by Sky, JoAnn
And he was right. She liked it.
Her free hand slid up the curves of his hard chest. His muscles rippled—no, shook—in response, surprising her and egging her on. Her hand reached the back of his neck and locked him in.
She wanted more.
He pushed into her. Closer. His free hand glided up the side of her body, stopping at her rib cage. His thumb feathered below her bra, and he deepened his kiss. He drank her in.
Her skin tingled, waiting, knowing what was coming. Her body arched into him, rubbed against him. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t get close enough.
She inhaled sharply, waiting, aching for more.
He brought his lips to nip her earlobe again, feeding the fire inside her. “You like this. Say it.”
Grace wove her fingers through his thick hair and tried to bring his lips to hers. He held back. She moaned, frustrated. Still he resisted.
“Say it,” he said.
No, this wouldn’t happen. She couldn’t do this. Not with Noah. He hadn’t wanted her then and wouldn’t get her now. She pushed at his shoulders, and he stumbled back. A dazed look filled his eyes. The same one, no doubt, was mirrored in hers. She struggled to breathe, to think, to form a coherent response.
“Damn you,” she muttered and darted back into the house.
Chapter Twelve
Grace managed to avoid Noah the entire following morning. The first hour was easy: he was on a business call, and so was she.
“What do you mean you can’t go?” Claire’s voice squeaked through the phone.
“I’d love to, you know I’d love to,” Grace said. “I just can’t leave for Italy now.” Words she’d never thought she’d say. But there was too much to do. She had to meet again with Mr. Lincoln and then Destiny. She had to settle things with Sam. She had to pack up everything, including JJ. No one could do it for her. She needed ten more months, not ten more days.
“Grace, please,” Claire pleaded. “None of the interns can do this. Who else can go but you?”
Grace clenched her jaw, not liking the answer. She didn’t want to be the one who let down Simon. She searched her brain for a solution. “What about Ricky? I bet he’d love to take on Milan.”
“Simon would never go for it.”
“He trusts Ricky.” Ricky Alvaro had worked for Simon until about year ago, when he’d struck out on his own. It hadn’t gone as well as Ricky had expected, and Grace suspected the other photographer would give anything to come back to Simon, though he was too proud to admit it. She also suspected Simon might agree. Ricky was one of the only photographers Grace had ever heard Simon compliment.
“Simon wants you to go.”
An arrow through the heart would’ve hurt less. Grace had busted her butt to get to the point where Simon trusted her, depended on her. She gritted her teeth and forced out a response. “I can’t. Listen, I’ll call Ricky and prime him, then you follow up. Please, Claire.”
Claire sighed. “I’ll do what I can. No promises.”
As she hung up the phone, Grace’s stomach twisted at the thought of what she was giving up. It was beyond Milan. She might very well be giving up her hard-earned status, her position. Her job.
No, Simon would never do that, would he? Sure, she’d seen him fire interns for much less—like forgetting the extra roll of film at that Vogue shoot last year. But Grace wasn’t an intern, she was his coworker. Simon respected her. He just wasn’t the kind who showed his softer side often.
Her job was safe. She was 100—okay, maybe 95—percent sure. Still, it was a huge missed opportunity for her. If this wasn’t Noah’s “stepping up,” she didn’t know what was. Argh. She scrolled through her phone’s contact list and dialed Ricky’s number. No answer. Grace left a message that hopefully didn’t sound too pathetic.
She paced the house. The longer she was here, the tinier it got. Like the walls were closing in on her. She should really get up in the attic and see what mess of boxes and junk awaited her. She also needed to call Mr. Lincoln and set up that follow-up appointment she’d skirted all week. First, she needed some fresh air.
She grabbed her camera from her room and headed out the door. Even though taking photos was her job, it also relaxed her. Perhaps that was why she was one of those rare people who actually liked her job, despite the unreasonable hours and ungodly demands—her nonexistent social life notwithstanding.
Grace walked the property line twice, along the way capturing random photos—a close-up of a bald eagle perched in a sycamore tree, a landscape shot of the sagebrush scattering the foothills, before she noticed JJ nestled between the tall grass and some large boulders in the far field, watching the band of ponies, including Socks, of course.
He didn’t try to leave as she approached. A good sign. “Where’s your drawing pad?” Grace asked.
JJ shrugged, not looking up at her. “Just watching today.”
“What’s our guy up to?” She nodded toward Socks.
“He’s in a bad mood. Tried to nudge into the band a few times already.” He glanced at the camera around her neck. “You gonna take some pictures?”
“Yep.” She squatted next to JJ and pulled the strap over her head.
Socks snorted, shook his mane. The gray stallion at the front of the band pinned his ears back.
JJ sank down, his eyes locked on the horses. “Big Gray is really angry.”
Instinctively, Grace unclipped her lens cover and readied the camera. Socks reared up on his hind legs, neighing, pawing in the direction of the mares with his front hooves. Big Gray maneuvered closer to Socks, angling his body in a position to defend or, possibly, attack.
Click, click, click.
Up on her knees now, Grace zoomed in on Socks, capturing his anguish at being held at bay, alone—a harsh punishment for a pack animal. But Big Gray was strong, proud, fierce as he defended his turf. The lens took over, searching for the dominant mare Grace knew was there. The true leader of the pack, the one who led the band, chose their routes. The brown mare nickered at Big Gray, calling him off or egging him on, Grace wasn’t sure.
Then, as quickly as it started, the conflict was over. Socks ran off, though only about fifty yards away before stopping to eye the band.
Grace took a few more solitary shots of Socks. “Have you ever seen them fight?” She sat back on her heels, cradling the camera.
“Nah, they just bicker. Like he asks them if he can come back, and they say no, and then they argue about it.”
“Maybe that’s it,” Grace said. Noah could explain to JJ about horse harems and how Socks was looking for a mate, his first of many. “Here.” Grace held out the camera to him.
JJ’s eyes grew as big as baseballs. “Really?”
“Told you I would. Put the strap around your neck. That’s always step one.”
He complied.
“You always want three points of contact on the camera. Hold the camera from the bottom; cradle it in your left hand.” She watched as JJ positioned the camera in his right hand. “Your other left, JJ.”
He laughed. “Right… I mean, left…okay.”
“Then your right hand grips the handgrip on the side—here.” She tapped the grip. “Your fingers can then control all of the dials and press the shutter release.”
“What’s a shutter release?”
“That’s the button you press to take your pictures.”
“It’s got a name?”
“Yep, every piece on the camera’s got a name. Now the last point of contact is your eye. Put your brow against the eye piece.”
He carefully lifted the camera up to his eye.
She scooted around to his left side. “Now dig your elbow into your rib for support.” She placed her hands on his elbow to guide it. JJ’s body tensed. Crap. She’d not only invaded his personal space without asking, she’d touched him again. Grace froze, didn’t dare breathe
She felt his body give a little, just slightly. “Now what?” he asked tightly. He was obviously t
rying not to get upset. Did he realize that Grace was trying, too? Trying to connect? Something inside her said he did.
Grace blinked away the tears collecting in her eyes. “Press the button.”
She spent the rest of the morning sitting with JJ, alternating between watching the horses and teaching him about the camera. It wasn’t until her stomach grumbled and she checked her phone that she saw it was almost noon. She’d forgotten how easily the countryside sucked her in. Though she was pretty sure it had more to do with JJ’s trusting eyes and goofy smile.
“You ready for lunch?” she asked.
“Nah, I’m gonna stay here and watch Socks.”
“Much as I’d love to do that, I’m starving. Be good.” Grace trekked back to the house, looking for signs of Noah with every step. She didn’t want to talk to him, not yet, not until she waded through the mess of thoughts from last night. Not until she stuffed her feelings back into that corner compartment of her heart, the one with the triple padlock. She had ten days and ten thousand things to do. She needed to focus, execute the plan, and get back to her life—sans Milan—where she belonged.
She headed inside and stood at the counter making a ham and Swiss sandwich. The plan: eat, then tackle the attic.
She felt Noah’s presence behind her before he said anything. It surrounded her, filled every inch of space, electrifying every air molecule. She looked over her shoulder.
He leaned against the kitchen entrance, his own half-eaten sandwich in hand, watching her. “Are you going to avoid me all day?”
She stiffened. She was the New Yorker, used to being direct and dealing with people who got in her face. Yet when Noah did it, it unnerved her. “I’m not avoiding you.” Her pitch was a half-step high, the trait of a liar.
“We’ve got to talk about last night.”
She smacked her bread together and turned to face him, using her sandwich as a shield. She straightened her pose, planted her feet apart, and hoped the Wonder Woman stance would give her Amazonian strength. “Last night was a mistake.”
His dark blue eyes flashed with a determination that told her he disagreed. Her stomach clenched, and the strength she sought eluded her. Instead she stood there, too frightened to move and too weak to stop where they were going.
He came up on her slowly, as if he knew she’d spook and scatter at any sudden movement. He reached out and tucked one brown curl behind her ear. His fingers skimmed her skin. Goose bumps blossomed down her neck, her spine, all the way to her toenails.
“And it won’t happen again,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster. “End of discussion.” Her voice squeaked, again betraying her, though no worse than the rest of her body.
He leaned in until his lips were inches from hers. Her breathing hitched. She should have put some distance between them, acres of distance, but her feet stuck to the floor. Her eyes flickered to his lips. They’d been so soft last night and were so close right now. One little taste wouldn’t hurt, would it? She reflexively licked hers.
He moved in. His breath trailed her cheek, and his lips hovered at the edge of her jaw, just below her earlobe. She arched her neck back, giving him more access, then shivered, closed her eyes, and waited to feel his lips on her neck.
Instead, his breath fanned her ear. “Liar,” he whispered. Then he was gone.
A moment later, JJ banged through the screen door. He stopped when he saw Grace in the kitchen, sandwich in the hand against her chest. “Did I scare you?” he asked.
Grace took a deep breath as the banging of her heart faded. Good Lord, she hated Noah. She hated herself and the way her body reacted to him even more. She managed a weak smile to JJ. “A little.”
“You think we got some good photos?”
“I do, though I haven’t downloaded them yet.” She set her smashed sandwich on the counter and began making one for JJ. Anything to get her mind on something other than Noah. “They’d be even better if I’d brought my film camera and could develop them.”
JJ leaned into the counter, intently watching her layer turkey and Swiss cheese on a piece of bread. “You develop them yourself?”
She nodded.
“You have your own darkroom?”
“I wish. I have access to one at work. Here.” She handed JJ the turkey sandwich. “And now I have to make a dent in that attic.”
“Can I help?”
Grace waited for her stomach to scrunch at the thought of someone else being there when she opened her father’s boxes, of someone sharing those private moments with her… Nothing. “Uh, sure.”
For some reason, she didn’t mind the thought of that someone being JJ. And that scrunched her stomach.
…
It was the giggling that compelled Noah to search the house. He’d already talked himself out of coming over for dinner tonight. Gracie needed a bit of space before he pushed again—and he was totally planning on pushing again very soon. But for now, he’d drop the mail on the kitchen table and leave, nothing more.
Then he heard the giggles.
He found Gracie and JJ in the back room, Sheila’s craft-room-turned-junk-room with access to the attic from the closet. Box after dusty box they’d obviously dragged down from the attic surrounded them. They sat on the floor, poring through old photo albums.
Noah’s insides warmed at the sight—the two of them huddled together, snickering. Enjoying each other’s company.
“This one here was when Noah fell into the creek after church one day,” Gracie said, flipping the page in an album and pointing to a photo Noah couldn’t see. “His daddy was so mad at him. You know his daddy, the preacher, right?”
“Yeah. I don’t see him a lot.” JJ squinted at the photo. “Noah looks mad.”
Gracie snort-laughed. “That’s because I sort of pushed him in.”
Noah smiled, remembering how he’d almost succeeded in pulling Gracie into the creek with him that day. He tiptoed back down the hall to the kitchen. JJ was getting to her, breaking down her walls piece-by-piece, box-by-box. Photo-by-photo. Hopefully he, Noah Taylor, was getting to her, too.
He knew at least a part of her wanted him. The question was, which part? They had chemistry, sure, they always had. That physical, human need for each other, craving each other’s touch, wanting each other’s bodies…
He wanted more.
He wanted her to believe that being with him was the right choice, the only choice. He wanted her logical brain convinced that nothing else made sense. But most importantly, he wanted her very stubborn heart to be his. Every fiber, every fold.
Seven years ago, he’d pushed her away. Now, he didn’t intend to let her go.
Chapter Thirteen
The buzz of her phone woke Grace the next morning. The lack of light filtering through the blinds told her it was too early to talk to anyone, especially since it was probably Claire. Grace turned over and covered her head with blankets until the buzzing stopped, followed by a beep for the message that was left.
Then the rooster crowed.
So much for sleep. Grace threw off the covers and reached for the phone. There were two messages. Darn cellular service. God only knew when the first one came in.
The first message was from Mildred Rock, Head Administrator at Oakridge Preparatory School. The boarding school. Grace pressed the phone to her ear. “Hello, Ms. Harper. I’m calling to discuss the details of your brother’s enrollment at Oakridge. I understand we’re coming up on the end of the school year, but if you could please forward transcripts from this past semester and two letters of recommendation from current teachers, we can begin our enrollment process. I’d also like to get a sense of which AP classes would most interest your brother. Please give me a call at your earliest convenience. Thank you.”
A hole wider than Death Valley opened in her stomach. Transcripts. AP classes, in middle school? How on earth was she going to explain JJ to Oakridge? And once she did, what if they didn’t take him?
Surely once
they met him, they’d be charmed. The place had sounded perfect, or at least as perfect as possible—acres of space and even riding lessons. She remembered something about performing arts in their brochures, as well. She hadn’t focused on it at the time, only because she hadn’t known JJ could draw. Surely his sketching skills would give him a leg up. They had to take him. She couldn’t very well take him back to New York City with her. But two letters of recommendation? She might just hurl. She punched the button to save the message. She’d deal with it later.
The next message was from Claire, as she’d suspected—a very panicked Claire. Ricky had never returned her calls, so she’d finally fessed to Simon, who left St. Croix for Milan in a firestorm. Maybe it was the tone of Claire’s voice as she whined about the inconvenience of Grace’s absence. It had a hard edge, like Claire was annoyed that Grace’s family had died.
Had she just thought the word family? She must really be tired. She needed to call Ricky to find out what his deal was. She scrolled through her contacts and selected Ricky’s number. He answered immediately. Of course—it was too late to actually go to Milan.
“Thanks for siccing Claire on me, dear friend.”
“A lot of good it did. Thanks for coming through for me.”
Ricky fake laughed. “What’s going on? Claire wouldn’t go into detail.”
Grace sighed. “Family stuff. Exhausting stuff.”
“You gave up a trip to Italy. I hope it’s worth it.”
Me, too.
“I would’ve loved to bail you out,” Ricky continued, “but I didn’t think it was a good idea.”
Grace sat up in bed, now wide awake. “It was a great idea. You’re the only one Simon might have let go in my place.”
“I’ve got too many things going on here. But I have a better idea. You don’t need Italy, and you don’t need Simon. You’re a great photographer, one of the best I know. You don’t give yourself enough credit. Come work with me.”
