by Nicole Snow
“It was a different time,” he snaps. “You know it’s in my nature to always prefer the lawful option. Order over chaos. However, I never told you, after it was said and done with that wretched man...you were right, Ridge. I was wrong. There wasn’t another way. No court in the world would convict him. I was a fool to try and stop you from the only justice anyone could’ve given Judy Barnet.”
I bolt up, step across the room, lay my hands on his shoulders.
It’s a hell of a thing to see a man as mild mannered as Tobin admit something like this.
“You’re sure? Tobin, I...”
I can’t fucking speak.
He nods firmly. “If you’d like, I believe I can track down more of the noxious agent you used in Hammond’s drink. I assume that’s where you placed it, anyway, knowing the affinity he had for his wines...”
“Yeah,” I growl, pinching my teeth. “How could I forget?”
I hate remembering a fucking thing about that night, but it all comes flying back.
It wasn’t long after I chewed him out and roughed him up at the charity fundraiser. I found him at this upscale bar, muscled my way in, and got him alone.
I played the perfect gentleman. Apologized for being so rash, so upset about my mother’s death at that ski lodge...for ever accusing him of what he did.
He was Mr. Fucking Congeniality.
Hammond pushed me to share a bottle of nine-thousand-dollar top-shelf Bordeaux. I even let the pig toast to Judy Barnet. We clinked glasses.
The second his back was turned, by the third glass, I slipped it into his drink.
The dose was slow-acting, enough meant to kill.
Somehow, I kept it together for hours, long after we’d parted ways and he’d gone home for the night.
I heard it through Bebe the next day, how he’d been hospitalized and barely had any function in his central nervous system left to call for help.
The dosage was off.
He didn’t die. Not that night. But the oxygen was cut off to his brain just long enough to leave him paralyzed.
I didn’t have the balls to kill a vampire in broad daylight, but I damn sure wounded him, fatally, and left him toothless to prey on more women until his violent end at the barrel of a gun and another angry man he’d destroyed.
“Do it,” I tell Tobin finally. “If you can get the shit without raising any red flags...it’s an option. Maybe our best option.”
He nods again, pivots out of my grasp, and turns toward the door.
“Tobin, wait,” I say, standing my ground until he turns. “I need you to know I’m sleeping with Grace.”
He barely raises his brows. “As ever, your romantic escapades are none of my professional or personal business. The news is no surprise, considering the racket you two make in your nightly passions. Now if you’ll excuse me—”
“I’m not trying to kiss and tell. My point is, it’s your business when I think I...fuck.” I have to stop and collect myself, rubbing my eyes. “I think, after all this is over, I want Grace to join us here. I want to help get her on her feet, see if she wants to stay in Dallas, or find a stable footing to go off to wherever else she chooses.”
His head tilts ever so slightly.
“I see...”
We share an awkward glance before I think I detect a hint of a sly smile tugging at his lips.
“Whatever you decide, I’m always at your service to assist everyone in this household.”
Shit, I knew I was hoping for too much, getting a human response from him.
Though the fact that he raises no 'concern?'
It’s basically his approval.
“You’re excused,” I tell him, turning away to push my chair in.
Tobin stops with my door open, looking back, and then says, “On a purely personal note, I believe Miss Sellers compliments you rather nicely. Please let me know when you’d like dinner tonight.”
With that, he’s gone, and I feel my jaw dragging on the floor at the fact that Tobin—stuffy, cautious, stick-up-his-ass Tobin—actually might approve of Grace.
Okay, now I have to get moving.
It’s not just a workable plan to snare Clay and his merry band of fucksticks I need.
I’ll need a plan for the epilogue, too, after we take down this prick.
What does it look like if I’m not just living alone, living for myself, and suffering?
What the fuck happens if I ask my fake fiancée to stay when our troubles are through?
19
No Waking Up (Grace)
There are times when I wonder if I’m dreaming.
Life can’t be this good.
I’m afraid to pinch myself because I might wake up, and then where will I be?
Not here.
Not in this beautiful house, spending every night in the arms of a dark beast who takes me to bed some nights with all the fervor of a flipping sex god, and others, makes love to me slowly, tenderly.
Just like I’m as fragile and delicate as blown glass.
I love it all.
Especially the anticipation, the buildup, wondering which way he’ll take me every time he leads me to his bedroom. But I think the mornings might be my new favorite.
Like this one, where I’m draped across his naked slab of a body, legs open, one breast in his hand as he plunges into me. His other hand grips my ass, delivering a demanding pinch that reminds me to keep the pace he’s set.
“Harder, sweetheart,” he growls into my ear. “Reverse cowgirl means you shake that ass for me. Let me hear you sing.”
Holy hell.
My body obeys as his thrusts quicken. The dawn’s golden light spills in through the blinds, adding this sparkly beauty to every movement: his rough hands roaming my body, his muscular legs sprawled out beneath mine, his cock rending me in two every time I look down.
With a low, guttural sound, he raises me up with his hips, every punishing stroke equally divine and devilish. Just like how I fall back into him, into his friction, into how effing good it is to be filled by this man.
My core vibrates with a fireball threatening to engulf me. I flop back against his wall of a body, his hips still power crashing into mine.
A loud moan slips out of my throat and I whimper.
“Ridge!”
“Not yet, a little longer,” he whispers in my ear, his voice hot with lust as his dick strokes deeper. “We’re gonna come together this time, woman.”
He’s insane.
I don’t think I can take another minute of this, and his stamina is legend.
I try, though, biting back my screams, working my hips harder against his frantic tempo. I swing down on his shaft in perfect sync, the friction on my clit killing me, the throaty growls and soft curses spilling out of him each time he crashes into me again.
“Ridge.” His name sighs out of me again, my legs quaking.
I swear to God, if he asks me again, I can’t. I can’t hold on.
Not when he’s got me on the edge, each thrust a ruthless threat to push me over.
“Ridge!” My jaw clenches.
“Now, darlin’!” he grunts, primal excitement in his voice, all loving thunder breaking the sky. “Let it fucking go for me—I’m coming.”
Oh, do we ever.
My O hits like an angry wave as he buries himself in my depths and explodes.
If I can’t actually feel the heat of his release even through the condom, then I definitely feel it in his body flexing, convulsing, growling. Ridge hugs me against him with his hand against my throat and just the right pressure to add sweet insanity to my finish.
Toes tangled in the sheets, I glide down on his pulsing cock, screaming so loud it puts Cornelius to shame.
We fold into each other, lost in our release, two heaving bodies slick with sweat and drunk on passion.
And when I’m finally coming down, a boneless heap on his body, his hand sweeps my thigh, caressing me so dearly. His lips graze my neck from behind with a wick
ed nip of teeth.
Soon, I find the energy to tilt my head, where he meets me halfway, bringing his raider lips home.
Good morning to you, too.
This is life waking up under his roof. I reach up to run my hand over his coarse jaw, hoping it’s the only waking I’ll ever do.
Lord, if I’m asleep, keep me dreaming.
A wicked little part of me kinda loves how Tobin knows about us and seems to approve.
He’s warmed to me ever since we started working on the antiques together. There’s a kinder man behind his frosty exterior. And also a man who cares deeply about Ridge’s life and his happiness.
Jackie knows, too, I think. I see the way she looks at Ridge and me.
She hides her smile well, but the knowing twinkle in her eye gives her away every time.
Dad might be the only one we’re fooling, though I wonder for how long.
He’s getting better every day, his senses coming back, and the sudden thaw helps.
It’s warm enough for him to sit outside a few minutes on sunny days now. He takes short walks around the farm and visits the barn. There, he catches up with the horses and curses out Cornelius for bursting his eardrums.
There’s even better news from Dr. Abrams. She says that while she can’t be certain until he goes into town for X-rays and sees a cardiologist, she highly doubts he has congestive heart failure.
She thinks the ER doctor made a snap judgment that was wrong, and his issues were just a bad case of pneumonia all along.
I hope to God she’s right.
I also wonder if Dad is nursing his recovery to keep Jackie Owens around longer.
He’s found a friend in her, and vice versa, I think.
The nurse is in no hurry to return to town. Her son and daughter-in-law both work, her grandson is in school, and Jackie sits home watching game shows and baking cookies—which only she eats because the rest of her family went on a vegan kick. She swears you can’t make a good cookie without eggs.
The lady does make some fabulous cookies.
Tobin agrees and welcomes her baked treats in the kitchen.
We all do.
Yeah.
When you add it all up, there are too many reasons why I’m constantly scared I’m dreaming. The weird, peaceful limbo we’ve fallen into with everything so eerily quiet and the warmer weather adds to the surreal sense.
It’s been several weeks since the media leak and our big announcement at Libations.
After the incident with Ridge’s truck, there haven’t been any signs of Clay or his goons.
We’re just waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s inevitable, and every little noise at night makes me jump, thinking this is it.
So far, I’m wrong.
But for how long?
Heaving out a sigh, I pick up the last tea cup candle I’d made for Amy’s daughter, Josie, and set it in the crate with the others. Josie just turned six, and she’s having an elegant tea party for her birthday.
I’d offered to make a few favors for all of her guests.
So I’d found a box of old china in the shed—white with pink flowers. Many of the plates and bowls were in freakishly good condition, not even chipped. I’d found ten perfect cups with matching saucers.
Since then, I’ve secured triple wicks to the bottoms and filled them with layers of colorful wax.
I’ve also poured the leftover wax into some mason jars for more candles.
On impulse, I pick up a match, light one of the candles, and then stare at the soft, flicking flame as Mom’s words float back to me.
If you’ve got a light, you’ve still got a wish.
Do I dare?
Maybe, today, I do.
I just wish...I don’t even know what to wish for when it’s such a heavy, scary thing to put into words.
I want this to last—living here, with Ridge—but I know it can’t.
The flame has fizzled out, so it’s too late anyway.
I set down the match and look at the candle, its flame still lashing away.
Shaking my head, I lean down and blow it out.
Even if I’m ready to start wishing again, this isn’t the day to give it the respect it deserves.
“Ready, darlin’?”
I turn, smiling at Ridge because I can’t not smile at this man.
“Yes, we’re all set,” I tell him, turning to the boxes on the table.
It’s insane how little it takes to lose control when it comes to him, especially when it comes to my heart.
Right now, I see his smiling face, blue eyes beaming like lanterns, a brown jacket that hugs his shoulders so tight I can see right through it. God, I can feel those arms around me, strong enough to engulf me in the sweetest kiss or fling me around like a toy.
You’d better believe I’m a sucker for both.
He stirs me up without even trying.
And that scares me almost as bad as Clay Grendal finding us.
He walks over and picks up the box, then looks at the contents and flashes his slayer-grin. “These are sweet. I think she’ll love them...not that I’m an authority on kids.”
I put on my coat but don’t zip up because it’s warm and sunny, probably in the fifties today.
“Thank you. I hope little Josie and her friends agree.”
“I’ve never been to a six-year-old’s birthday bash,” he says as we walk to the front door. “Maybe when I was that age, but not since then.”
Laughing, I bump his shoulder with mine. “Good news, you’re not invited to the party. You’ll be hanging out in the garage with Jess and Tyler while the girls have tea.”
“What about Jess’ boy?”
He opens the door for me and ushers me outside.
“Cody? Oh, I’m sure he’ll be there, too. So will Jace, Alicia and Tyler’s son.”
“Cody’s a good kid,” Ridge says, flashing a grin.
“Why, because he’s a little terror? Now I know what you were like as a kid.” We’ve been to the Berland’s house a few times so I could help Amy with her coffee bar, which turned out fantastic. “Amy said she caught him trying to climb out the upstairs window with a rope the other day, playing freaking Tarzan.”
Ridge laughs. “Now that’s a kid’s birthday party I want to go to. When is it?”
“July for him. He told his parents he wants a pool party.”
Frowning, Ridge says, “They don’t have a pool.”
“That’s what Amy keeps telling him,” I say, laughing.
It’s fun how easy it is to slide into Dallas life. I’m enjoying the friends I’ve made here so much.
One more reason why it’s going to be brutally hard to leave. Harder than leaving the farm, maybe.
“This place could use a pool. Hell, maybe an indoor one so we can use it more than four months a year,” Ridge says. “Right off the sunroom. We can have the kids over and let them go nuts.”
I can’t believe this guy.
Not what he says, especially now, but his generosity leaves me spinning.
“Pretty big decision for a pool party.” I open the truck door. “You must be a softie for kids.”
His smile says it all, and my heart wobbles.
It’s no surprise, I guess, when his own childhood was taken up with films, adult-like pressures always stewing in the background.
“Hey, I might use it too.” He sets the box in the back seat. Casting me one of those smoldering looks that make my knees weak, he asks, “Ever gone skinny-dipping, Grace?”
Here comes the uh-oh...
...but there’s no denying the excitement arcing through me.
Leaning closer, I whisper in his ear, “Until we did it in the bathroom last weekend...no.”
It’s happened more than once the past week. My pulse quickens at the memories, how the warm water just enhanced the sensation of Ridge in all his sexiness.
“Doesn’t count if it’s not taboo. Everybody gets naked in bathtubs.” He slides a hand inside my coa
t, cupping one breast. “Think how much more room we’d have in a pool.”
Holy hell!
My body reacts to his touch, and knowing where that leads, I lay my hands on his chest and push. “Save it for later, cowboy. We can’t be late.”
“Still plenty of time,” he whispers, finding my nipple through my clothes and giving it a soft pinch that destroys me.
Did the Greeks know sirens weren’t all female?
I’m convinced they could also be drop-dead gorgeous men with filthy minds.
Fighting the urge to give in to him is a special hell.
Nothing but full satisfaction from Ridge Barnet ever totally stops the sizzle he ignites.
I manage to step back, out of his reach.
“Get in the truck,” I growl, hiding the moan of disappointment in my throat.
“Don’t fret.” He laughs and winks. “We’ll leave early.”
God.
It’s not until we’re on the highway that I can actually breathe normally again.
“Amy called earlier,” he says.
“Why? Does she need us to stop and pick something up? I told her we could.”
“No. She wanted me to make sure you tell her how much she owes you for the candles.” He gives me a sly side-eye.
I shake my head. “Nothing for the candles. The practice is payment enough for now.”
“Yeah? Just like you didn’t want her to pay you for the coffee bar? Which, let me say again, is cool as hell. Word’s gonna spread like wildfire in town, knowing how Amy and Alicia love to gab. Just wait until you get a call from Granny Coffey—that old woman’s a certified ballbuster. She’s got a soft spot for crafts and spends like the devil. Let Amy pay you, Grace.”
“Well, maybe so. But I’m just barely getting back into this. I really don’t mind a few free practice runs.”
Honestly, I feel guilty charging for such little jobs, even though I could use the money. I’m hardly a seasoned pro. There’s also this imaginary tally in my head that keeps adding up how much I’m going to owe Ridge by the time this is over.
Sure, he’s a freaking gazillionaire. I couldn’t repay him for Dad’s care even if I tried...but I feel like I owe him something. A token payment for pride more than anything else.
