by Lori Foster
Noah watched Grace’s smooth brow pucker, saw her purse her mouth in contemplation. Even with all her bravado, Grace was no match for his hardhearted grandmother. Thinking that, Noah touched her cheek. She was so damn soft. All over. And it made him nuts. “I don’t need you to fight my battles, Gracie.”
“Standing up for what’s right is never a hardship.”
He laughed. “God, how did I overlook you for so long?”
He had her full attention again with that comment. Her mouth twisted in bemusement, and as if speaking to a halfwit, she said again, “I’m fat.”
“Oh no.” Noah cupped her face. His thumbs rubbed along her jaw, under her chin. “Round, hell yeah, just the way a woman should be. With beautiful breasts and a killer ass and the sexiest bedroom eyes imaginable. I did notice your eyes, Grace. I used to wonder how you’d look while having sex.”
A hot blush exploded over her face and upper chest. “You did not.” She said that as a denial—with hopeful undertones.
Noah was more than happy to reassure her. “Yeah, I did. I still do.”
She drew several deep breaths, almost gasping, then came against him hard, embracing him and squeezing him with all her might.
For a moment, Noah held himself rigid, shocked at the feel of her, how damn right it seemed. True, Grace was overweight, at least by modern, model-thin standards. But now her ripe body was against his, wiggling as she tried to get even closer, and he felt every single generous female curve.
“Oh hell.” Noah clutched at her, drawing her into him. Grace smelled like a woman. She smelled hot, and his libido rocked into overdrive. He gave up and reached down to fill his hands with her backside.
Grace squeaked and shot to her tiptoes in surprise, which only flattened her breasts against him, rubbed her belly against his crotch.
He groaned again, nearly gone, in a frenzy of lust he hadn’t experienced in far too long.
With Grace.
It was a mind-boggling reality, drunk or no.
In so many ways, Grace was taboo. She worked for his grandmother, sacrosanct in her position as personal secretary. She was a marrying kind of woman, not meant for one night or even one week of hot sex—no matter how incredible he sensed it’d be. She was earthy and real and domestic and…honorable.
“Shit.” Noah’s head swam with disappointment even as his body battled with common sense.
“Noah?”
He released her to stumble to the bed, as hindered by blazing arousal as by too much drink. He dropped to the edge of the mattress and put his head in his hands, fighting with himself, struggling for control.
He couldn’t use Grace for sex, damn it. No matter that it felt more right with her than he’d felt in years, certainly since his engagement.
No matter that she appeared to want him, too. He’d be everything his grandmother had recently called him if he took advantage of sweet, innocent Grace.
She sat beside him and touched his neck. Her fingers felt cool and feather light on his heated skin. “Are you okay?”
Noah knotted his hands in his hair, rebelling at what he knew he had to do.
“Shhh, it’s all right,” she crooned. “You’ve drunk too much.”
Beneath the concealment of his hands, Noah’s eyes narrowed in surprise. She should be slapping him, not petting him.
“I’ll take care of you,” Grace promised, smoothing his hair with gentle hands. “Let’s get this sweatshirt off you so you’ll be more comfortable.”
Noah dropped his hands and stared at her with red eyes and rioting emotions.
Her sweet smile touched him in places he hadn’t known existed. “You’ll feel better in the morning,” she assured him, and to a man like Noah, a man who’d never been coddled, her tenderness meant more than the lust, knocking the breath right out of him.
With no signs of shyness now, Grace came up on her knees and started to work on his sweatshirt. Entranced, Noah helped by raising his arms, but he couldn’t stop himself from looking at her adorable dimpled knees or the way her breasts swayed inside the tee.
It was as if everything about her suddenly appealed to him. Shirtless, he sprawled back on the bed at Grace’s insistent push. She stared at the snap on his jeans, and Noah wondered if she’d be brave enough to continue.
He’d about decided to spare her by removing his pants himself when she mustered up that iron resolve that had enabled her to deal with Agatha for three long years and tended to snap and zipper with competent alacrity.
Noah lifted his hips to shove the jeans down, and Grace, with only a brief awed glimpse at his lap in snug boxers, slipped off the bed to tug them away.
Voice quavering and breathless, she said, “There.” Her lips were parted, her eyes glazed. “Isn’t that more…comfortable?”
Noah was so damn hard he could have been lethal. He was surprised his boxers didn’t rip under the pressure. Comfortable? Hell no, he wasn’t comfortable.
But he was comforted. By Grace.
He watched her through a cloud of sensual pleasures—lust, and other emotions that were somehow more potent. “Yeah.”
“Up you go.” She turned down the spread for him and patted his pillow.
She was such a nurturing woman. So domestic. Those qualities held a lot of appeal for Noah, but he wondered if they were countered by more basic desires, those of raw sexual need. Would Grace Jenkins be giving and nurturing in bed? Or would she be demanding, taking her pleasure?
While he scooted up in the bed, Noah growled, “No way in hell can I sleep, Gracie.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll leave.” It hurt to make that admission, but damn, he didn’t want her to go. Noah figured in the morning, when sobriety hit, he’d regret his actions. But for now, keeping Grace close seemed more important than breathing.
She tilted her head, her expression again hopeful—and uncertain. “I’ll stay if you want me to.”
Just what he wanted to hear. Noah snagged her around the waist and tumbled her into the bed with him. “Yeah, stay. Right here next to me.”
“Oh!”
He snuggled her up close to his body, despite her gasp and the way she went rigid. “Relax with me, Gracie,” he murmured, nuzzling her temple, kissing her hair. “Sleep with me.”
He pulled her half onto his chest until her head nestled into his shoulder and her hand rested tense and uncertain on his abdomen. He could feel the wild rapping of her heart—or maybe it was his heart—and then he felt lethargy drag at him.
He hadn’t slept much since he’d discovered Kara with her lover. She’d ignored his advice to take a trip and instead had turned tearfully to her parents the very next day, spurring them into an indignant rage. Agatha had gotten the news from them, rather than from Noah himself, which in part explained her fury.
She’d been taken off guard, embarrassed among her peers, and for a woman with Agatha’s pride, that was unforgivable.
Noah understood Kara’s reasoning, putting all the blame on him, saving her own ass from as much grief as possible. But he was still nettled. He’d offered her an out, and instead she’d stabbed him in the back. He half wondered if her lover had put her up to it.
And why.
Grace’s hand opened and smoothed over his skin, tangling in his chest hair, petting him with a kind of wondering curiosity. Making him burn. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to, Noah.”
Now that sounded good. As long as he wanted. Hell, maybe he could just keep her forever.
He pushed thoughts of Kara and her parents and his grandmother from his mind. He concentrated on Grace’s touch, on her understanding. And all too soon, he felt himself drifting into sleep.
At that last lucid moment, Noah could have sworn he felt Grace’s lips on his flesh, gentle, fleeting.
And then he passed out.
Chapter Three
The harsh pounding in Noah’s head woke him. He opened his eyes, squinted in blinding pain, and saw nothing but blurry confus
ion. The room swam around him, his stomach pitched, and he went perfectly still, concentrating on not being sick.
When the roiling of his stomach subsided to mere queasiness, he put his efforts to focusing. Something white was in his line of vision, something large. Noah blinked twice until the fuzziness cleared and the object took form. Noah realized it was a bra.
He froze, staring in incomprehension.
It wasn’t just any bra but a large one, made for a large woman. And surely a woman with impressive breasts.
His brain seemed a vast wasteland, and the more he tried to think, the more it pulsed.
While Noah stared at that sturdy, substantial bra, trying to figure out what the hell it was doing in his bedroom, a warm body next to him stirred.
Alarm skittered through him, and he again froze. His heart punched into his throat, and slowly, so slowly it seemed to take forever, Noah turned his head.
He found himself staring at Grace Jenkins.
Grace Jenkins with the beautiful, bountiful breasts.
Good God! She clung to him like a limpet, her smooth white arm over his chest, her small hand fisted, her fingers laced into his chest hair with a secure hold. Her head was practically in his armpit, her nose smooshed up into his side, and he could have sworn he felt her warm breath on his left nipple.
A ripple of sizzling awareness rode though his muscles, starting at his toes and ending with a crescendo in his already befuddled brain.
Damn, but Grace was smiling even in her sleep. A small, sexy, inviting smile.
What the hell was she dreaming about?
Her rich brown hair, impossibly long and thick, trailed down her back, over her shoulder, and onto him. It teased the arm he had holding her securely, his abdomen. Noah choked.
What had he done?
Like a small, chubby cat, Grace stirred again, stretching and making a sweet, feminine sound of awakening that caused all Noah’s most sensitive body parts to clench in response.
It was at that moment that Noah realized her warm bare thigh was over his lap, rubbing against him.
He was stunned, breathless, appalled.
He was rock hard and getting harder by the second.
Grace blinked her sleepy eyes open and looked at him. For a long moment neither of them moved. Noah had always thought her eyes incredible, but never more so than in that moment, when she looked so drowsy and sweet and…happy to see him.
Heat shimmered between them. As Noah stared at her, Grace blushed a little, but she didn’t look away. Even when his cock rose up and nudged her inner thigh, flexing against his will, she didn’t move.
He knew he had to. “Hey.”
Her lashes drifted down and she looked at his chest. Morning light blazed through the open drapes over the window, leaving long white sunbeams slanting across the bed, over their bodies.
Grace turned her face, nuzzling him, and one selective beam caught the clean line of her jaw, her small upturned nose, a long lock of tangled hair. It glinted on her stubby lashes and in her dark, mysterious eyes.
At that moment, Noah thought Grace was about the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.
But what the hell was she doing in bed with him?
Shy and hesitant, her hand on his chest opened and she touched him, brushing her fingertips over his pecs, his collarbone. Noah felt that gentle, innocent touch everywhere.
Grace smiled up at him, a smile of awareness, of complete and utter awe. “You are so warm.”
An inferno. Noah closed his eyes, hoping that by not seeing her, he could distance himself enough to figure out what to do.
Her fingertips drifted across his brow, riffled through his hair. “Are you all right, Noah? Do you feel sick? I don’t know much about drinking, but I suppose you have a hangover.”
He remembered guzzling one beer after another with Ben. Way too many beers. Hell, he hadn’t gotten stinking drunk since before Agatha had adopted him when he was a teenage hell-raiser. He’d gotten sick back then, too, and had sworn never to do it again.
Of course, he hadn’t expected anyone other than his brother to share in his drunken foolishness. But then Grace had shown up with a sort of misplaced desire to protect him….
Bits and pieces of the previous night pecked at Noah’s brain. A groan broke loose, and he put one forearm over his eyes to shield himself from the light, the memories, and Grace’s astute gaze. Things he’d said to her, things he’d thought about, whirled inside him, making him sick with self-disgust.
He didn’t like needing anyone. He wouldn’t need anyone. But Grace…last night he’d considered her a lifeline.
He almost hated himself.
“I’ll make some coffee,” she offered while keeping her voice low in deference to his hangover.
Noah dropped his arm to watch her scamper off the bed, then immediately snatch the sheet up and around her body.
Feeling contrary and mean, he said, “It’s a little late for modesty, isn’t it?”
Grace blinked at him. It was an expression she often wore when unsure of what to do next. Noah had been the recipient of that look far too many times. Grace could be busily at work, animated, and when he walked in, she’d freeze while keeping her dark eyes on him warily. He knew Grace didn’t fear him. Hell, he doubted Grace feared anyone.
Had she been wanting him all that time, then?
“I suppose you’re right,” she said at last, surprising Noah. And with a defiant tilt of her head, she flung the sheet back at him. Noah had only a moment to admire her abundant curves in the clinging T-shirt and panties before she lost her nerve and turned, all but running from the room.
The back view she provided was…interesting. Her long, luxuriant brown hair swished directly above her generous, heart-shaped ass. She was barely concealed by white cotton, and her haste added extra jiggle to things.
Noah heard the hall bathroom door close.
“Shit, shit, shit.” His stomach lurched again, and he forced himself to breathe, to lie still until the sickness passed.
Damn it, he’d been hoping she’d tell him he was all wrong, that her sleepover had been innocent. That maybe she’d gotten drunk, too, and they’d both passed out. But he knew Grace didn’t drink.
She also didn’t sleep around.
The more he tried to think, the more his head throbbed. The last thing he could really remember was wanting Grace. Fiercely.
Hell, he wanted her still.
Noah threw his legs over the side of the bed—and almost lost his stomach as the bedroom spun around him. It took him a moment to recoup, and he staggered into his connecting bathroom, shucked off his shorts, grabbed his toothbrush and stepped into the shower. The first blast of cold water made his every ache intensify, and then gradually go numb.
As the water warmed, his head began to clear. He stood there, stiffened arms braced against the shower wall while the water beat down on his neck and shoulders. It was several minutes before he felt human enough to brush his teeth and wash.
First he’d have to apologize to Grace.
Then he’d just have to hope like hell she forgave him.
“Noah?”
Her voice came in through the open bathroom door. Ready to face the repercussions, Noah turned off the shower and stepped out, tossing his toothbrush into the sink. Grace, agog and scandalized, whipped around so fast she half-spilled the hot coffee she’d brought as an offering.
“Hey.” Still disgruntled with the situation, Noah dried off and wrapped the towel around his hips. “Don’t faint on me, okay? I feel so lousy this morning, we’d both end up on the floor before I’d manage to pick you up.”
Grace knelt down to mop up the spilled coffee with a washcloth. Her back still to him, she squeaked, “ ’Kay.”
Noah rubbed his bristly jaw, considering her. “I’m decent, Gracie.”
She peeked at him, then her eyes widened and slid over him so slowly, he felt devoured. She lingered on his abdomen until he cleared his throat.
&
nbsp; “Grace? The towel is secure, I promise.”
She nodded and gave him a tentative smile. “I thought you could probably use this.” She stood and held out the now half-empty mug of coffee.
Just by being herself, Grace managed to take the awkwardness out of the quintessential “morning after.” Noah nodded and gratefully accepted the cup.
“Damn, that’s good,” he said after his first sip. About six more cups and he might even begin to feel human. It struck Noah that for the first time that he could remember, his apartment felt like home. Kara had picked it out for him, and a decorator had thrown furniture and stuff around. He spent as little time in the place as possible because it had never really suited him.
But now, waking up with Grace beside him, having her hand him coffee with a smile and hearing her chitchat…it all felt right. It felt like a home should feel, even with all his tension and uncertainty about the previous night’s happenings.
He liked it, but he also didn’t like it. “You can have the shower now if you want.”
“Oh no!” Grace pushed her hair behind her ears, shifting around from one bare foot to the other in typical Grace-like nervousness. “I couldn’t.”
Noah propped a shoulder on the bathroom wall and surveyed her as he downed more coffee. She had great legs, not real long but nicely shaped, with full thighs, cute dimpled knees and small, arched feet.
And now that he was sober, Noah could also see how her waist dipped in, adding emphasis to her voluptuous breasts and bottom. He even looked over her rounded shoulders and the curve of her belly with sensual appreciation. She reminded him of a Grecian statue: Put her in a toga and she’d be a perfect replica.
Gracie had a lot of shape—all of it sexy as hell. “You’re here,” Noah reasoned, pointing out the obvious. “You spent the night.” A night he couldn’t remember, damn it. “Under the circumstances, you can even use my toothbrush if you want.”
