Maybe she should have expected it. The last time she’d had that dish had been in the home of a Christian Pakistani family, one of the many families in Peshawar who feared for their lives, one of the few who would talk to a Western female journalist and her entourage. They’d been kind and talkative, their daughter fascinated by her camera, the two younger sons playing in the back room. None of them knowing in twenty-four hours, they would be dead.
Because of their hospitality. Because of Grace.
A sob escaped from her lips as she bent over the sink, tears dropping into the swirl of water down the drain. She desperately tried to get control of her breathing, but her lungs got tighter and tighter the more she fought against it.
Dead. All dead. God, why had it happened that way? Why had she pushed? Even worse, she had taken the photos. Afterward. Like a vulture, picking over the remains of people who had been kind to her.
A knock shuddered the door. “Grace? Are you all right?”
She jerked upright and wiped her face with her sleeve. Ian. “I’m fine. Give me a minute.”
“Grace, open the door.”
He was going to draw attention to them with all the noise he was making. She disengaged the lock and stepped back, dragging her wrist across her eyes. Ian stepped inside.
“What’s going on, Grace?” He took in her tearstained face, her trembling body, and seemed to put it together. His expression shifted and he opened his arms.
She stepped into them without hesitation. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, his hands stroking her hair while she sobbed. When her tears subsided, he whispered, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. If I’d have known—”
“You couldn’t. How could you have?” She pulled away. A quick glance in the mirror showed the wreckage of her mascara. “I’m so sorry, Ian. I’ve ruined the evening.”
“You haven’t ruined anything. Though the longer we stay in here together, the more speculation there’ll be about what we’re doing.”
Grace choked on a watery laugh. “You’re awful.”
His smile faded. “Do you want to beg off the film and go home instead?”
He was serious. She thought about it for a moment and then shook her head. “Let’s go anyway. It will be a good distraction.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I . . . I’m terribly sorry. It doesn’t happen often, but I can’t control it when it does.”
“Shh, I know. It’s not your fault.” He took her face in his hands and wiped away a smudge of mascara with his thumb. “What do you want me to do?”
“Just . . . go back out and smooth things over?”
“Done.” He leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her mouth, then turned toward the door. “Take your time.”
Grace drew a breath and put herself back together the best she could. Cold water to take down the puffiness in her eyes. Tissues to erase the mascara stains. A little lip gloss—well, that didn’t help much of anything. She still looked like she’d had a meltdown in a public toilet, but there was nothing to be done about that except steel herself against the embarrassment and go out.
When she returned to the table, Ian and his friends were chatting while they finished their food. Grace’s plate had been removed, along with the offending dish. She looked at Ian in surprise, but he gave her a reassuring smile.
“Grace, we’re sorry,” Sarah said. “We wouldn’t have pushed if we’d known.”
“No apologies necessary, please. What am I missing?”
“Chris and I were just talking about the time we bet part of the squad they wouldn’t strip down on the side of the road—and then we drove off without them.” Ian grinned at his mate across the table. “I still remember them running after the van in the snow, bare as the way they entered the world.”
“Freshers never have any idea what they’re in for,” Chris said, barely getting the words out before he dissolved into laughter again.
“It’s a good thing these two grew up a bit in the last twenty years,” Sarah said, but she seemed just as amused.
“Marginally.” Ian winked at Grace, but underneath the table, he gripped her hand hard. She squeezed back gratefully.
They kept the topics light—mostly stories of their misdeeds, to which Grace could add a few Sarah had never heard—but through it all, Ian held her hand. Strong, steady, reassuring. He let her go only long enough to pay the bill, and then they were back out on the street.
He held her back in the swiftly deepening twilight. “Are you sure you don’t want to call it a night?”
“No. I like Chris and Sarah. It’ll be fine.”
Ian squeezed her shoulder, letting his thumb brush her neck for a moment, then gave a nod. She drew a deep breath of gratitude and plunged into the crowd beside him, trying to keep Chris’s blond head in sight over the other pedestrians.
Even on a weeknight, Piccadilly Circus was glutted with people: tourists with cameras capturing the neon lights and swiftly changing signage; locals pushing through without irritation or concern on their way to their destinations; the babble of voices in a dozen languages melding with buskers and boom boxes and car horns. Ian threaded a path for them through the crowd with one hand firmly on her waist, shifting himself to block her from the occasional drunken reveler or clueless holiday-goer. He was almost too good to be true. Chivalrous, sensitive, understanding. How long had it been since someone had taken the trouble to look after her? Not because he thought she needed it—he’d made it clear that he knew she could take care of herself—but because he actually cared about her?
For that matter, how long had it been since she’d truly cared about someone in return?
Her insides gave a clench, twisting up her heart and lungs all at once and forcing the thrum of her blood into her ears. She only realized she’d stopped when Ian slowed and cast a puzzled look in her direction. “Grace?”
“I think I love you,” she murmured.
He frowned, then bent down so he could hear her. “What did you say? It’s too loud.”
“I said, I think I love you.”
He jerked back. “In Piccadilly Circus?”
“No, everywhere.” A smile burst onto her face, a new lightness bubbling up inside. “In Piccadilly Circus. In Earl’s Court. I suspect I would feel the same way in Scotland, though we’ll have to test that theory.”
His expression rippled from consternation to pleasure as he processed what she was saying. At last it settled on something she could only name as joy. He took her face in his hands and kissed her hard, stealing her breath with the intensity of his reaction. And then his kiss gentled, exploring as if they had all the time in the world, as if they weren’t standing in the middle of a crowded public space. The jostling of bodies around them only forced them closer together, and he wrapped his arms around her as if to shield her again from the crowd. From her memories. And for that moment, pressed as close to him as they could possibly get, she actually believed he could do it.
When he lifted his lips from hers, he didn’t release her. He moved his mouth to her ear and whispered, “I feel like I’ve been waiting my entire life to hear that, Grace. I love you too. I’ve not said anything because I didn’t want to frighten you away.”
She stretched on tiptoes to kiss him again. “I’m here. And I’m staying.” She looked around. “And we’ve lost your friends because of that extremely impressive PDA.”
Ian smiled at her and kissed her one last time. “Not really thinking about them right now. Besides, we’ll catch up with them at the cinema.”
But they barely made it more than a half dozen steps through the square before running into Chris and Sarah, who were grinning like mad fools.
“Get distracted?” Sarah asked.
“You saw that, did you?” Ian said.
“Well, Chris did. I’m too short.” Sarah looked between the two of them, eyebrows raised. “Are we on to the cinema then, or do you want to take a rain check?”
Grace looked
up at Ian, trying to gauge his reaction. All the emotion and adrenaline rushing through her made it hard to concentrate. “No, I’ve been looking forward to the film. We should go.”
They fell back in together toward the cinema, its facade illuminated with neon strip lighting. Grace barely noticed when Ian bought their tickets or when they found their way to their designated screen. When they settled into their seats, Grace was thankful to be on one end beside Ian so she didn’t have to make small talk with Chris or Sarah. She wasn’t sure she was capable of it.
The film slipped by without penetrating her brain while she turned around what she’d said, over and over in her mind. She had told Ian she loved him. And he loved her too. This should have made her panicky and unsettled. She should have been questioning whether it was the emotion of her earlier episode, the catharsis of the unaccustomed tears that had made her say it. But even she couldn’t find it in herself to tear apart and overanalyze what had just happened.
She’d told him she loved him, that she was staying. And she meant it.
Sarah and Chris said something about heading to a club for live music, but Ian begged off, for which Grace was grateful. She’d not seen any of the film, and from the way Ian had periodically brought her hand to his lips, he hadn’t been any more focused on the screen than she had.
They climbed into a black cab just after eleven, where he immediately reclaimed her hand. “So. Did the night turn out all right after all?”
“You know it did.” She smiled at him in the dark. “I’ve always liked Chris. And Sarah is delightful.”
“I thought you’d like her. And she doesn’t invite just anyone to tap-dance, you know. She liked you.”
Grace threw him a doubtful look. “Maybe before I had my meltdown.”
“Chris’s brother is in the military. He understands. Believe me, no one is thinking anything about it. Other than thinking you’re amazing and brave.”
“You’re biased.”
“That I am.” He slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. She leaned against him and let out a long sigh.
Ten years after she left him, she still loved him and he still loved her.
What now?
“Stop thinking,” he whispered in her ear, nuzzling her neck for a second. “We don’t have to make any decisions tonight.”
She let out a low laugh. He’d never struck her as particularly perceptive, but in this, he had her bang to rights. Had their roles reversed so much? He was the planner. She was the free spirit. He’d had his life laid out in front of him practically since birth, even if he’d refused to follow the script for a while. She was a drifter in all senses of the word. And yet there was a beautiful symmetry in the idea of one day at a time.
When at last the taxi dropped them at the curb, he leaned forward to pay the driver, then followed her into the building to Asha’s flat. Grace unlocked the door—suddenly nervous. She turned to him. “Ian—”
The look on his face obliterated whatever she had been about to say. As if of one mind, they closed the space between them in a crushing embrace, lips finding lips, drinking in each other in a mad rush of emotion and desire. Her back hit the door without her fully registering it—she was too focused on his fingers digging into her hips, his mouth devouring hers. She groped behind her for the knob, and they practically fell through the door, breaking contact only long enough to slam it behind them.
“Grace,” he murmured as his lips left hers to travel along her neck. She raked her hands through his hair. This she remembered. This never changed. All the pent-up emotion of the night bubbled to the surface, screaming for release.
And then the reality of what that meant washed over her. “Wait,” she whispered. “Ian, stop.”
Her words seemed to hit him like a bucket of cold water. He froze and dropped his forehead against the wall behind her. “I’m sorry, I—”
“No. Don’t say anything for a second.” She was breathing as hard as he was, and it took her several moments to gather her thoughts enough to speak. “There are some things we should talk about.”
He pushed away from the wall, and that little bit of distance felt like a mile. Still, the look he gave her was filled with tenderness. “You don’t have to explain anything. We just got . . . a little carried away.”
Did he actually look abashed? That was not something she would have expected from him. She stretched up on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his lips. “It’s been an emotional night—”
“And we shouldn’t take advantage.” He passed a hand over his face. “Grace, really, it’s okay. I didn’t come here expecting anything.”
“Will you hush?” She softened the words with a rueful smile and hooked a finger through his belt loop to pull him closer again. “And if you could, stop looking so ruddy attractive so I can think for a minute.”
That earned a smile. “I’m listening.”
She let out a breath. This wasn’t anything she had expected to be discussing right now, but it had to be said. “Ian, there’s something you need to understand. My life over there—it was different.”
His eyebrows drew together slightly, but he didn’t say anything.
“You’re in danger much of the time. People you know and respect die. For that matter, strangers die, and rather than helping, you keep your distance through the lens and keep shooting. And sometimes, at the end of the day, it’s just too much to go back to your hotel room alone. You know?”
He exhaled slowly. “Grace, I never had the expectation that you lived like a nun. If you think that bothers me—”
“No. It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s not something I can change, either. I just . . . I don’t want this—us—to be out of reflex or habit. You mean more to me than that, and now that we have a second chance, I want to do things right. Does that make sense?”
He trailed a finger down her cheek, and even now, the tingle of that simple touch put cracks into her resolve. “I love you, Grace. And I think you’re right. We could benefit from taking things slowly this time.” His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I just seem to forget how hard it is to keep my hands off you.”
“Well, you’re not that easy to resist yourself.”
His hands closed on her waist, and his head dipped to kiss her softly. It took an effort not to move closer. “I promise you, there is no pressure, no expectation. And if the right time involves a wedding ring and a white dress—”
She let out a breath in a puff. “That’s even more terrifying than getting shot at. Did you have to mention the w word?”
“That’s supposed to be my line, remember?” He lifted her hand to his lips, his expression turning serious. “I’ve spent most of the last ten years wondering what my life would have been like with you still in it. I’m not about to ruin our chance to find out. No need to rush decisions—about anything.”
His expression was so tender it made her insides ache. “I love you, Ian.”
“And I will never get tired of hearing that.” One more kiss, just a touch too heated to be called sweet, and he was backing away from her. “Good night. Get some rest.”
“Not a chance.”
Grace smiled as he let himself out. She locked the door behind him, then took a moment to sag against the wall before she pushed herself up and retrieved her T-shirt and flannel shorts from her duffel. She didn’t regret sending him home or explaining her reasoning behind it. It was what she needed—what they needed—to make sure they didn’t follow their previous path. They’d already seen where that ended.
Still, even after she climbed beneath the soft, well-worn duvet and flicked off the light, sleep didn’t come. The sofa bed felt cold and empty without him, even if what she craved was simply his presence beside her, pillowing her head on his shoulder as they fell asleep.
But she knew herself well enough to recognize it wouldn’t end there, and she didn’t want Ian to be just another regret. They needed a chance to have a real relationship, without .
. . distractions. She needed time to see if Ian was the one, beyond her physical connection with him.
Grace had already confessed her mistakes to God. She had vowed that she would be different, that she would honor the second chance she’d been given. And she wanted to keep that promise. She was determined to keep that promise.
But she had never felt so weak.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“SO, WHAT WAS ALL THAT about last night?” Chris sat down on the changing room bench after their outing, dressed in a navy-blue suit that seemed incongruously polished on his large body.
Ian shrugged and fastened his shirt cuffs with a pair of onyx links, a slight smile surfacing as he remembered Grace’s suggestion that they were his Kryptonite. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You kissed her in the middle of a crowd. I’ve never known you to even hold a woman’s hand in public.”
“Psychoanalyzing me now?”
Chris pushed himself up. “Come on, I’ll buy you breakfast. Surely you have time for breakfast.”
“For some posh investment analyst, you don’t seem to spend much time in the office.”
“I spend all my time in the office that I’m not here.”
“Which I’m sure Sarah is thrilled about.”
Chris winced. “Coming or not?”
Ian glanced at his watch. Nearly eight. Technically, the office didn’t open until nine, and with Ms. Grey in charge, it hardly mattered as long as he arrived by his ten o’clock conference call. “All right. If you’re buying. Where to?”
They ended up where they always ended up, the greasy spoon at Putney Bridge where Ian had brought Grace the morning of their first date. It was crowded today, packed with locals and holiday-goers filling up on EBCB—eggs, bacon, chips, and beans.
“Should have known this was where you’d go if you were paying,” Ian cracked when they took one of the few remaining tables.
“Where else?” Chris dumped half the sugar shaker into his tea and stirred it with a clank of cutlery against ceramic. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “You know I like Grace. I always have.”
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