, street smart and had a wicked sense of humor. With the speed of a woman who’d worked in a beauty salon through college, she went from day-off to date-night in minutes. She amped up her makeup, brushed her hair, added a few curls, then spritzed with a yummy-smelling hairspray.
In her bedroom, she refreshed her deodorant and perfume. Then she hurried into the spacious walk-in closet. Her clothes lay scattered on the floor. The wood hangers dangled on the rod, empty. She blindly reached for the wall for support. Chills crawled over her skin. Not again.
Grace backed out and stared at her bedroom. Nothing looked out of place. Yet every scrap of clothing that had been hanging in her closet, organized by color and style with OCD precision, lay on the floor.
“Cher, wha’s wrong?”
Trembling, she waved at her closet. Lisie scrambled off the middle of her bed, where she’d made herself comfy. Grace rubbed her arms and approached her dresser. She stared at the drawers, afraid to open them. Fast, like a Band-Aid. She yanked open the first drawer. Then the next and the next and the next.
The drawers were undisturbed. Her socks were still tucked in place, alongside her neatly folded panties. Each drawer was just as it had been when she’d left that morning. Staying a good five feet back, just in case, she peeked under the big bed.
Nothing. It didn’t make any sense. Any more so than the incident on Tuesday.
“Saints above.” Lisie crossed herself. “Ya best pack a valise and come stay with me.”
Grace blinked. “A what?”
“A…suitcase, y’all call it.”
She shook her head and walked through the rest of her condo. Running away wasn’t an option. Her laptop sat in its usual place atop the pretty desk she’d picked up at an antique store several years ago. The flat-screen TV was untouched, as were her stereo and other components. Everything was fine. In its place, neat and orderly. The fan circled lazily overhead. Goose bumps broke out across her skin. Someone rapped on her front door and she jumped.
“Sweet baby cherubs.”
She pressed a hand to her galloping heart then whipped around in search of a weapon. Throw pillows, delicate hand-blown glass bowl, dainty lamp. Damnit. Why hadn’t she decorated with anything heavy? Or sharp and pointy? She grabbed her cordless handset and approached the door as another knock sounded.
Lisie wrapped an arm around her waist, patting her. “Calm down, sug. I don’t think da bad man would knock. Is likely da hotness ya call ‘boss.’”
“Grace?”
Holy crap. It was Matt. She glanced down at her bra and panties.
“Uh, just a sec.”
Grace raced for her room on less-than-steady feet. She couldn’t leave him standing outside while she dug through the pile of clothes, trying to find something to wear. Groaning, she snatched her robe off the bedpost and stuffed her trembling arms into the sleeves. Tying the sash with a sharp yank, she hurried out, ignored Lisie’s squeak of alarm, and yanked open her door.
Matt’s eyes widened and she glanced down. Greeting someone at her front door had been the last thing on her mind when she purchased the robe. Her face warmed. The burned-out velvet exposed as much as it covered.
Nothing left but to brazen it out, she smiled. No biggie. She greeted big, hunky men who just happened to pay her salary dressed like this all the time.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Duncan. Come in, please. I’m not ready yet.”
Lisie snickered. Oh great, Grace. Nothing like stating the obvious.
“Please don’t apologize. I’ll be reliving this moment for days.” He strolled in, his woodsy cologne blanking her brain. “I prefer when you call me Matt. It might be kind of awkward if you call me Mr. Duncan all evening.”
That answered one question. “Sure.” She closed the door and indicated Lisie. “Meet my neighbor, Lisie. Can I get you a drink?”
“Nice to meet you, Lisie.”
“The pleasure is all mine, dawlin’.”
Matt didn’t seem to notice her BFF’s fawning. Instead, he stood stock still in the middle of her living room, staring at her legs. She yanked on the robe’s hem, but no amount of tugging lengthened the damn thing. His gaze crawled up her body.
A firm believer in equality, Grace returned the perusal. Once again, he had his sunglasses tucked into the neckline of his shirt. Never before had she found that sexy, but hey, times changed. From the look of it, he wore a black silk T-shirt under his leather jacket. He looked scrumptious in black.
Lisie cleared her throat. When she glanced at her, she fanned her face, eyes wide. If it wouldn’t have been obvious, Grace would have done the same.
“What do you have?”
“What?” She blinked and whipped her gaze back to Matt. Her female parts were begging to get up close and personal with his male parts, but she was fairly sure that wasn’t what he meant. Especially not in front of her friend. She wasn’t into that sort of thing.
His lips curved to reveal that tempting dimple. She didn’t know what she’d do if he gave her a real smile. Probably melt into a puddle of undersexed hormones at his feet.
“You offered me a drink?”
“Oh. Right. Um…soda, iced tea, wine and water.”
“A glass of ice water would be nice.” The intensity of his gaze ratcheted up a few notches. “It’s a bit warm in here.”
She swallowed and hurried into her kitchen. Lisie followed close on her heels.
“Damn, sug!” Lisie hissed, eyes bugging a bit as she ogled Matt. “You could’a warned me.”
Grace shrugged and stole glances at him over her shoulder as she grabbed a glass. He strolled over to the French doors that opened onto a nice-sized balcony overlooking the Boise River. Ice clinked loudly in the glass from the dispenser and he turned. Grace’s face heated and she lowered her gaze, but couldn’t resist sneaking another peek through her lashes.
“I’ll leave you to it, cher.” Lisie winked at her before heading to the front door. “Hope to see you again soon, dawlin’,” she called to Matt. He nodded his head and waved, smiling at her.
Looking oddly at home in Grace’s feminine room, he settled onto her couch. Except for his earlier visit, no men had been in her living room. In her condo, period. Not even a date in seven months. No wonder she was having a hormone overload. She wasn’t used to being aware of her sexuality, much less someone else’s.
Lifting a black boot to settle his ankle on his other knee, he rested a long arm on the back of the couch.
“Sorry I’m not ready.” She thought about the mess in her closet and her knees weakened. “I found… I don’t know what I found, actually. The clothes in my closet…” She bit the inside of her lip and walked into the living room. She didn’t want to get into this with him again. “Never mind. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
He accepted the glass of ice water, frowning. “What did you find?”
“Matt.” She sighed and surrendered to the inevitable. “The clothes in my closet are messed up.”
“Show me.” He rose.
Grace sighed again, but what difference did it make? She led him to the open closet door. He stood beside her, silent. She shivered. Clothes that had hung just so, neatly folded sweaters, her shoes—they were all scattered on the floor.
Matt wrapped an arm around her and pulled her snugly to his side. She hadn’t expected it or wanted it, but sharing the moment helped. Diluted the impact somehow. The warmth of his body and the hard muscles wrapped around her melted the insulating layer of shock.
She leaned against him, struggling to resist hiding her face in his shirt. Hiding from the fear that had every muscle clenched to the point of pain. From the sense of violation churning her stomach. Hiding from the thought of a stranger in her home. Again.
“You need to call the police. I know it seemed like a waste of time the first time, but you still need to file a report.” His gaze held her fast. “This is the second time. In case anything else happens, and I’m not saying anything else will, but if it does, this will be factored into the equation.”
Her head began to throb.
His eyebrow arched. “You didn’t get your locks re-keyed, did you?”
Shoulders drooping, she shook her head. The urge to rest her head against his broad shoulders was strong. She resisted.
Matt’s lips tightened, then he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll call a locksmith while you get dressed.”
She nodded, numb. He was taking this so seriously it made it hard to pass it off as some teenage prank. His arm tightened around her, then let go. The bedroom door shut behind him with a quiet click.
Grace allowed a moment to wallow, then straightened her shoulders and pulled on a pair of blue jeans. Reluctantly, she went into her closet and dug through the pile on the floor. Something was odd about some of the clothes.
The arm of a red sweater seemed too long, while a black skirt was oddly misshapen. She held them up and gasped. Hands trembling, she dug through the pile. About half of them were torn or ripped. Her lower lip quivered and she bit it, blinking back tears.
Sitting on her closet floor and having a good old-fashioned sob-fest sounded appealing, but her boss was waiting in the other room. They were moving into dating territory, and she didn’t want to start out with puffy eyes and a red nose. Not attractive. She yanked a lightweight cashmere sweater off the floor.
A jagged-edged piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Her breath caught. The white square lay on top of the tweed skirt she’d worn to work a few days ago. Innocuous. Apprehension coiled inside. Not another one.
With the same cautious respect she would show a boa constrictor, she picked it up. She took a breath. Squeezed her eyes shut and flipped the paper over. She opened one eye and peered at the paper.
Both eyes open, she sat back on her heels.
Think you’re something special, don’t you? A fancy job, big condo
and expensive clothes won’t change anything.
You’re nothing but trailer trash, slut.
Trailer trash?
A shudder trembled the paper in her fingers. On the edge of hysteria, she rubbed her forehead. Be rational. Deep breath. Her chest rose and fell on a deep inhalation. Okay, good. You’re life hasn’t been a bed of roses. You can cope without falling apart. It’s just words on a piece of paper. Yes, someone was in your home. Someone damaged your clothes. No biggie. Clothes are replaceable. The important thing is, whoever was here is gone. Right now, there’s a big, handsome man waiting in your living room. For you. Focus on that.
Grace straightened her shoulders, wiped a stray tear from her cheek and stood. She set the paper on her bed and pulled the intact cashmere sweater over her head. Her thoughts ran in circles as she tugged on socks and tennis shoes. Looping a strand of hair round her finger, she stared at the paper. What she wouldn’t give to crumple it into a ball and toss it. Instead, she grabbed the scrap and headed into the living room, resigned to the inevitable.
Matt glanced up from where he sat on her floral couch, her cordless phone and the phone book in hand. Her lips twitched. Like a physical caress, his gaze moved over her. Appreciation gleamed in the dark depths. His eyes narrowed on the paper in her hand.
“What’s that?”
“I found it on the floor mixed in with the clothes—most of which have been slashed.” She placed it face up on the coffee table. Matt leaned forward.
“Trailer trash?”
She settled on the couch beside him. “I’ve never even lived in a trailer.”
“I don’t like this, Grace. The note makes it more personal.”
She bit her lip, not wanting to mention the other note. The one she’d found in her car. A stress headache bloomed into life right behind her eyes. He picked up her cordless from the coffee table and handed it to her. “Call the police.”
“You know you’re incredibly bossy, right?”
“Hazard of being the boss, I guess.”
He leaned back against her pillows. He didn’t even appear offended. Relaxed and comfortable came to mind, despite the frown drawing his dark brows together and the tight set of his lips. Sprawled on her couch, he also looked entirely too sexy for her peace of mind.
His gaze dropped to the phone lying in her limp hand, then back up to her face, with a lift of his brow.
“Bossy,” but still she dialed. Bossy, yes. But right too. At least he provided a distraction from her fear.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_f6fa025b-795f-5845-93f4-876e436c4bed)
Matt settled into the booth across from Grace. Sharing her side of the table held more appeal, but that would probably be pressing his luck. Besides, he’d been patient for six of the longest months of his life, admiring her intelligence, spirit, fire and beauty from afar. He could be patient a while longer.
Dusky rose spread across her cheeks. To his amusement, she avoided eye contact, perusing her menu with great interest. The past week had shown she wasn’t immune to him. Before that, she hadn’t revealed the slightest awareness of him as a man. He had started to worry.
He wasn’t worried anymore.
He glanced at the menu. Angell’s Bar & Grill tended to be fairly quiet, even during the dinner rush. Classy, great food and they weren’t too fussy about how their customers dressed.
They placed their orders and he rested his arms on the table. If he wasn’t mistaken, Grace had enjoyed riding on his bike. He’d certainly gotten a rise out of her riding behind him. Literally and figuratively. She’d wrapped herself around him in a way that went beyond the mere physical.
He sipped his water, searching for a safe topic of conversation. Something to keep her mind off the creep breaking into her place. “Have you made it out of the city yet?”
“I went to McCall. The Winter Carnival was fun, and the ice sculptures were amazing.”
“They’re different every year too. I try not to miss it.” He grinned. “They can get pretty goofy. There was a toilet one year.”
“You’re kidding.”
Matt shrugged, laughing. Grace chuckled, but a few seconds later her gaze drifted to the window. She had to be pretty upset about what happened at her condo. A woman living alone… He didn’t like her vulnerability with some freak on the loose. May as well address the elephant in the room.
“Is there anyone you’ve met since moving here that seemed off?”
Her expression didn’t so much as flicker, which told him her mind had been in the same place. She shook her head.
“I’ve been searching my brain. No one comes to mind. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened. No creepy vibes. No strange men following me.” She shrugged.
“All you can do at this point is be extra vigilant.” He wished he could offer her something more tangible.
“You’re right. It’s just so…I don’t know. Out of left field. I haven’t even lived here that long. This kind of stuff happens in the movies, to other people.”
Their food arrived and Grace poked at her steak, swirled the tines of fork in her mashed potatoes, stabbed a piece of lettuce, then set the fork down without taking a bite. He hated not knowing what to do and longed to find a way to comfort and reassure her. He’d dreamt about having her all to himself for months, and while he’d take it any way he could get it, knowing she was upset dimmed his pleasure. His mother had taught him that most women preferred a sympathetic ear to Mr. Fix It, but it was a difficult urge to resist.
Grace rubbed the back of her neck, cast him a soft smile, and began eating her meal. His shoulders relaxed.
Man, he had it bad.
Grace glanced up. “What made you get into construction?”
“My father was in the business, so I grew up around it. Starting up my own business was a natural extension. I just grew it bigger and better.”
Grace laughed. “Nothing wrong with your ego.”
“Hey, I won’t lie.” He grinned. “I’m proud of the company I’ve built from the ground up.”
“You have every reason to be proud of your accomplishments. What’s it feel like, when you’re driving around and look at a restaurant, a store, or someone’s home, and know you made that happen? You’ve left your fingerprint on this valley. That’s gotta feel good.”
He shrugged. No one had ever put it like that. She made him sound like more than he was, which felt damn good.
“I don’t think about it.”
Her eyes widened and she leaned forward. The low neck of her sweater gaped and no force on earth could have stopped him from enjoying the view. Beautiful, smooth skin the color of fresh cream. The lace at the top of her bra was just visible. He jerked his gaze back to her face and shifted the napkin in his lap a little higher.
“How is that possible?”
“I guess when I see the buildings my crews have put up, I’m still looking at them with a critical eye. Either that, or they blend into the landscape. It’s just business.”
Obviously unable to comprehend his lack of emotional depth, she shook her head. Great. Now she was probably rating him alongside a caveman. Desperate to save her opinion of him, he racked his brain. And came up empty. He frowned. Was he really that lame?
“Well, I have no room to talk.” She sighed. “I’ve never created anything. I still think it’s awesome, being able to leave your mark on the world like you do. I’d love to be able to do that.”
Relief flowed. Admiration laced her voice. She sure made an impact with him, but he doubted she’d been referring to that kind of mark.
“You’re part of the machine that puts those buildings in the ground, you know.”
She tilted her head and stared at him. Having her undivided attention made his hands clammy. How could one woman make him feel like an awkward teenage boy? He could handle a room full of businessmen, the wealthy couple who thought they could have the world at a bargain and the contract gone bad, with ease. Sit a black-haired, green-eyed woman in front of him and his nerve went out the nearest window.
When it came to romancing a woman, he didn’t have a clue. If a woman wanted him, he’d never had to work for it. If she didn’t, why bother? It was the twenty-first century. Women were aggressive; they went after what they wanted.
Grace shrugged. “I may be a small part—very small, but it’s not the same. Still, I appreciate you saying so.”
“If you want to leave a mark, have an impact, why are you working behind the scenes? Why not go for something more? There has to be something you love, some other desire behind that statement.”
She flushed and dropped her gaze. So there was something.
“Not really.”
“That’s a yes. You just haven’t decided whether to pursue it. Life is short, Grace. Go for your dreams.”
“You make it sound so easy. So simple. It’s not.”
“Why? Because it’s something that scares you? Chasing your dreams can be terrifying. The thrill of catching them is worth it.”
She stared.
He shifted in his seat. “What?”
“You have the soul of a poet, Matt.”
A slow smile bloomed and sparkled in her eyes, tugging at his very non-poetic soul. He swallowed. Just because he admired her, cared for her and wanted her, didn’t mean forever. Hell, she hadn’t even seen him as anything but her boss until recently.
“However…”
“Ah.” Matt grinned. “There’s always a however.”
“I’ve never been exactly ‘normal.’” She made air quotes. “Not many foster kids are. Heck, I don’t even know who my parents are.”
“That’s rough.”
She shrugged. “I survived. After being shuffled from home to home for years, I landed on Laura’s doorstep. She was a great foster mom. Taught me how to open up to people and shaped me into who I am today.”
“Sounds like she was an amazing woman. I’m glad you found someone to nurture you, sweetheart.”
Grace glanced up, eyes widening, and he cursed his slip. He wasn’t a teenager. He knew better than to wear his heart on his sleeve.
He cleared his throat. “Would you like dessert?”
“No thank you. This was plenty. I’m stuffed. I can’t believe I ate that much.”
He grinned and lifted a finger for the check.
His hand on the small of her back, he escorted her out of the restaurant. He leaned a fraction closer, dropped his chin and inhaled. She smelled like heaven. A sweet musky scent that was pure woman. She turned and smiled, her hair brushing across the back of his hand like strands of silk.
“Thank you for dinner. And for the ride.” Her gaze went to his Harley. A woman after his own heart, lusting after power and a rumbling engine. He could get into that.
Down, boy.
Handing her the spare helmet, he threw a leg over and settled on the low seat. He pulled on his helmet and started the bike, then held out his hand to help her on. He turned to make sure she got on safely. Grace grinned like a kid in a candy store, her eyes glinting behind the visor.
She climbed on like an old pro, hands clutching his sides while she settled. Her legs came to rest alongside his, her arms wrapped around him, and he revved the motor. The bike vibrated between his legs, and he could have sworn Grace moaned. Her arms tightened around him.
She did things to him he wouldn’t have thought possible. He’d perfected self-control. Or so he’d thought, until she came into his life.
Matt eased away from the curb, Grace clinging to him like a second skin. About as close to heaven as a guy could get. He rumbled to a stop at a red light and glanced back.
Grace raised her head and met his eyes. Cheeks pink, lids half-closed and moist lips parted, she was the picture of a woman on the verge of an orgasm. He bit back a groan. What he wouldn’t give to tip her over the edge.
He lifted his visor and Grace followed suit.
“How about a ride before I drop you at your place?”
She nodded, eyes sparkling. He revved the engine again. She bit her lip and her eyelids slid down. Holy crap. A visual slammed into his brain of Grace’s sweet pussy pressed against the vibrating seat. Of course, she was naked.
Her hips shifted, her heat pressing against him. Her eyes opened, bright with arousal. Watching her was the biggest turn-on he’d ever experienced. Two more seconds of this and he’d be useless. He winked, slammed his visor shut and faced the intersection.
The light changed and he rumbled forward, slow and easy, muscles tight. Damn, he needed to get a grip. So what if the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen was hot, bothered, and wrapped around him like a well-worn leather jacket. He was a grown man, not some horny teenager.
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Angel Nicholas
Death is preferable to what awaits in her forgotten past…Coffee is the only thing standing between Grace Debry and a straight-jacket since she gave up swearing in honor of her foster mom. A rash of break-ins makes her wonder if caffeine is enough. Especially when the notes left behind make it personal. Her brand-spanking new life is more nightmare than dream-come-true.All Matthew Duncan has wanted since hiring Grace is to have her in his passenger seat, his arms, and his bed. As they grow closer, the feisty brunette proves to be a handful—one Matt is happy to hold. He’s determined to give her the happily ever after she stopped believing in years ago. Unfortunately for Grace, it will take more than Matt’s considerable resolve to keep her safe.Three’s a crowd—not that he cares. Every move she makes, every breath she takes … he’s watching. Waiting to reclaim what he lost.Angel Nicholas pens another wildly passionate romantic suspense with Dying for Love.
Dying For Love
ANGEL NICHOLAS
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2016
Copyright © Angel Nicholas 2016
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2016
Cover design by Michelle Andrews
Angel Nicholas asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International
and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
By payment of the required fees, you have been granted
the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access
and read the text of this e-book on screen.
No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or
stored in or introduced into any information storage and
retrieval system, in any form or by any means,
whether electronic or mechanical, now known or
hereinafter invented, without the express
written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © March 2016 ISBN: 9780008126261
Version 2016-03-01
To Grace
Table of Contents
Cover (#u7cedf413-9d34-5ad2-a446-31fd597bf0e6)
Title Page (#u613bffed-082f-5265-a665-93a6db3e050c)
Copyright (#u8c56406a-7ce3-5717-9bd1-f6a8d07ebad5)
Dedication (#u6f082944-a88f-5f8a-aaa6-60efd909299c)
Prologue (#u19f8ca46-e90b-5d73-882c-d624c8cc1cc9)
Chapter One (#u84ef63eb-8271-50c4-9391-d6c8666f9c09)
Chapter Two (#ub20f4ab6-64ea-56ef-bfbf-e9c91307859f)
Chapter Three (#u8fb168aa-f658-5857-893d-f8b8692913f5)
Chapter Four (#ub78370d6-737b-592a-972f-2c2d523db9f8)
Chapter Five (#uc5c00047-3d3b-5274-93ca-9cae313f7794)
Chapter Six (#udef0cfcf-e9e9-5675-b629-e4bf32592984)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#litres_trial_promo)
Also by Angel Nicholas (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
PROLOGUE (#uefeb9126-c91e-593a-8c3a-2a24a9c125f0)
April 19, 1986
Cassandra’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. A wild hare hopped across the rusty train tracks and a gentle breeze blew through the open windows, mixing freshly bloomed jasmine with the smell of poverty.
She turned. Sober gazes met hers over the worn bench seat, her children’s little faces pale in the unusual spring heat. Her sweet babies had learned early in life to be very, very quiet. If they managed to blend into the woodwork, Daddy might not notice them. Being noticed was never a good thing. Not in their home.
Sandra swallowed the sob threatening her tenuous calm and tore her gaze away.
Where was the train? Closing her eyes, she pictured the train schedule—and easy feat, thanks to her photographic memory—then glanced at the dusty clock set in the dashboard. Pointless, since it had stopped working two years ago on October 9. The night her youngest, Gracie, was born.
Hoss had flown into a rage when her water broke and soaked the car seat on the way home from a high-school football game. He insisted on going to every game even though their children weren’t old enough to play and they didn’t know anyone on the team. Reliving his long-gone glory days always put him in a foul mood.
“Don’t you have any self-control, you pathetic cow?”
Spittle flew from his mouth and his big fist slammed into the dashboard clock. She shrank against her door and wrapped her arms protectively around her swollen belly.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I knew the baby was comin’. I just didn’t want to interrupt the game for you.”
Mollified, he swung the big boat of a car around. The county hospital was on the opposite side of the small, downtrodden town, a full thirty minutes from where their sagging trailer sat in the woods outside the town limits.
Hoss said they lived so far out because he liked his privacy, but Sandra knew better. He didn’t want anyone to know what went on in their home. Like it was any secret. She’d seen the way folks looked at her and her ever-increasing brood of children, curious gazes lingering on shabby clothes and the dark bruises peeking from long sleeves before sliding away.
She knew better than to expect any help. People she’d grown up with, known since she was a baby, turned their backs on the obvious signs of abuse and neglect. They still thought of the man she’d married as a hero. They saw him or heard his name and got that look in their eyes.
The quarterback who’d put their small town on the map. Took the team all the way to the state championship and brought home the big trophy. Even with the evidence right in front of them, they didn’t want to believe the good ol’ Sathers boy would beat his pretty little wife and sweet babies. Or worse.
“Momma, I have to pee.”
The soft whisper startled Sandra.
She stared down the tracks again, then sighed. “All right, Suzy.”
Putting her shoulder into it, she shoved open the car door and stood. Her five-year-old scrambled over the front seat and out of the car. It had to be urgent or Suzy wouldn’t have said a word.
“Hurry, baby.” She glanced down the tracks again.
Suzy rushed to the side of the road and slipped behind a bush to take care of business. She’d been going to pee a lot lately. Sandra rubbed her arms, worried there might be a problem.
Suffocating guilt rose. Guilt was her constant companion. What kind of mother couldn’t take care of her children? Take them to the doctor. Protect them. She tried to intervene. She always tried. Even if he beat her unconscious, it was worth it if he left her babies alone. She never succeeded, though.
The first time, their oldest was just two years old and on a crying jag from the pain of cutting a handful of teeth all at once. Sandra had seen the rage in his eyes and stepped in front of him when he reached for the baby. Hoss threw her across the room, bruising her entire backside black and blue and knocking her unconscious. But the worst had come after. When she’d opened her eyes again, hell had risen from the bowels of the earth and taken over her living room. The sight of him hurting their little girl was seared into her brain.
She wouldn’t have to worry about her babies much longer. She glanced again at the tracks. From a long way off, a piercing whistle blew. Her nerves trembled—almost broke.
Squaring her shoulders and firming her chin, she took a deep breath.
Panic crawled up her throat, so she took another breath. She smiled through the open window at her little ones, sitting so quiet in the backseat. Gracie, her precious blue-eyed girl, sat on the farthest side of the car in her high-backed infant seat. There weren’t enough seat belts, so as the littlest, she was the only one securely buckled in.
The train whistle blew again.
“Time to go, Suzy.”
“Comin’, Momma.”
Suzy appeared a few seconds later, her dingy white shirt tucked neatly into her worn plaid skirt. She smoothed her neat braids as she climbed the side of the road. On impulse, Sandra knelt on the hard-packed dirt road and gathered Suzy into her arms. Tears she refused to shed burned her eyes.
“I love you so much. You know that, right?”
“Yes, Mama.”
Sandra reluctantly released her and rose. “Go on, baby.”
Suzy climbed across the seat and into the back. Legs trembling, Sandra stepped into the car and settled behind the big steering wheel. Driving had come back as easy as pie, despite not having done it for years. Her husband insisted on taking her and the children into town whenever they needed anything.
“Can’t have my family wandering ’round without my protection now, can I?” An ugly grin twisted his lips, his dark-blue eyes hard.
They never went anywhere without him. Not since she’d made the painful mistake of talking to the sheriff about her husband’s violent outbursts. The sheriff had heard her out with polite deference, then sent her home and gone straight to his old football buddy. The broken leg she suffered as a result had never seen medical attention. She’d walked with a limp ever since.
One last time, Sandra turned around. A smile trembled. She met the gaze of each of her babies, her heart overflowing with love.
They looked so pretty. She’d dressed them in their Sunday best, hand-me-downs and thrift-store finds, before leaving the house an hour ago. They were early, but she didn’t want to risk missing the train. Besides, she couldn’t stand being in the house another minute.
Her gaze lingered on the baby, still so tiny and fragile. Gracie’s little arm was swollen and bruised, her face splotchy from the silent tears still trailing down her pale cheeks. Sandra recognized the signs of a broken bone. Her belly clenched and her hands fisted. The animal she’d married had finally gone too far.
The brilliant slash of blood on the baseball bat she’d used on his head flashed in her mind’s eye. Nausea rose, but she choked it down. He was still breathing when she’d left.
How long before someone discovered what she’d done? People would be horrified, but they hadn’t lived with her husband all these years. They hadn’t seen what he’d done. How he’d stolen her babies’ childhoods.
No, she was doing what was best. For all of them.
The car began to vibrate. A whimper sounded behind her. She looked out the window. The fast-moving freight train came around the curve in the tracks.
Finally. Her shoulders sagged and tears she’d held back for years stung her eyes.
Finally.
Dusk settled around them. The lead engine completed the turn and the blinding headlight lit the interior of the car. The whistle blew, long and hard. Metal brakes shrieked. Gracie began to cry, but Sandra shut out the sound. The train wouldn’t be able to stop or slow down in time.
She’d planned their location well. With a 4.0 grade-point average throughout high school, her teachers had predicted a bright future for her. Such a shame she’d waited until now to apply her sharp intelligence. She’d had a beautiful life back then. Supportive home environment, loving parents…she missed them so much.
“I’ll see you soon, Mom and Dad,” she whispered. “You’ll finally get to meet your grandbabies.”
Sparks flew beneath the train as it roared toward them. The engineer pulled on the whistle; the high-pitched wail ear-piercing. Behind her, stifled sobs joined Gracie’s and the handles clicked uselessly on doors rusted shut years ago. The car rocked with the force of the oncoming train. The lines of an old lullaby ran through her mind.
Rock a bye, baby, in the treetop.
When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall.
Down will come baby, cradle and all.
She resisted the urge for one more look at her babies. Not the time to be weak. She had to do this one thing for her girls. Be strong. There was no other choice. No other option.
Dear God, I’ve been a miserable failure my whole life. I don’t deserve any favors, but please … Please, take care of my babies.
The brilliant white light grew in strength until it blocked out everything else.
“Momma?” a little voice whimpered.
CHAPTER ONE (#uefeb9126-c91e-593a-8c3a-2a24a9c125f0)
Twenty-five years later
“Sweet angels in heaven, I need coffee.”
Grace Debry walked into her kitchen, hand outstretched for salvation in a coffeepot, and tripped. Her hip smacked into the granite counter and tears of pain blinded her. She righted herself, rubbing her hip, blinked her gaze clear and screamed.
Her kitchen had been ransacked. A sea of kitchen gadgets covered the pristine black counters. Kitchen towels were everywhere. Spatulas, a meat tenderizer, large spoons, and a collection of other utensils spilled from drawers. The oven door was wide open. Her entire collection of cookware covered the stovetop and sink.
“Purple dandelion blood.”
She covered her mouth, her hand trembling. If only she hadn’t given up swearing. Her foster mother had hated swearing with a passion. Always said it showed a severe lack of vocabulary. Pulse thundering in her ears, she stepped back and took in the rest of her condo at a glance. A well-executed swear word would make her feel so much better right now.
The peaceful serenity of her neat living room and cozy furniture arrangement made the carnage of her kitchen all the more bizarre. She wrapped her arms around her ribcage, trying to still her trembling. The front door and balcony slider were securely dead-bolted.
Maybe she’d woken in the middle of the night and trashed her kitchen? She shook her head. Sleepwalking wasn’t part of her repertoire. She nibbled on her lip. No, not possible. She’d shared numerous bedrooms growing up—not to mention the occasional bed. She would know. Foster kids were not merciful creatures. Neither were jealous co-workers, come to think of it. She’d kept so much to herself since moving to the area, she didn’t know anyone outside of work. Except the little elderly lady downstairs. She couldn’t imagine her or anyone else she knew indulging in a little B&E for kicks and giggles. Or screams.
Swallowing to moisten her dry mouth, she braved the kitchen again. Her heavy marble rolling pin rested against the carpet edge at the entrance. So that was what she’d tripped over.
Grace focused on the pantry door.
A kernel of caution nudged her. The intruder could be behind that door. She snatched the marble rolling pin off the floor and faced off with her frosted-glass pantry door. Reaching for the gleaming silver handle, her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth.
Banging against her front door ripped another scream from her.
“Grace? Are you alright, cher?”
Hand pressed against her racing heart, Grace spun and leapt over the mess covering her floor. She glanced at the wall-mounted clock in her living room. They weren’t carpooling today, which meant Lisette had heard her scream from across the hallway. Grace would be mortified about screaming later. Right now, she was grateful for a friend.
Grace looked through the peephole. Her petite Cajun neighbor from New Orleans bounced on the other side, anxiously twining her long hair around her fingertip. Grace unlocked and opened the door with hands that trembled.
Lisette burst through the opening. “Mon amie! What happened?”
Grace took her time shutting and locking the door. They’d become instant friends when Grace had moved in six months ago, but a lifetime of keeping her own council gave her pause.
A hiss of breath sounded from across the room. Grace turned. Her neighbor stood in the arched entrance to her kitchen. She should have known the warm bundle of energy, otherwise known as Lisette de LaCroix, aka Lisie, wouldn’t wait for an invitation.
“Soc au’ lait! What happened?”
Grace sighed, some of her fear draining now that she wasn’t alone. “I don’t know. I found it like this when I walked in for my coffee.”
Lisette’s impossibly big brown eyes widened. “Surely you heard something?”
This had happened while she’d slept. Grace paused in the middle of the living room, light-headed at the realization that an intruder had ransacked her kitchen while she slept just a room away. Her knees trembled. She snapped her spine straight and sucked in a deep breath.
Joining her friend, she shook her head. “I wear noise-cancelling earbuds at night.”
“Maybe it was done while you were at work yesterday?”
“No …”
Grace stared at the pantry door. She hadn’t checked inside yet. Hefting the rolling pin she hadn’t even thought to put down—latent terror, no doubt—she carefully maneuvered through the maze of kitchen gadgets. Her pulse skipped a beat.
“What’re you doing, cher?”
With a shaky exhale and shakier smile, she glanced at Lisette. “I was just getting ready to check the pantry when you arrived.”
“Check for…Oh!” Lisette’s eyes narrowed. She quickly selected a copper-bottomed skillet, then nodded. “Ready.”
Grace considered asking her to leave for half a beat. She’d feel awful if anything happened to the first real friend she’d made since high school. No way Lisette would go without a fight, though. Stomach clenched tighter than her hand around the marble rolling pin, Grace faced the pantry, yanked open the door and flipped on the light, ready to brain anything that moved.
Empty.
She sagged against the door frame. The floor was piled high with foodstuffs, miscellaneous kitchen tools and dishes, leaving the shelves bare. Her pantry hadn’t escaped her uninvited visitor, but at least the culprit was gone.
Thumbnail caught between her teeth, she turned. “Why would someone break into my place only to mess up my kitchen?”
Lisette tapped the saucepan against her thigh, arched brows drawn together in a frown. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.”
The buzzer on the coffeepot went off. Grace jumped and slapped her hand over her mouth to smother a shriek. Just the coffeepot, Grace. Get it together. She glanced at her watch.
“Oh, crap. I’m gonna be late for work.” Leaping over a saucepot, spatula and potato masher, she ran to the bedroom. “Crap, crap, crap.”
At least her makeup and hair were done. Throwing on the outfit she laid out last night would take two minutes, racing down the three flights of stairs and along the sidewalk to her car two and a half, and the drive to the office ten—fifteen if traffic was snarled.
“You can’t go to work. You have to call the police and report this.”
Grace tugged her skirt over her hips and zipped it, frowning. “Why?”
Lisette blinked. “Because your home was broken into, cher. The police are here to protect you. Let them do their job.”
She snorted and pulled her blouse over her head, muttering, “They wouldn’t know how to do their job with a flashlight, map and CliffsNotes.”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t see the point.”
Lips tightening, Lisette planted her hands on the generous curves of her hips. “What’s wrong with you? You act like it don’ madda’! I’m a fixin’ to do it myself.”
Grace winced. Whenever Lisette’s Louisiana drawl thickened, the poo was about to hit the fan. If she started spewing French, it was time to hit the deck. Grace slipped on her shoes and jewelry, stalling. The amount of faith she had in the police could be measured in a thimble, thanks to her childhood experiences.
“Lisie, you know how my boss is. I have a presentation this morning and I absolutely cannot be late. I’ll call the police,” she tried not to gag on the lie, “the moment I get home.”
“Promise me.”
“Cross my heart.”
Lisette stepped out of the doorway and Grace flew past her. Flipped off the coffeepot, snatched up her purse and briefcase, and yanked the door open.
Lisette zapped her with a gimlet-eyed stare as she walked out. “I’m gonna be checking on you tonight.”
Grace smiled. “Thank you.”
Her friend disappeared into her own condo. Grace quickly locked her door, turned and froze. Back pressed to the door, she flicked her gaze up and down the open-air hallway. A stranger had likely stood in the very same spot before stealing inside her condo while she slept. Oblivious.
Tears stung her eyes. Her nails dug into her palm. She took a deep breath and blinked the moisture away. Life wouldn’t wait while she had a meltdown.
Forcefully shoving away from the door, she jogged down the hall. She almost tripped on the stairs in her low heels and forced herself to slow down. A goose egg on her forehead would not be a good look in the board meeting scheduled for…a quick glance at her watch nearly made her trip again. Holy rosebuds. Twenty minutes to get her butt in her office and go over the monthly report on construction progress and actual cost versus estimates before her presentation to Matthew Duncan.
Having her boss’s steely-eyed gaze focused solely on her for the space of ten minutes tried her nerves every time.
She refused to think about what it did to other parts of her body.
“Oh, Gracie. There you are.”
Oh, no. Not now. She didn’t have time. Not to mention her hands were still shaking.
Grace squeezed her eyes closed, reminded herself that she adored her neighbor, plastered on a smile and swung around. Mrs. Freeman’s massive Great Dane strolled beside her, matching his regal walk to the old lady’s shuffling gait.
“Mrs. Freeman.” Grace scanned the area for strangers. No one else was in sight. Grace relaxed a little. “How are you?”
“Just fine, dear. Off to work?”
Apollo pranced, his tongue lolling and eager black eyes focused on Grace. He never once tugged on the leash anchoring him to Mrs. Freeman.
“Yes.”
Grace sighed softly and surrendered, scratching Apollo’s head. He heaved a big doggie sigh of pleasure and leaned into her.
“What are you up to today? Breakfast with your boyfriend?”
Mrs. Freeman glowed with pleasure. “Gracie, you know Roger isn’t my boyfriend.”
“Mr. Gray adores you, and you know it. He takes you out to breakfast as often as you let him, and he’d probably take you to lunch and dinner too. Last week he even took Apollo to his vet appointment when you weren’t feeling well. If that isn’t a sure sign of devotion, I don’t know what is.”
“Roger and I are just friends. He loved his wife, and he still grieves her passing. We fill a space in one another’s life, that’s all.”
“If you say so.” She rubbed Apollo’s back. “We know better, don’t we, Apollo?”
Mrs. Freeman chuckled. “You’d better skedaddle on to work, dear. You don’t want that ferocious boss of yours getting on your case first thing.”
Grace pretended a shiver. “Heavens, no.”
“Some men hide a big heart behind a tough demeanor. My George was that way.” Mrs. Freeman’s eyes went misty. “Tough as a pit bull on the outside, soft and affectionate as an old tabby cat on the inside. Your Mr. Duncan might just need a good woman to tame him.”
“Maybe, but that good woman won’t be me.” Grace glanced at the parking lot then did a double-take. Her car wasn’t in its usual spot. The pit of her stomach fell. “Where’s my car?”
Mrs. Freeman edged her walker forward. “There it is, dear. Across the way.”
Grace followed the direction of the old woman’s trembling, wrinkled finger. Her brand- new tango-red Honda Accord Crosstour sat on the far side of the parking lot beneath a big tree. She blinked, her pulse skittering. Her lips tightened. What the hell?
Mrs. Freeman tutted. “The carport is safer than that old tree.”
“Um-hmm.”
She clutched the handle of her briefcase tight enough to leave finger imprints. No way had she parked there last night. She was never that tired. There’d better not be a single hairline scratch on the finish, or someone was going down. As a practical joke, the humor escaped her. As something more…She didn’t want to think about anything more. She scanned their surroundings again.
Casual expression firmly in place, she glanced at the elderly woman. “Have you heard about any weird break-ins in the complex?”
Mrs. Freeman’s smile disappeared and a little frown crinkled the white skin between her slim brows. “No, dear. Why? Is something wrong?”
Grace forced her stiff cheeks into a smile. “Goodness, no. Just something I overheard in the hallway the other day. I’m sure it’s nothing. You know how kids are.” Leaning down, she planted a soft kiss on Mrs. Freeman’s age-weathered cheek and patted Apollo. “Lovely to see you both. I’ll be by to take Apollo for a walk when I get home.”
She glanced back as she reached the parking lot. Mrs. Freeman’s smile was troubled. Guilt bit hard. Grace waved at Roger Gray as he eased his big Lincoln to a stop near the curb. So he was taking Mrs. Freeman out for breakfast.
As she neared her car, the hair on her neck rose. She glanced around. No face peered from the bushes, no curtains twitched and nothing shifted in the cool morning air. Rubbing her neck with an unsteady hand, she circled the car. Not so much as a fingerprint marred the gleaming finish. She tried the handle. Locked. Rummaging in her purse for the keys, so jittery she may as well have drank the whole untouched pot of coffee, she glanced around again.
A chilly spring breeze ruffled the trees. Shadows skittered for cover.
Grace shivered and hit the remote button to unlock the Honda. With a quick look in the backseat, she tossed in her purse and briefcase, slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut and locked it. She wrapped trembling fingers around the leather steering wheel.
“No boogeyman is going to jump out from behind the tree.” She glanced through the sunroof at the tree branches waving overhead. “Or out of the tree.” The whole morning had her on edge, totally creeped out and talking to herself, which was friggin’ fantastic.
Starting the car, she took a deep breath, focused on the smooth sound of the new engine and automatically checked the gas level. A paper covered the gauges.
Nice car, slut
*****
Matt Duncan peered through the door as Grace got off the elevator and walked down the hall toward her office. He snapped straight, shaking his head in disgust. Leering at an employee—he was such a pervert. In his defense, he’d been closing his door when the elevator pinged. The glimpse of Grace emerging froze him in place.
For six long months he’d worked hard to hide his attraction to her. Ever since she’d walked across his office for her interview. Marilyn Monroe couldn’t have done that expanse of polished hardwood more justice. He’d instinctively checked to make sure his tongue wasn’t hanging out. Miracle of miracles, no drool pooled on his desk either.
Her job performance, warm friendliness with the other staff, persistent charm, quick wit, and sharp intelligence had quickly made her an asset. And served to fuel and deepen his attraction. Admiration and respect rode hard alongside physical attraction.
He scrubbed a hand over his face and clicked the door shut. The day had barely begun and was already headed to hell in a handbasket. Breakfast with his mom and stepdad had rocked his world, and not in a good way. The cherry on top of his crappy morning? His receptionist reminding him of his brother’s appointment.
“Mr. Duncan?”
Matt strode over to his desk and hit the intercom button. “Yes?”
“Your eight-thirty appointment is here.”
Not what he wanted to deal with today. Especially since his mom hadn’t shared her devastating diagnosis with Jeff yet. Cancer. Damn, she didn’t deserve that. Not after all she’d been through with her ex-husband—his father—screwing around on her.
“Send him in.”
Retrieving his coffee from the bar, he carried it to his desk. A large object between him and his brother was always beneficial. Jeff threw open the door and stomped in before Matt’s butt hit leather. Great. Already sporting an attitude.
Matt leaned back, sipping cold coffee gone bitter. His brother flung himself into one of the hard chairs facing the big desk. His worn polo shirt pulled taut over his round belly. Prematurely thinning hair added to Jeff’s general resentment of the world. In less charitable moments, Matt wondered how they came from the same parents.
“Hey, big bro.” Jeff didn’t make eye contact. “What’s up?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who asked to see me.”
Jeff snorted, finally raising watery eyes to Matt. “Yeah, and I have to make an appointment with your stinkin’ secretary to even get in the door.”
“You said it was about business, and that’s how a business is run. People make appointments with one another so they can schedule their day. Makes things easier on everyone.”
“Or just you.”
Matt gently set his cup on the desk and laced his fingers together in his lap. “How’ve you been?”
“Fine.”
“How’s your new job?”
Jeff laced and unlaced his fingers, straightened and slouched and then straightened again. Matt tensed. His brother cracked his neck.
“That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. Things didn’t go so good. The supervisor was totally unreasonable when I forgot to come back from lunch last week.”
“You forgot…” Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. “…to come back from lunch?”
“Yeah. I got distracted. So, I figured, ya know, to hell with it.”
“Really.” Matt wanted to close his eyes and pretend Jeff wasn’t sitting there. That he hadn’t just blown off this latest job. One Matt had gotten for him, calling in yet another favor. He couldn’t wait to hear from the contractor. In fact, he was surprised he hadn’t already.
“I was hoping you’d let me help out on the construction site again.”
Matt bit back a sharp bark of laughter. “You think I should let you back on my job sites, where you took your buddies after-hours two months ago and let them take off with fifteen hundred dollars in materials and tools. Three months ago you almost killed a guy when you swung the crane around too fast and lost a load of lumber.”
Jeff slunk lower. “No need to get bitchy about it, man.”
“I’ve warned you before. No foul language in my office.”
“Sh…Damn, dude. What’s gotten into you?”
“During the ten years you blew off, roaming free and living off Dad, having a grand ol’ time, I’ve worked my butt off building this business. I have a reputation for well-built structures and well-run construction sites. All of my employees behave in a professional manner at all times.”
“I had my own business for a while, ya know.”
Oh, Matt knew. He knew too much about that disaster. It had taken the whole family pooling their resources to drag Jeff’s butt out of the sinkhole he’d created. Plus, a corporate lawyer, moving company and a psychiatrist. He didn’t need to be reminded of that fiasco.
“I can’t allow you on the job sites.”
Jeff stared at the floor and shrugged his shoulders. Beneath the desk, Matt fisted his hand. This shadow of a man was all that was left of his brother. He had so many memories of growing up together, playing alongside each other and on the river, hunting and camping together and the stringers of fish they caught.
He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Nah. I gotta go.”
Jeff rose but hesitated, studying the floor. Opened and closed his mouth. In the end, he just turned and walked out without another word. Matt stared after him. He had spent months working through his anger over his brother’s betrayal, and Jeff never expressed an ounce of remorse.
His shoulders slumped and he fought the urge to lay his head on the desk.
An image of Grace flashed through his mind. The shock of his mom’s news had brought the reality of life sharply into focus. Between his brother’s behavior and his mom’s illness, he didn’t know how much more his family could take. Life was too damn short. He squared his shoulders. It was time to see if there was more to his attraction.
CHAPTER TWO (#uefeb9126-c91e-593a-8c3a-2a24a9c125f0)
“Grace, isn’t that report due to Mr. Duncan. As of, like, five minutes ago.”
“Yes. I’m on my way. I promise.”
“He’s in a real mood today, ya know.” Sally shook her head and walked away.
Like her day didn’t already suck. Getting fired on top of everything else would seriously suck. She’d snagged a position that a lot of people would kill for, in a firm recently listed in the top ten list of a local business publication. At twenty-seven, she was the youngest executive in the large construction firm.
Not to mention, the job enabled her to pay for her beautiful new car.
The low-grade headache thrumming at the base of her skull kicked up a notch. She wanted to drop her aching head into her hands and sob for a few minutes. Or hours. Something…anything to release the build-up of fear, stress and delayed shock. Instead, she straightened her shoulders.
Grace hit PRINT, swiveled around in her chair and snagged a binder from the storage cabinet. Mr. Duncan insisted reports be presented neatly and properly. Printed, bound, no factual errors and no typos.
In the six months she’d worked there, only two people had made the mistake of handing imperfect work to Mr. Duncan. They were no longer employed at the prestigious firm of Duncan Construction, Inc. Personally, she thought that was a bit over the top. Matthew Duncan might be hot sin walking, but he didn’t have to act like the Devil incarnate.
Not that Mr. Duncan was interested in her opinion. Nor would she ever dare voice it. She liked her job and would very much like to keep it. Especially in this economy. A fabulous job she enjoyed was a bonus she didn’t intend to waste by bandying about her opinions about.
She’d worked too hard, for too long to get where she was.
Neatly bound report in hand, she rushed out of her office. Sally, the first friend Grace had made at work, looked up from her desk and sent her a sympathetic smile as she held up two fingers crossed for luck. Grace blew out a breath and grinned.
The click-clack of her modest black pumps followed her down the tiled hallway. The rich cinnamon scent permeating the hall was supposed to be calming. She inhaled deeply.
Mr. Duncan wouldn’t fly off the handle just because he requested this report be in his hands at 9:30 and it was now—she glanced at her watch and swallowed—9:44. Her stomach tightened and she started relaxation breathing.
“Better hurry, Grace,” a masculine voice whispered in her ear.
Without thinking, she spun around and lightly whacked Luke in the gut. “Not funny.”
Hitting her co-worker. Nice. Very professional. She winced. Too much time spent around too many boys growing up and too much…everything this morning.
Luke doubled over, groaning like she’d punched him. Lips twitching, Grace kept walking.
“Oh, man.” He caught up and clapped a hand over his mouth. His cheeks bulged. “Ooh…” One hand pressed to his stomach, he staggered across her path and collapsed against the wall.
“Good grief, Luke.” Grace rolled her eyes. “Get over yourself already.”
He straightened, grinning. “Hey, just trying to keep your spirits up. Facing old man Duncan would terrify anyone. Especially with mediocre, late work in hand.”
“Hey!”
Luke trotted off down the hall with a jaunty wave. The nerve. She did good work, no, excellent work, for this company. Mr. Duncan wouldn’t can her because of one late report. He was a reasonable man. Well, sort of reasonable. In an anal-retentive, obsessive-compulsive kind of way.
She smiled at Nancy, Mr. Duncan’s secretary. Outside Mr. Duncan’s door, she took another deep breath. The stupid cinnamon was so not doing its job.
Grace stared at the dark mahogany door, straightened the hem of her short, fitted blazer, smoothed the back of her knee-length matching tweed skirt and, in general, procrastinated as only a terrified employee could. She’d just about, kind of, almost, worked up the nerve to knock.
“Fortifying yourself to beard the lion?” said a deep voice behind her.
She jumped and almost dropped the precious report. She squeezed her eyes shut and resisted the urge to bang her head against the door. Great. Caught dawdling like a student called into the principal’s office. By her boss, nonetheless. Reminding herself to breathe, she turned.
“Why, yes.” She forced a smile.
Mr. Duncan’s bland expression betrayed none of the soft mockery she could have sworn his voice contained. Did his lips quirk, or was it a trick of the light? He was infamous for his non-existent sense of humor.
“Well, let’s not delay a second longer.” Reaching past her, he turned the knob and pushed open the door. “After you.”
His nearness and masculine scent curled around her with wanton invitation. Imagined invitation, she sternly reminded herself, splashing cold water on her overactive hormones. Dredging up confidence she didn’t feel, she smiled and strode past him into the cool interior of the immaculate office. The door closed quietly behind her.
“Mr—”
“Would you care for a drink, Miss Debry? A shot of Scotch, perhaps?”
She jerked her head up. Again with the dark humor. No, she had to be mistaken. Overwrought with stress and attraction to the point she was imagining things. Sad, really.
His back to her, he rummaged through the bar. From experience, she knew how well stocked it was.
“Um, no. I don’t think a shot of anything would be a good idea at…” She glanced at her watch and winced. Well, no point putting off the inevitable. She cleared her throat. “Nine forty-eight in the morning.”
“How terribly precise, Miss Debry. No, I don’t suppose it would be appropriate to indulge so early.”
He sighed. The unusual sign of humanity took her aback. He sounded tired. More than tired. Bone-deep weary.
“How about some coffee, then? Water? Juice?”
“Coffee would be nice. Thank you.” Swallowing might prove an issue, but he was clearly determined she drink something.
“Cream and sugar, as I recall.”
“Yes.”
Were you courteous to someone you were about to fire? A final liquid meal before kicking them out in the cold? She failed to find any comfort in his hospitality. She eyed his broad shoulders, refusing to allow her gaze to dip lower, no matter how much it wanted to. Since when did he remember personal details about his employees, like how they drank coffee? The fact he’d taken note of her preferences was bewildering.
“I—”
“Please, have a seat. No need to stand when there are relatively comfortable chairs just waiting to be of use.”
He turned from the bar, coffee cup in hand and she headed for one of the chairs facing the massive desk dominating the space. An excellent place for intimidating employees.
“No, no. Not there.”
Her eyebrows shot up at the impatience lacing his words. She always sat in one of those chairs during a meeting with him. Just like he always sat in his elegant black chair behind the large expanse of gleaming wood, maintaining the proper distance between a denizen of the construction world and his employees. Always.
“Yes, I know. I’m excessively full of what’s proper, establishing my authority and all that crap. Come sit over here.”
The conversation area he indicated faced the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. She glanced again at the low-backed chairs in front of his polished desk. Uncertainty sat low and uncomfortable in her belly. Her stomach rolled. Shoulders back, head erect, Grace walked over and sat in a comfortable chair.
She’d always assumed the hard chairs were intentional. A subtle hint that relaxing in his presence was unacceptable.
He placed the full coffee cup and saucer on the table between them, then settled in a neighboring chair. “Is that the report?”
“Yes.” She handed the paperwork to him. “I’m sorry it’s late, Mr. Duncan.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Eyes widening, she clenched her jaw to keep her mouth from dropping open.
He tossed the report on a little table. “I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
“No, sir.”
He nodded, staring out the windows. It was a beautiful view. Neo-classic buildings sat with cheerful disregard amongst high-rise glass structures like theirs. The oldest had been there since the city’s birth well over one hundred years ago.
The trees were still stark and barren despite the warmer weather. The river twisted like a dark ribbon through the midst of the city that had grown up around it. Hence the city’s nickname, The City of Trees.
Mr. Duncan’s dark gaze returned to her with uncomfortable intensity. She resisted the urge to squirm.
“Are you okay, sir? You don’t quite seem yourself.”
Like she knew him. She gnawed on the side of her lip, wishing she’d kept her big mouth shut. His reserve kept everyone at a distance, even higher-up executives who’d worked with him for years. She was a newbie, inexperienced in the ways of office politics and Mr. Duncan.
“Let’s just say today hasn’t turned out as expected.” A grim smile twisted his lips.
“I apologize. I had no business prying.”
Sighing, he ran a hand through his brown hair, leaving it ruffled. She’d never seen him anything but perfect. The glossy strands looked silky-soft all mussed and somehow made him more human and approachable. More masculine. Her fingers twitched with the desire to touch.
Grace threw the emergency brake on her thoughts and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. Time for a strategic retreat.
“If there’s nothing else …” She started to rise.
“You haven’t touched your coffee.”
“Right.”
Sinking back into the chair, she picked up the delicate china. The rich coffee aroma liquefied her resistance and she relaxed a little, sipping quietly. A dab of cream and a touch of sweetness. Why she was surprised to find the coffee just right, she didn’t know. Mr. Duncan did everything to perfection. It was one of the reasons his company was so successful.
She glanced up. He was watching her. Something in his eyes made her cheeks heat, but his strained expression kept her butt planted firmly in the chair. He looked grievous. Lonely?
“So.” Desperate, she searched for a safe topic of conversation. She lifted the cup to her mouth, sipped and absently licked a stray drop of coffee from the rim. “Did you grow up in Boise?”
His gaze, which had been on her lips, returned to her eyes. She had a sudden urge for lip liner and glossy lipstick. Mr. Duncan settled back. He seemed relieved, as if he’d been afraid she would abandon him.
Wow. She totally needed to get a grip.
“Yes. What about you? I know you graduated from Purdue then worked in the Chicago area for several years before moving here. Did you grow up in Lafayette?”
She blinked. Did he pay such close attention to everyone he hired? Duh. Of course he did. No reason he’d pay special attention to her.
“I grew up in Northern Indiana by Lake Michigan. I lived in Michigan City for a while, then spent all of high school with a family that lived near the border of Michigan City and LaPorte.”
“That’s right. You grew up in foster care. Not an easy childhood.”
Her eyes had to be as big as saucers. She shifted uncomfortably. “How did you know that?”
Amusement brightened his eyes. “You did consent to a full background check, Miss Debry.”
“Well, yes. But I…that is …” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know the extent of what such a check would reveal. Or that you would remember it.”
He inclined his head. “You interest me.”
Grace blinked. Interested him like an insect squashed between two slides and pressed into the plate beneath a microscope lens? “No.”
His eyebrows rose. “No?”
Her face heated. “No, it wasn’t difficult growing up in foster care.”
“Ah. Good.”
She fiddled with her cup. That was a lie, but she didn’t share her past. Besides, her mind had gone completely and utterly blank. In a gulp, she finished her coffee and gently set the cup and saucer on the low table.
Mr. Duncan met her gaze. “What brought you to Boise? It’s a long way from the Midwest.”
“I got tired of the crowds. Chicago is a beautiful city, but it’s congested and rundown. I wanted a change.”
“Why Boise?” He leaned forward. “You could have gone anywhere. You have excellent references. You’re young. The world is your oyster.”
A slight smile revealed a dimple on his left cheek. Attraction zipped through her veins without permission.
Stomach tightening, Grace licked her lips. “I Googled it. Boise sounded small enough to offer room to roam, yet large enough to offer the amenities and shopping I enjoy. Plus, the athleticism of the area appealed to me. Skiing, cycling, hiking. The Greenbelt.” She gestured toward the river. “I was able to find a great condo overlooking the Greenbelt and the Boise River, just past Katherine Albertson Park.”
A great condo easily broken into … The scene in her kitchen flashed in her mind. Her hands shook and she tucked them beneath her legs, focusing on the here and now. She chewed on the corner of her lip. Reduced to rambling. Time to go. She didn’t care how lonely he seemed. He was handsome and wealthy. No way was he lonely.
“I need to get back to work.” Grabbing the cup and saucer, Grace rose and ducked behind the elaborate bar set-up. She washed her dishes and returned them to the sleek wall-mounted cabinets. Turning to leave, she abruptly backed into the cabinet. Mr. Duncan lounged against the granite counter.
She’d never realized how big he was. Other than his demand for perfection, she hadn’t allowed herself to notice anything beyond his extravagant signature on her paychecks. Not his broad shoulders. Not his incredible eyes. Definitely not the way he moved, that somehow communicated “great in bed” to all her feminine transponders.
“Housekeeping takes care of dirty dishes.” His disconcerting dimple winked into existence again.
“I know.” She stepped closer, but he didn’t budge. “Um, I need to sort through the bids for the Peterman Project and select the contractors for the interior.”
He nodded, his gaze unwavering. There was more than enough space between him and the wall to get past. Still, her nerves stuttered and her breath hitched.
“Well, I’ll just get back to work then.” She edged past him.
He didn’t move, but his brown eyes sparked with some emotion that made her long to further investigate this new side of her enigmatic boss.
Grace wasn’t too proud to admit she all but ran. Confused and alarmed by the arousal humming through her, she hurried back to the safe walls of her office. The comfy custom chair embraced her. The bubbles floating across her monitor mesmerized her.
“So, how’d it go?”
She startled like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Luke hung halfway into her office, staring with obvious lust at her coveted corner office.
“How did what go?”
He frowned. “The meeting with Mr. Duncan. I heard your report was late.”
“Oh, right. Well, uh, he wasn’t happy. He said to make sure it didn’t happen again.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s it?”
“You needn’t sound so disappointed.”
Returned to his usual cheeky self in a blink, he grinned. “Hey, I fully intend to have my name on this door at some point.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, but you’ll have to wait until I either do something really stupid or get promoted.”
“No doubt. You wanna get lunch?”
Pulling out the estimates for the Peterson Project, she started sorting them into categories. Plumbing, electric, flooring. “Not today. I was industrious and brought a healthy lunch from home.”
“Far be it for me to compromise your lovely curves.”
She glanced up and caught his lecherous grin. “Practicing for The Shakespeare Festival already?”
The grin transformed into a pout. “At least you could pretend, Grace. You’re a beautiful woman. I’m a handsome man. Why not?”
“You don’t need me to stroke your ego. It’s perfectly healthy without my help. Besides, I adore you like the obnoxious brother I never had.”
Something flickered in his brown eyes. She laughed at his disgruntled expression.
“That’s revolting.” He stomped away.
As much as Luke enjoyed playing the office Romeo, he wouldn’t know what to do if she tried to play his Juliet. Body language was a hobby of hers and his screamed he wasn’t attracted to her, no matter what he might claim.
Mr. Duncan’s heated gaze filled her head. Now there was a man who didn’t pretend. What had he meant, he was interested in her? Because she was a benefit to his company?
He certainly hadn’t looked like he was thinking about business. The expression on his face, in his eyes. Well, he looked like he was thinking about soft sheets and sex. No, she must have misunderstood. Her foster mom always said she read too much into people.
The pang of loss throbbed. Laura had died a few months before Grace graduated from Purdue at the top of her class. She would have been so proud. If only breast cancer hadn’t cut her life so short.
What would Laura have thought of Mr. Duncan? Probably too stiff and formal, too precise for her taste. Laura had learned to live with chaos, setting aside her need for neatness and order in favor of unquestioning love. The foster children she’d accepted into her home, with open arms, demanded that and more. Laura had surrendered everything she had with a gracious sweetness that, years later, still humbled Grace.
A co-worker’s strong cologne drifted through her door. Gross. She wrinkled her nose. Mr. Duncan, on the other hand, smelled incredible.
CHAPTER THREE (#uefeb9126-c91e-593a-8c3a-2a24a9c125f0)
Matt had gritted his teeth as Grace bolted from his office. Discovering her hovering outside his door, bracing herself to meet the Big Bad Wolf in all his toothy glory, had not improved his mood. He liked that his employees were terrified of him. It kept them on their toes. But terrified was a world away from the emotion he wanted from Grace.
Hours later, he still couldn’t get the disastrous meeting out of his head. The buzz of the intercom was a welcome distraction.
“A Mr. Whiles on the phone for you, Mr. Duncan. He’s a bail bondsman.”
Matt raised his eyebrows. “Put him through.” The line clicked. “This is Duncan.”
“Mr. Duncan, my name is William Whiles. I’m checking up on an employee of yours. Grace Debry. Can you confirm she’s employed at your firm?”
Matt hesitated. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your business.”
“Bail bondsman. Protecting my investment, ya know?”
Leaning back, Matt absently picked up an ink pen. “Really?”
“Yes, sir. You can’t be too careful nowadays, not even with a pretty little thing like her.”
His jaw clenched at the overt familiarity. “Miss Debry is out on bail?”
“Yep, that’s right.”
Matt’s gut tightened and he exhaled evenly. “What exactly was her offense?”
“Can’t rightly say. Not my end of the problem.”
She wouldn’t be the first employee to have a problem with the law, but he wasn’t buying it. “You don’t mind if I put you on hold, do you?”
“Not at all. You can’t be too safe nowadays. No sir’ey. You go right ahead. I’ll wait.”
“Thank you.”
Matt dialed Grace’s extension on another line and asked her to come to his office. From his company’s initial investigation and working with her for six months, she didn’t seem like the kind of woman to get into legal trouble. William Whiles, however…
Matt steepled his fingers beneath his chin. Why would someone call under false pretenses? Was Grace involved in something dangerous? Gambling? No. She’d bought a new car a few months ago. The dealership had called after hours to verify her employment and he’d personally taken the call. Drugs? No way. His protective instincts were warring against his usual level-headed approach, making him want to punch William Whiles in the face and ask questions later.
A soft knock, then the door pushed open and Grace peeked in.
“Please, come in and have a seat.”
The gentle sway of her hips as she approached was mesmerizing. He swallowed with difficulty, thankful for the cover of the desk. She glided into one of the chairs facing his desk and crossed one well-shaped bare leg over the other. Lusting after an employee was making office life horny…thorny. Pants tight, Matt shifted.
“Mr. Duncan?”
Right. Get a grip. “I have…” He glanced at his phone lines. The blinking light had stopped blinking. “…had a William Whiles on hold. Do you know him?”
Grace frowned and he tried not to think how adorable she looked. “No, I don’t. Why?”
“He claimed to be a bail bondsman and wanted to verify your employment.”
The frown intensified. Her gaze snapped to his, fair skin flushing then washing free of color. Emerald eyes darkening, Grace’s chin notched up. “I’ve never been arrested in my life.”
Husky with anger, her voice lit his libido on fire. The way she walked and talked combined with the fire in her eyes…Maybe he should call his secretary to monitor the meeting before he lost control, went into caveman mode and alienated Grace. Not to mention got sued for everything he owned.
The simplicity of her response and obvious anger evaporated any doubt and confirmed his initial suspicion. Too bad he’d inadvertently given the guy the info he wanted. “He claimed you were out on bail. I think he was just looking for information. Unfortunately, he knows you work here now. I’m really sorry.”
The tightness bracketing Grace’s mouth relaxed, but worry lines puckered her brow instead. His skin prickled with guilt. Her hair was pulled back in some sort of complicated twist, emphasizing her frail beauty. Granted, he knew she was far from frail after countless board meetings and watching her butt heads with misogynistic contractors. Her inner strength drew him as much, if not more, than her looks.
Matt cleared his throat, annoyed with himself for mooning over her like a pubescent high-school freshman, frustrated with his inability to fix this, and concerned because she still looked too pale. “Miss Debry, is there something going on I can help with? Is someone bothering you?”
She glanced at him, then her gaze fell to her fingers, twisted together in her lap. Her lips parted and closed several times. Chest rising and falling on a silent exhalation, she smiled. “I’m fine, but thank you for your concern. I’d better get back to work.”
She didn’t look fine. Not knowing what else to say or how to convince her to confide in him, he let her go.
Halfway across the room, she turned back. “I’m sorry you were…” she waved a slender hand vaguely, “disturbed on my behalf.”
“It’s not your fault.”
Grace nodded, hesitated for another second then spun on her heel and left.
As soon as she closed the door, Matt picked up the phone and buzzed his secretary. “Nancy, was there a number for the last caller?”
“Just a second, I’ll check.”
Impatiently tapping his fingers on the desk, he stared out the window. What was going on with Grace? He wanted to help. Needed to in a way he couldn’t describe. Cursing his helplessness, he flung the pen he’d been fiddling with onto the desk.
The line clicked open. “The number was blocked, Mr. Duncan.”
“Damn.”
“Can I help with something, sir?”
“I’d really like that last number.”
“Shall I call security to see whether they can find anything?”
Matt hesitated and the line beeped.
“I need to pick up that call.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
The situation didn’t sit well. He felt like he’d harmed Grace, and that was the last thing he ever wanted to do.
*****
Grace drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. She couldn’t decide if she was happy to be going home or not. Discovering her kitchen trashed had left her more than a little freaked out. The weird phone call Mr. Duncan had received didn’t help. She needed a dog. One with really big teeth.
She couldn’t call the police. What would she say? “Hi. Someone rearranged all of my kitchen stuff then moved my car to a different spot in the parking lot.”
Right. They’d think she was an escaped mental patient. Besides, her time as a foster child had painted an unfavorable picture of the police. They were sometimes called upon to deliver her from home to home. They could have been carting a cardboard box for all the interest they’d shown. Sitting in the backseat of a patrol car, throat tight, leg bouncing and separated from the uniformed officers by a cage, hadn’t left the best impression.
Like a magnet, the paper lying on the passenger seat drew her gaze. So simple and unassuming. A stray scrap of paper. Could have been anything. Yet it felt like an oversized tarantula crouched on the seat, unmoving, creepy eyes following her every move.
“Just a prank. Some kids getting off on freaking me out.”
Even spoken aloud, the words did little to reassure her. She pulled into her apartment complex and parked in her assigned space. Her car had better be in the same spot in the morning.
Trudging up the sixty-two steps to her condo—she’d counted—she hesitated outside her door. Please, please, please. No more surprises.
Grace unlocked the door and pushed. It swung inward, banging softly into the wall. Nothing stirred. She stepped inside and set down her purse, rubbing the back of her neck.
“Miss Debry?”
With a startled squeak of surprise, Grace swung around. “Mr. Duncan?”
“Are you okay?” He glanced inside, brow drawn tight.
“What are you doing here?” Leaving the door open behind her. Way to be vigilant, Grace.
His frown deepened, but when his gaze again met hers, his eyes were shuttered. “After today’s call, I was worried about you.”
“You were?”
“Is that really so hard to believe?”
“Well, yeah.”
He didn’t respond, just watched her with his unfathomable brown eyes. Heat climbed up her neck and settled in her cheeks. Okay, the polite thing would be to invite him in. She glanced through her lashes. His gaze was fastened on her breasts. Her nipples went pebble-hard in a heartbeat. Gnawing on the inside of her cheek, she gestured him in—not the most gracious invite ever.
“So.” She shut the door and faced him. “You came here just to check on me?”
The setting sun speared through the glass balcony doors and outlined him, making him appear bigger. Harder. Grimmer. Which oddly made her feel safe.
“It’s not often I have people call and lie about one of my employees, Grace.”
Grace? What happened to Miss Debry?
“Uh…”
Nice. Smooth, Grace. Way to fumble like a virgin in the backseat of a car with the quarterback. It’d been a long day. The furnace kicked on and carried Mr. Duncan’s cologne on a burst of warm air, further hobbling her brain.
She cleared her throat. “How about those Boise State Broncos?”
Mr. Duncan’s lips twitched. “I wasn’t aware they were playing.”
“They’re not?”
“No. It’s March.” The twitch spread to a smile and out sprang his dimple.
She crossed her arms. Stared at his mouth. Uncrossed her arms. Cleared her throat again. “Oh.”
His smile slipped into obscurity. That wasn’t disappointment making her sigh. Really.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
The temporary haze of desire lifted and the reality of her morning flooded back. Her muscles clenched. She glanced at the kitchen.
“Grace.” He walked like a cat. In a heartbeat he’d crossed the room and stood far too close, a breath away from invading her personal space. “Please.”
His low voice, combined with a word she’d never heard from him, turned her to mush. Totally unfair. She sighed and gestured toward the kitchen. “Have a look at my kitchen.”
He turned without question and crossed the room.
Restless from the day’s events and his presence in her space, she kicked off her shoes and curled into a corner of the couch. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Just someone messing with me.”
He turned, frowning. “Assuming you’re normally neat here, like at work, this is more than someone messing with your stuff.”
He’d noticed she was neat at work? “It’s not a big deal.”
The frown turned into a glare and she sighed.
“Fine, it is a big deal. Also, when I left for work this morning, my car had been moved across the parking lot.”
Mr. Duncan’s expression cleared, leaving him about as readable as a brick wall. “What did the police say?”
She bounced off the couch and paced to the sliding door that led onto her small balcony. “Nothing, since I didn’t call them. What would I have said? Someone didn’t like the placement of my baking tools and spaghetti noodles? My car drove itself across the parking lot? Oh, but nothing was taken, Officer. No, the car wasn’t harmed. Of course I’m not on any medication. Oh, you’d like to take me down to the hospital for a psych evaluation? On the state’s dime? How generous.”
“Are you finished?”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms.
“No damage done and nothing taken doesn’t mitigate the situation. Someone broke into your home and your car.”
“Nobody threatened me.”
He strolled toward her. “You have to be hurt or confronted to get scared?”
“No, but nothing major happened.” Her voice rose. She hated being backed into a corner, and that was exactly what he was doing. Deep breaths. Self-control. She refused to yell at her boss.
“Show some common sense. A crime was committed and you need to report it.”
“I don’t want to, Matt!”
Grace gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. She’d yelled. Called him by his first name. Holy crap. He was not the friendly, easy-going kind of boss that promoted familiarity.
His eyes dark with intensity, he closed the distance between them and gently took her hand between his. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry it upsets you. I’m sure you have your reasons, but this is important.”
Sweetheart? What… Gaze never leaving hers, he brushed his lips across the back of her knuckles.
Her knees turned to water. The look in his eyes was the same as when they had stood behind the bar in his office. Right before she’d bolted.
Nerves licked along her spine. She moistened her lips. “I do realize it’s important. It’s just…I don’t like the police. My childhood… They aren’t…” She bit back a groan and pressed her lips together, meeting his gaze. Noticed tiny flecks of light that seemed to dance in his brown eyes, enticing her closer. Fogging her brain. “I don’t like the police,” she finished softly.
His heat and cologne were an intimate invitation her body was only too happy to accept. Sat up and begged to accept. She swallowed. His finger glided along the edge of her jaw, the coarse texture against her skin surprising and arousing. She glanced down. Rough calluses lined the inside of his hand and fingers. She’d never noticed his hands before; now they fascinated her.
“Call the police.”
Minty-fresh breath washed over her face. Instinct as old as time brought her a step closer. Matt’s eyes narrowed and his gaze dropped to her lips. His head lowered.
She jerked back and slammed into the glass door. Her face heating, she reached up to rub her abused head. Matt… Mr. Duncan, beat her to it. His strong fingers massaged her scalp. Her eyelids drifted shut. Angelic cherubs above, he knew how to use his fingers. Another, much lower, throb joined the first.
Firm, masculine lips feathered across hers. How she managed to remain upright and not melt into a puddle, she didn’t know. Opening her eyes, she stared at Matt. Head cradled in his broad palm, his lips an inch from hers, she forgot how to breathe.
Regret flickered in the depths of his eyes, and he gently untangled his hand. Her happy bits whimpered in denial. Her conscience slapped them into silence—the one thing in her whole body staving off looming insanity.
Number-one mistake—fling with your boss.
“I’d say I’m sorry,” Matt shrugged, “but…”
I’m not, was unsaid, but she heard it just the same. Matt’s gaze lingered on her mouth.
She bit her tongue to stop herself from saying anything dumb. Or worse, licking her lips again.
“I’d better go.”
Doorknob in hand, he paused and seemed to consider her. She tried to meld into the glass door, struggling to wrap her brain around what had just happened.
“Promise you’ll call the police and have the locks changed, Grace. Please.”
Her knees trembled. Two pleases in the space of fifteen minutes from her intractable employer. She nodded, releasing her tongue to gnaw on the inside of her cheek. The door closed behind him and silence descended. Relaxing in small increments, she slid to the floor.
A bouquet of flowers she’d received the other day drew her gaze. They’d shown up on her doorstep without a card. Glancing from them to her disaster zone of a kitchen, she narrowed her eyes. The coincidence was too much to ignore. She rose, snatched them out of the vase, yanked open the balcony door and tossed them over the railing.
“What the…” came a male voice from below.
Grace groaned and leaned over the balcony railing. Mr. Duncan straightened, a few of the discarded flowers in hand. Flower petals decorated his dark hair and the breadth of his shoulders. He glanced up.
Perfect. Could this day get any better? She smiled weakly.
He waved the flowers. “Friends of yours?”
“Not exactly. Sorry.”
He grinned. Even three flights away, it decimated her. Sweet heaven, his smile should be illegal.
“No problem.” He waved and walked away.
She was rooted to the spot. His athletic stride carried him around the side of the building. She groaned and dropped her head into her hands.
Perfect. Just…perfect. In the space of twenty-four hours, her life had gone from pleasantly simple to anxiety- and lust-ridden. She massaged her temples. Boring was so underappreciated.
• Freaked out by stranger invading her home………CHECK
• Ticked about stranger moving her precious car………CHECK
• Mysterious flowers messing with her head………CHECK
• Flirting & considering having a wild fling w/boss………CHECK
• Men in white coats arriving soon to cart her off………CHECK
Sweet baby cherubs, her life was ricocheting out of control. Grace dialed the police with a soft groan. World’s Biggest Idiot should be stamped across her forehead.
An hour later, she ushered the uniformed police officer out and pressed cool palms to her hot cheeks as she stood in the doorway. Calmly dealing with the sanctimonious, condescending prick had taken every iota of self-control she possessed.
“Probably just a prank, miss. We’ll send a cruiser through the area on a regular basis, if it’ll make you more comfortable.”
The only thing missing was a pat on the head.
Lisie’s door cracked open and her friend’s head popped out, her eyes big as saucers and swimming with worry when they met hers. Despite the circumstances, Grace couldn’t help smiling and rolling her eyes at Her Royal Nosiness.
“You want some company, cher?”
“No, thanks. I think I’m going to turn in early.”
“Alright.” Lisie frowned. “Give me a call when you’re ready to tackle that mess and I’ll come help, you hear?”
“Bossy.”
“Is that a yes?”
Grace brought her heels together and snapped a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
Lisie snorted a soft laugh and pointed a long-tipped finger at her. “I’m holdin’ you to it.”
Smiling, Grace closed her door and leaned back against it. A glance at her kitchen and her smile slipped away on a sigh and a shiver. There be creepers out there.
CHAPTER FOUR (#uefeb9126-c91e-593a-8c3a-2a24a9c125f0)
Matt steered the heavy bike into Julia Davis Park. Bright sunshine, blue skies, warm temperatures, and a cool breeze felt more like May than March. He idled to a stop at the side of the narrow road, near a large fountain in the center of the park.
People rode bicycles, children swarmed over the playground, old couples fed ducks and teenagers played with their dogs. Fresh-cut grass scented the air. His gaze swung back to one of the teenagers with a dog and he stiffened, blindly reaching to turn off the rumbling engine.
A big dog had a female teenager down on the grass and it looked like…He shot off the bike and was running before he’d completed the thought.
The closer he got, the bigger the dog became. It loomed, massive and fierce, over the girl on the ground. The dog raised its massive head, locked gazes with him and shifted to stand over the girl. The animal’s protective stance slowed Matt. He stopped several yards away.
The girl lying on the grass tilted her head back. He didn’t dare look away from the huge dog, but an inkling of suspicion trickled through him. From the corner of his eye, pink infused her cheeks and her eyes shone bright with laughter. He might have misjudged the situation.
“Apollo, down.” The dog obeyed her firm command with the docility of a pussycat. Apollo’s gaze didn’t waver. The message came through loud and clear: watch his step or he’d be dog chow.
The girl rolled into a sitting position with fluid grace and tilted her head to the side as she contemplated him.
Daring to look away from the big dog, he met her eyes and rocked back on his heels. Hard. “Grace?”
She laughed and hugged her knees to her chest. Her cheeks were rosy from wrestling with the dog, she had grass in her dark hair and there was dog slobber on her pants. He couldn’t remember a more appealing sight.
“Hello, Mr. Duncan.”
She’d called him Matt at her apartment a few days ago.
He cleared his throat and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”
“You mean your extensive background check missed something?” Her light, teasing tone stirred something in him. “I don’t have a dog. Apollo belongs to my neighbor. I enjoy playing with him and take him out for walks whenever I can. There weren’t any dogs in the foster homes I grew up in, and I always wanted one.”
“Really?” Apollo lay panting on the grass, watching him. Must be a male neighbor. He couldn’t imagine anyone else owning a dog like that. Jealousy sucker-punched him and he crossed his arms. “He doesn’t give you any problems? He’s awfully big.”
She chuckled and stood, brushing grass off her jeans. “Now there’s an understatement. He’s an absolute teddy bear, though. Wouldn’t hurt a flea. We were just wrestling when you came flying to the rescue.” She gave a cheeky grin.
Unbelievably, heat washed over Matt’s face. He didn’t usually get embarrassed. Ever.
Grace’s grin widened, displaying a playful side he hadn’t seen in the office. “You’re very sweet. It probably looked like he was mauling me, instead of playing. I don’t know why, but his muzzle tickles and when I start laughing, it eggs him on.”
He glanced at her jeans, enjoying the way they molded to her curves, and up to her fitted T-shirt. She filled out casual clothes very well. Very well. He’d like to find her ticklish spots.
His gaze returned to her face. Deep rose painted her cheekbones. The deepening shade of her green eyes reminded him of standing in her apartment, the soft curves of her body between the glass door and him. Their almost-kiss had fueled his fantasies all week.
Unfortunately, he still didn’t know how to handle the situation. Pursuing an employee seemed unethical. Not to mention putting him at risk of a major sexual-harassment lawsuit. Plus, he wasn’t great with personal relationships. Matt’s gaze shifted to Apollo again, jealous heat burning his belly. “The dog’s owner doesn’t mind you borrowing him?”
“No. She’s pushing eighty and is glad to have someone with a bit more energy to play with him.”
“What’s an old woman doing with a Great Dane?”
Her eyes narrowed and cooled. Well, shit. Grace’s fondness for the dog must extend to the owner.
“He’s very gentle and not at all demanding. I’m sure he’d be content to sit at home with her. He was doing exactly that before I moved in and he never appeared unhappy or neglected.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to imply anything bad about the dog or the lady.”
She nodded. In his experience, women pouted, whined and gave him the cold shoulder. They did not, ever, forgive after a simple apology.
Grace sat and patted the ground. “Pull up a section of grass.”
Only a fool would turn down an invitation to sit in the sunshine with a beautiful woman. He parked his butt.
“You look different than you do at work.” He bit off a groan. Freakin’ brilliant observation, Sherlock.
Grace laughed. “So do you.”
She was watching some kids play across the park, leaving him to admire her profile. Desire thickened his cock and tongue. He shifted, focusing beyond the physical to tamp down his arousal. Like her funny, quirky personality, the impish mischievousness he sometimes saw in her eyes and her unfailing honesty—even when it didn’t flatter her.
“So…” Matt searched for a conversational gambit to save his ass. “If you like dogs so much, why don’t you get one of your own?”
She shrugged. “I work a lot and live in a condo with no yard, none of which sounds like the ideal life for a dog.”
As much as he wanted to show up on her doorstep tomorrow with a puppy—and what the hell was that about?—her reasoning was sound. Since he couldn’t exactly buy her a house, he tossed about for another topic. Something that didn’t involve the sudden onset of a rapidly deteriorating mental state—his.
“Did you call the police?” He hadn’t seen her at work to ask. Not wanting to come off as stalkerish, he hadn’t sought her out either.
She nodded, wrinkling her nose. “Fat lot of good it did me.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“They brushed the whole thing off as some sort of prank. No damage done.” She glanced at him, then away again just as quickly. “Thank you for your help, though. It was sweet of you to be so concerned.”
Mouth pulled tight, he straightened. “The police did nothing?”
“They took a report, patted me on the head and left.” Grace plucked blades of grass, looking vulnerable as hell until she glanced up and grinned. “Just like I said they would.”
Despite the annoyance riding him hard over the police, he couldn’t resist her smile. “Yeah, yeah.”
“May I ask you a personal question?”
Matt froze, a dozen unpleasant scenarios running through his mind. “Sure.”
“The other day at work, you seemed off. What was wrong?”
Damn. Not as bad as he’d feared, but the last thing he wanted was to come across as a momma’s boy. Still, he couldn’t lie. Not to her. “My mom has breast cancer.”
“Oh, Matt.”
Her slender fingers brushed down his arm and settled on top of his hand. His work-roughened hands, thanks to time spent on job sites instead of sitting in the office. Her hands were baby-soft and pale. The contrast enhanced her femininity. Made him feel like a pheasant begging for the fair maiden. He grimaced. Yeah, he’d officially lost his mind.
“That’s awful. I lost my foster mom to breast cancer several years ago. They’re able to detect cancer so early, though. With treatment, your mom has excellent chances for recovery.”
He blinked away a sheen of moisture and cleared his throat. The depth of her sympathy disarmed him. “I’m sorry about your foster mom. I sincerely hope you’re right. My mom just remarried a few months ago. My stepdad will be devastated if anything happens to her.”
“So will you.”
“Yeah.”
Grace wove her fingers through his and squeezed. He didn’t want to think about his mom dying a slow, miserable death. Life pulsed and flowed around him, drawing him out of the gray pallor that clung to him every time he thought about his mom’s illness.
With a final squeeze, Grace released his hand. He immediately missed the contact. Apollo nudged his blocky head onto Grace’s lap. She stroked his head and envy clawed at Matt’s gut. Jealous of a dog. He’d better keep a close eye out for the men in white coats.
Grace’s gaze skimmed his heavy boots, worn blue jeans and black leather jacket over a T-shirt. He’d taken off his dark sunglasses and stuck the earpiece in the collar of his shirt. Her perusal sent his senses humming like a high-performance engine begging to be set loose.
“You aren’t exactly dressed for a day at the park.”
“I was riding through until I saw the dog on you.” He wasn’t about to admit he’d thought she was a teenage girl.
“You’re riding a bicycle dressed like that?”
He chuckled. “Not exactly.”
Matt pointed to his Harley parked at the curb. Her reaction didn’t disappoint. Those gorgeous eyes widened and her mouth formed a little “O” of surprise. He wanted to explore those lips, taste them and learn their texture. The little brush days ago hadn’t been nearly enough.
“Would you like a ride?”
Where had that come from?
Not that he regretted the invitation. The thought of her riding behind him on his bike had certain body parts growing out of proportion to the situation.
“I can’t.” Her lower lip jutted out in disappointment.
He barely managed to leash his primal urges. This wasn’t the time to introduce her to Caveman Duncan.
“I have to take Apollo home.” She grinned, impish and adorable. “Unless you’re hiding a doggy side car somewhere.”
“Uh, no.”
Her smile slipped a little and her gaze drifted back to his motorcycle.
“You like motorcycles?”
“Oh, yeah.”
The husky way she spoke had his body stomping with impatience at the gate. Damn. A glass of chipped ice would come in handy about now…to dump down the front of his pants. “How about I swing by your condo in an hour? We can go for a ride and grab dinner.”
“I would love that. Thank you.” She snagged Apollo’s leash off the grass and scrambled to her feet. “I’d better run if I’m going to be ready on time. See you soon.”
She waved and started across the expanse of grass. Matt stood rooted, mesmerized by the way her jeans cupped her swaying bottom. She turned and he jerked his gaze to her face, guilty as a horny teenager caught ogling a Playboy magazine.
“Do you remember where I live?”
He grinned.
“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “You have a photographic memory.”
With another jaunty wave, she spun on her heel. Putting his photographic memory to its best use in years, he memorized the way her hips rocked until she disappeared around a curve in the Greenbelt. Shaking off his hormone-induced stupor, Matt headed for his bike. He settled in the seat with a grimace.
Several hours of similar agony loomed in his future. With her wrapped around him like a second skin, riding behind him on the Harley, he didn’t have a prayer of controlling his body. He didn’t care. The pleasure of feeling her against him and the delight of her company would be worth it.
He straddled the bike, pulled his helmet on and gunned the engine. He had a few things to do before heading to Grace’s condo.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_987dee7a-c99e-5948-bf96-ccbd9b114a1b)
Grace let herself into her condo, collapsed against the door then half a second later pushed upright and exited the condo again. She pounded her fist on Lisie’s door, chewing on the inside of her lip, gaze repeatedly skipping toward the stairs Matt would soon climb.
The door jerked inward by a rather irate-looking Lisie, her fist planted on her hip and dark eyes blazing. “Where’s da fire, sug?”
“I’m going out with my boss.”
“Ooooh!” Lisie rubbed her hands together, shrugged out of her paint smock and followed Grace back to her place. “Watcha gonna wear?”
“Clothes?” Grace rushed into her bedroom, unbuttoning her jeans and yanking off her T-shirt. They landed in her hamper as she passed into the en suite bathroom.
The cool tile underfoot and the sea-green-and-blue color scheme calmed her. She’d spent her first weekend painting and decorating the condo. All her years moving to different foster homes had taught her how to quickly make a space feel like home. She had more resources these days, but the goal stayed the same.
She shook her head over the way she’d bolted as soon as she’d rounded the corner and escaped the heat of Matt’s gaze. Good thing she stayed in shape, or she’d never have made it to her building. Apollo loped easily at her side for the entire three-quarter mile––show-off.
Not taking the time to visit with Mrs. Freeman when she dropped him off made her feel guilty. She’d promised to stop by tomorrow after church to make up for it.
Grace splashed water on her cheeks. The cold sting helped. Exertion, desire, and anticipation hummed through her body.
“How long since ya been on a date?”
Frowning, she turned. Lisie lounged against the bathroom doorframe, examining her lethally long, meticulously manicured fingernails. “Is it a date?”
One eyebrow arched. “You tell me, cher.”
She pictured Matt standing in the park. Arms crossed, jacket straining across his broad shoulders, legs spread and denim hugging thick muscles. His casual clothes revealed a physique she never would have suspected lurked within his polite business suits. From the unapologetically masculine black leather to the gleaming chrome Harley beast, there’d been nothing polite about him today. Heaven help her, she got damp just thinking about it.
“If it isn’t a date, someone should alert my hormones.”
Lisie grinned. “Dere ya go. Is a date.”
“Hmm…” It had to be politically incorrect to want to jump her boss, even if he’d indulged in a few carnal thoughts of his own. The strain on his poor zipper would have been obvious to a blind man. She deserved a medal for not staring.
Her shiver had nothing to do with cool tiles or chilly water. He was uber-delish, business savvy, street smart and had a wicked sense of humor. With the speed of a woman who’d worked in a beauty salon through college, she went from day-off to date-night in minutes. She amped up her makeup, brushed her hair, added a few curls, then spritzed with a yummy-smelling hairspray.
In her bedroom, she refreshed her deodorant and perfume. Then she hurried into the spacious walk-in closet. Her clothes lay scattered on the floor. The wood hangers dangled on the rod, empty. She blindly reached for the wall for support. Chills crawled over her skin. Not again.
Grace backed out and stared at her bedroom. Nothing looked out of place. Yet every scrap of clothing that had been hanging in her closet, organized by color and style with OCD precision, lay on the floor.
“Cher, wha’s wrong?”
Trembling, she waved at her closet. Lisie scrambled off the middle of her bed, where she’d made herself comfy. Grace rubbed her arms and approached her dresser. She stared at the drawers, afraid to open them. Fast, like a Band-Aid. She yanked open the first drawer. Then the next and the next and the next.
The drawers were undisturbed. Her socks were still tucked in place, alongside her neatly folded panties. Each drawer was just as it had been when she’d left that morning. Staying a good five feet back, just in case, she peeked under the big bed.
Nothing. It didn’t make any sense. Any more so than the incident on Tuesday.
“Saints above.” Lisie crossed herself. “Ya best pack a valise and come stay with me.”
Grace blinked. “A what?”
“A…suitcase, y’all call it.”
She shook her head and walked through the rest of her condo. Running away wasn’t an option. Her laptop sat in its usual place atop the pretty desk she’d picked up at an antique store several years ago. The flat-screen TV was untouched, as were her stereo and other components. Everything was fine. In its place, neat and orderly. The fan circled lazily overhead. Goose bumps broke out across her skin. Someone rapped on her front door and she jumped.
“Sweet baby cherubs.”
She pressed a hand to her galloping heart then whipped around in search of a weapon. Throw pillows, delicate hand-blown glass bowl, dainty lamp. Damnit. Why hadn’t she decorated with anything heavy? Or sharp and pointy? She grabbed her cordless handset and approached the door as another knock sounded.
Lisie wrapped an arm around her waist, patting her. “Calm down, sug. I don’t think da bad man would knock. Is likely da hotness ya call ‘boss.’”
“Grace?”
Holy crap. It was Matt. She glanced down at her bra and panties.
“Uh, just a sec.”
Grace raced for her room on less-than-steady feet. She couldn’t leave him standing outside while she dug through the pile of clothes, trying to find something to wear. Groaning, she snatched her robe off the bedpost and stuffed her trembling arms into the sleeves. Tying the sash with a sharp yank, she hurried out, ignored Lisie’s squeak of alarm, and yanked open her door.
Matt’s eyes widened and she glanced down. Greeting someone at her front door had been the last thing on her mind when she purchased the robe. Her face warmed. The burned-out velvet exposed as much as it covered.
Nothing left but to brazen it out, she smiled. No biggie. She greeted big, hunky men who just happened to pay her salary dressed like this all the time.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Duncan. Come in, please. I’m not ready yet.”
Lisie snickered. Oh great, Grace. Nothing like stating the obvious.
“Please don’t apologize. I’ll be reliving this moment for days.” He strolled in, his woodsy cologne blanking her brain. “I prefer when you call me Matt. It might be kind of awkward if you call me Mr. Duncan all evening.”
That answered one question. “Sure.” She closed the door and indicated Lisie. “Meet my neighbor, Lisie. Can I get you a drink?”
“Nice to meet you, Lisie.”
“The pleasure is all mine, dawlin’.”
Matt didn’t seem to notice her BFF’s fawning. Instead, he stood stock still in the middle of her living room, staring at her legs. She yanked on the robe’s hem, but no amount of tugging lengthened the damn thing. His gaze crawled up her body.
A firm believer in equality, Grace returned the perusal. Once again, he had his sunglasses tucked into the neckline of his shirt. Never before had she found that sexy, but hey, times changed. From the look of it, he wore a black silk T-shirt under his leather jacket. He looked scrumptious in black.
Lisie cleared her throat. When she glanced at her, she fanned her face, eyes wide. If it wouldn’t have been obvious, Grace would have done the same.
“What do you have?”
“What?” She blinked and whipped her gaze back to Matt. Her female parts were begging to get up close and personal with his male parts, but she was fairly sure that wasn’t what he meant. Especially not in front of her friend. She wasn’t into that sort of thing.
His lips curved to reveal that tempting dimple. She didn’t know what she’d do if he gave her a real smile. Probably melt into a puddle of undersexed hormones at his feet.
“You offered me a drink?”
“Oh. Right. Um…soda, iced tea, wine and water.”
“A glass of ice water would be nice.” The intensity of his gaze ratcheted up a few notches. “It’s a bit warm in here.”
She swallowed and hurried into her kitchen. Lisie followed close on her heels.
“Damn, sug!” Lisie hissed, eyes bugging a bit as she ogled Matt. “You could’a warned me.”
Grace shrugged and stole glances at him over her shoulder as she grabbed a glass. He strolled over to the French doors that opened onto a nice-sized balcony overlooking the Boise River. Ice clinked loudly in the glass from the dispenser and he turned. Grace’s face heated and she lowered her gaze, but couldn’t resist sneaking another peek through her lashes.
“I’ll leave you to it, cher.” Lisie winked at her before heading to the front door. “Hope to see you again soon, dawlin’,” she called to Matt. He nodded his head and waved, smiling at her.
Looking oddly at home in Grace’s feminine room, he settled onto her couch. Except for his earlier visit, no men had been in her living room. In her condo, period. Not even a date in seven months. No wonder she was having a hormone overload. She wasn’t used to being aware of her sexuality, much less someone else’s.
Lifting a black boot to settle his ankle on his other knee, he rested a long arm on the back of the couch.
“Sorry I’m not ready.” She thought about the mess in her closet and her knees weakened. “I found… I don’t know what I found, actually. The clothes in my closet…” She bit the inside of her lip and walked into the living room. She didn’t want to get into this with him again. “Never mind. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
He accepted the glass of ice water, frowning. “What did you find?”
“Matt.” She sighed and surrendered to the inevitable. “The clothes in my closet are messed up.”
“Show me.” He rose.
Grace sighed again, but what difference did it make? She led him to the open closet door. He stood beside her, silent. She shivered. Clothes that had hung just so, neatly folded sweaters, her shoes—they were all scattered on the floor.
Matt wrapped an arm around her and pulled her snugly to his side. She hadn’t expected it or wanted it, but sharing the moment helped. Diluted the impact somehow. The warmth of his body and the hard muscles wrapped around her melted the insulating layer of shock.
She leaned against him, struggling to resist hiding her face in his shirt. Hiding from the fear that had every muscle clenched to the point of pain. From the sense of violation churning her stomach. Hiding from the thought of a stranger in her home. Again.
“You need to call the police. I know it seemed like a waste of time the first time, but you still need to file a report.” His gaze held her fast. “This is the second time. In case anything else happens, and I’m not saying anything else will, but if it does, this will be factored into the equation.”
Her head began to throb.
His eyebrow arched. “You didn’t get your locks re-keyed, did you?”
Shoulders drooping, she shook her head. The urge to rest her head against his broad shoulders was strong. She resisted.
Matt’s lips tightened, then he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll call a locksmith while you get dressed.”
She nodded, numb. He was taking this so seriously it made it hard to pass it off as some teenage prank. His arm tightened around her, then let go. The bedroom door shut behind him with a quiet click.
Grace allowed a moment to wallow, then straightened her shoulders and pulled on a pair of blue jeans. Reluctantly, she went into her closet and dug through the pile on the floor. Something was odd about some of the clothes.
The arm of a red sweater seemed too long, while a black skirt was oddly misshapen. She held them up and gasped. Hands trembling, she dug through the pile. About half of them were torn or ripped. Her lower lip quivered and she bit it, blinking back tears.
Sitting on her closet floor and having a good old-fashioned sob-fest sounded appealing, but her boss was waiting in the other room. They were moving into dating territory, and she didn’t want to start out with puffy eyes and a red nose. Not attractive. She yanked a lightweight cashmere sweater off the floor.
A jagged-edged piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Her breath caught. The white square lay on top of the tweed skirt she’d worn to work a few days ago. Innocuous. Apprehension coiled inside. Not another one.
With the same cautious respect she would show a boa constrictor, she picked it up. She took a breath. Squeezed her eyes shut and flipped the paper over. She opened one eye and peered at the paper.
Both eyes open, she sat back on her heels.
Think you’re something special, don’t you? A fancy job, big condo
and expensive clothes won’t change anything.
You’re nothing but trailer trash, slut.
Trailer trash?
A shudder trembled the paper in her fingers. On the edge of hysteria, she rubbed her forehead. Be rational. Deep breath. Her chest rose and fell on a deep inhalation. Okay, good. You’re life hasn’t been a bed of roses. You can cope without falling apart. It’s just words on a piece of paper. Yes, someone was in your home. Someone damaged your clothes. No biggie. Clothes are replaceable. The important thing is, whoever was here is gone. Right now, there’s a big, handsome man waiting in your living room. For you. Focus on that.
Grace straightened her shoulders, wiped a stray tear from her cheek and stood. She set the paper on her bed and pulled the intact cashmere sweater over her head. Her thoughts ran in circles as she tugged on socks and tennis shoes. Looping a strand of hair round her finger, she stared at the paper. What she wouldn’t give to crumple it into a ball and toss it. Instead, she grabbed the scrap and headed into the living room, resigned to the inevitable.
Matt glanced up from where he sat on her floral couch, her cordless phone and the phone book in hand. Her lips twitched. Like a physical caress, his gaze moved over her. Appreciation gleamed in the dark depths. His eyes narrowed on the paper in her hand.
“What’s that?”
“I found it on the floor mixed in with the clothes—most of which have been slashed.” She placed it face up on the coffee table. Matt leaned forward.
“Trailer trash?”
She settled on the couch beside him. “I’ve never even lived in a trailer.”
“I don’t like this, Grace. The note makes it more personal.”
She bit her lip, not wanting to mention the other note. The one she’d found in her car. A stress headache bloomed into life right behind her eyes. He picked up her cordless from the coffee table and handed it to her. “Call the police.”
“You know you’re incredibly bossy, right?”
“Hazard of being the boss, I guess.”
He leaned back against her pillows. He didn’t even appear offended. Relaxed and comfortable came to mind, despite the frown drawing his dark brows together and the tight set of his lips. Sprawled on her couch, he also looked entirely too sexy for her peace of mind.
His gaze dropped to the phone lying in her limp hand, then back up to her face, with a lift of his brow.
“Bossy,” but still she dialed. Bossy, yes. But right too. At least he provided a distraction from her fear.
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_f6fa025b-795f-5845-93f4-876e436c4bed)
Matt settled into the booth across from Grace. Sharing her side of the table held more appeal, but that would probably be pressing his luck. Besides, he’d been patient for six of the longest months of his life, admiring her intelligence, spirit, fire and beauty from afar. He could be patient a while longer.
Dusky rose spread across her cheeks. To his amusement, she avoided eye contact, perusing her menu with great interest. The past week had shown she wasn’t immune to him. Before that, she hadn’t revealed the slightest awareness of him as a man. He had started to worry.
He wasn’t worried anymore.
He glanced at the menu. Angell’s Bar & Grill tended to be fairly quiet, even during the dinner rush. Classy, great food and they weren’t too fussy about how their customers dressed.
They placed their orders and he rested his arms on the table. If he wasn’t mistaken, Grace had enjoyed riding on his bike. He’d certainly gotten a rise out of her riding behind him. Literally and figuratively. She’d wrapped herself around him in a way that went beyond the mere physical.
He sipped his water, searching for a safe topic of conversation. Something to keep her mind off the creep breaking into her place. “Have you made it out of the city yet?”
“I went to McCall. The Winter Carnival was fun, and the ice sculptures were amazing.”
“They’re different every year too. I try not to miss it.” He grinned. “They can get pretty goofy. There was a toilet one year.”
“You’re kidding.”
Matt shrugged, laughing. Grace chuckled, but a few seconds later her gaze drifted to the window. She had to be pretty upset about what happened at her condo. A woman living alone… He didn’t like her vulnerability with some freak on the loose. May as well address the elephant in the room.
“Is there anyone you’ve met since moving here that seemed off?”
Her expression didn’t so much as flicker, which told him her mind had been in the same place. She shook her head.
“I’ve been searching my brain. No one comes to mind. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened. No creepy vibes. No strange men following me.” She shrugged.
“All you can do at this point is be extra vigilant.” He wished he could offer her something more tangible.
“You’re right. It’s just so…I don’t know. Out of left field. I haven’t even lived here that long. This kind of stuff happens in the movies, to other people.”
Their food arrived and Grace poked at her steak, swirled the tines of fork in her mashed potatoes, stabbed a piece of lettuce, then set the fork down without taking a bite. He hated not knowing what to do and longed to find a way to comfort and reassure her. He’d dreamt about having her all to himself for months, and while he’d take it any way he could get it, knowing she was upset dimmed his pleasure. His mother had taught him that most women preferred a sympathetic ear to Mr. Fix It, but it was a difficult urge to resist.
Grace rubbed the back of her neck, cast him a soft smile, and began eating her meal. His shoulders relaxed.
Man, he had it bad.
Grace glanced up. “What made you get into construction?”
“My father was in the business, so I grew up around it. Starting up my own business was a natural extension. I just grew it bigger and better.”
Grace laughed. “Nothing wrong with your ego.”
“Hey, I won’t lie.” He grinned. “I’m proud of the company I’ve built from the ground up.”
“You have every reason to be proud of your accomplishments. What’s it feel like, when you’re driving around and look at a restaurant, a store, or someone’s home, and know you made that happen? You’ve left your fingerprint on this valley. That’s gotta feel good.”
He shrugged. No one had ever put it like that. She made him sound like more than he was, which felt damn good.
“I don’t think about it.”
Her eyes widened and she leaned forward. The low neck of her sweater gaped and no force on earth could have stopped him from enjoying the view. Beautiful, smooth skin the color of fresh cream. The lace at the top of her bra was just visible. He jerked his gaze back to her face and shifted the napkin in his lap a little higher.
“How is that possible?”
“I guess when I see the buildings my crews have put up, I’m still looking at them with a critical eye. Either that, or they blend into the landscape. It’s just business.”
Obviously unable to comprehend his lack of emotional depth, she shook her head. Great. Now she was probably rating him alongside a caveman. Desperate to save her opinion of him, he racked his brain. And came up empty. He frowned. Was he really that lame?
“Well, I have no room to talk.” She sighed. “I’ve never created anything. I still think it’s awesome, being able to leave your mark on the world like you do. I’d love to be able to do that.”
Relief flowed. Admiration laced her voice. She sure made an impact with him, but he doubted she’d been referring to that kind of mark.
“You’re part of the machine that puts those buildings in the ground, you know.”
She tilted her head and stared at him. Having her undivided attention made his hands clammy. How could one woman make him feel like an awkward teenage boy? He could handle a room full of businessmen, the wealthy couple who thought they could have the world at a bargain and the contract gone bad, with ease. Sit a black-haired, green-eyed woman in front of him and his nerve went out the nearest window.
When it came to romancing a woman, he didn’t have a clue. If a woman wanted him, he’d never had to work for it. If she didn’t, why bother? It was the twenty-first century. Women were aggressive; they went after what they wanted.
Grace shrugged. “I may be a small part—very small, but it’s not the same. Still, I appreciate you saying so.”
“If you want to leave a mark, have an impact, why are you working behind the scenes? Why not go for something more? There has to be something you love, some other desire behind that statement.”
She flushed and dropped her gaze. So there was something.
“Not really.”
“That’s a yes. You just haven’t decided whether to pursue it. Life is short, Grace. Go for your dreams.”
“You make it sound so easy. So simple. It’s not.”
“Why? Because it’s something that scares you? Chasing your dreams can be terrifying. The thrill of catching them is worth it.”
She stared.
He shifted in his seat. “What?”
“You have the soul of a poet, Matt.”
A slow smile bloomed and sparkled in her eyes, tugging at his very non-poetic soul. He swallowed. Just because he admired her, cared for her and wanted her, didn’t mean forever. Hell, she hadn’t even seen him as anything but her boss until recently.
“However…”
“Ah.” Matt grinned. “There’s always a however.”
“I’ve never been exactly ‘normal.’” She made air quotes. “Not many foster kids are. Heck, I don’t even know who my parents are.”
“That’s rough.”
She shrugged. “I survived. After being shuffled from home to home for years, I landed on Laura’s doorstep. She was a great foster mom. Taught me how to open up to people and shaped me into who I am today.”
“Sounds like she was an amazing woman. I’m glad you found someone to nurture you, sweetheart.”
Grace glanced up, eyes widening, and he cursed his slip. He wasn’t a teenager. He knew better than to wear his heart on his sleeve.
He cleared his throat. “Would you like dessert?”
“No thank you. This was plenty. I’m stuffed. I can’t believe I ate that much.”
He grinned and lifted a finger for the check.
His hand on the small of her back, he escorted her out of the restaurant. He leaned a fraction closer, dropped his chin and inhaled. She smelled like heaven. A sweet musky scent that was pure woman. She turned and smiled, her hair brushing across the back of his hand like strands of silk.
“Thank you for dinner. And for the ride.” Her gaze went to his Harley. A woman after his own heart, lusting after power and a rumbling engine. He could get into that.
Down, boy.
Handing her the spare helmet, he threw a leg over and settled on the low seat. He pulled on his helmet and started the bike, then held out his hand to help her on. He turned to make sure she got on safely. Grace grinned like a kid in a candy store, her eyes glinting behind the visor.
She climbed on like an old pro, hands clutching his sides while she settled. Her legs came to rest alongside his, her arms wrapped around him, and he revved the motor. The bike vibrated between his legs, and he could have sworn Grace moaned. Her arms tightened around him.
She did things to him he wouldn’t have thought possible. He’d perfected self-control. Or so he’d thought, until she came into his life.
Matt eased away from the curb, Grace clinging to him like a second skin. About as close to heaven as a guy could get. He rumbled to a stop at a red light and glanced back.
Grace raised her head and met his eyes. Cheeks pink, lids half-closed and moist lips parted, she was the picture of a woman on the verge of an orgasm. He bit back a groan. What he wouldn’t give to tip her over the edge.
He lifted his visor and Grace followed suit.
“How about a ride before I drop you at your place?”
She nodded, eyes sparkling. He revved the engine again. She bit her lip and her eyelids slid down. Holy crap. A visual slammed into his brain of Grace’s sweet pussy pressed against the vibrating seat. Of course, she was naked.
Her hips shifted, her heat pressing against him. Her eyes opened, bright with arousal. Watching her was the biggest turn-on he’d ever experienced. Two more seconds of this and he’d be useless. He winked, slammed his visor shut and faced the intersection.
The light changed and he rumbled forward, slow and easy, muscles tight. Damn, he needed to get a grip. So what if the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen was hot, bothered, and wrapped around him like a well-worn leather jacket. He was a grown man, not some horny teenager.
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Angel Nicholas
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 28.04.2024
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О книге: Death is preferable to what awaits in her forgotten past…Coffee is the only thing standing between Grace Debry and a straight-jacket since she gave up swearing in honor of her foster mom. A rash of break-ins makes her wonder if caffeine is enough. Especially when the notes left behind make it personal. Her brand-spanking new life is more nightmare than dream-come-true.All Matthew Duncan has wanted since hiring Grace is to have her in his passenger seat, his arms, and his bed. As they grow closer, the feisty brunette proves to be a handful—one Matt is happy to hold. He’s determined to give her the happily ever after she stopped believing in years ago. Unfortunately for Grace, it will take more than Matt’s considerable resolve to keep her safe.Three’s a crowd—not that he cares. Every move she makes, every breath she takes … he’s watching. Waiting to reclaim what he lost.Angel Nicholas pens another wildly passionate romantic suspense with Dying for Love.