After taking care of my morning routine, I leave the bathroom and head down the hall. The smell of bacon and eggs carries me forward and I feel like one of those cartoon characters, floating after the scent of deliciousness. Again.
Exactly like before, I round the corner and just as I open my mouth to wish Grady a good morning, I stop dead in my tracks. All the air whooshes from my lungs, and I stand there, gawking.
Because in the kitchen is a shirtless Grady Bennett. In. All. His. Glory.
Holy unfair-to-the-rest-of-the-male-population hotness.
Seriously.
I’m struck silent as I observe him without his knowing, fascinated by his every movement.
I can’t not watch the muscles of his back tighten and flex as he flips the bacon in the skillet. I can’t not admire the “V” cut of his waistline when he turns to the side, removing a cookie sheet full of toast from the oven. I can’t not notice how silky soft the strands of his hair appear to be, falling in messy waves as he bends, finally released and grazing his chin. Completely hypnotized, my eyes fall, and I can’t not remain under his spell as I ogle the definition of the muscles lining the tops of his forearms, swelling to capacity when he places the toast on the counter.
And I sure as hell cannot seemingly break my stare, or close my mouth even, when he turns to face me with—I kid you not—a fucking eight-pack on full display.
My entire body heats and begins to thrum wildly with the need to feel his perfection, the weight of all of those glorious, well-defined muscles, hovering over me.
Our eyes lock as my mouth clamps shut.
I swallow.
He grins.
I die.
Then I come to my senses.
My hands fly up to shield his body from my eyes, and my face pinches in mock disgust. “Ack. Cover up, would ya? You’re hideous. I’m not even sure I can eat now.”
Grady waggles his eyebrows, and I’m pretty sure he flexes his pecs, not that I’m looking.
His smile widens, then he winks.
I die all over again.
He does an about-face, taking a couple of plates from the cabinet, and my eyes drift to the dented skin just above the magnificent ass sadly hidden behind his grey sweats.
I’m onto his little game. Sexy man, mussed hair, cooking, ripped and bare-chested . . . all of which are hot as fuck.
He’s baiting me.
Before I begin to drool all over myself like a loon, I decide to up the ante. A little, tit-for-tat, so to speak.
I grin at the brilliance of my little joke, and clear my suddenly parched throat.
“Sooooo,” I drawl, “shirtless breakfast. Another memo I did not receive.”
Grady pivots around just in time to see my fingers curl under the hem of my shirt. My brows lift in challenge. He remains collected, shrugging his shoulders in nonchalance. Then he whips the spatula in his hand around in the air, and the slightest of grins hits his lips as he offers, “Feel free to make yourself more comfortable.”
The flare of Grady’s eyes is the last thing I see before I whip the T-shirt over my head. The cool air around me rushes over my naked skin upon its removal. I glance down, mentally applauding my choice in undergarment. The strapless black peek-a-boo lace was a perfect pick, seeing as how it demonstrates just how chilly the air really is.
Calmly, I fold the shirt and lay it on the counter before lifting my stare to meet Grady’s. His blue eyes no longer wide but filled with amusement as he chuckles to himself. “I cannot believe you just did that.”
I lift my shoulders innocently and walk to where he stands, reaching for a plate. “I was hot.” I fan myself for emphasis. “Uncomfortable.”
“Sweetheart,” Grady moves to stand behind me, gliding his fingers under my hair and sweeping it over my left shoulder. Heat from his bare chest seeps into the skin of my back and his voice is low as it hits my ear. “Your tits are telling me a different story.”
I suck in a sharp breath when his parted lips touch the sensitive area behind my ear, and right on cue, my nipples harden as a rash of goosebumps rise along every inch of my skin. His laughter strikes my neck, and my eyes roll into the back of my head as I refute, “I said I was hot. Clearly that is no longer the case.”
“Clearly.” Another lingering touch from his lips, then his warmth is gone.
I turn to face him, smile on my face, plate in hand. Grady scoops some scrambled eggs onto it, then adds a couple slices of bacon and a piece of toast, before gesturing to the island. I take my seat, and as I sip on the orange juice provided, Grady plates his own food then sits next to me.
Both grinning mischievously, we finally begin to eat. After a couple of bites, Grady places his fork on his plate and turns to look at me. “We discussed my family at length last night. What about yours? Siblings?”
Suddenly getting better acquainted doesn’t seem like such a good idea.
I shake my head, swallowing a mouthful of bacon. Grady continues. “Parents?”
Inhaling deeply, I press my feet on the bottom rung of the barstool and rise. I need to reroute this conversation.
“Two.”
I offer nothing else, just lean over slowly to grab a jar of grape jelly from the center of the island. As I do, I make sure to press my breasts together, making my cleavage pop shamelessly. I glance over, disappointed to find Grady’s eyes haven’t left my face. My mouth twists to the side in a defeated pout as I recline back into my seat.
“Close?”
I dip my knife into the jar, scooping a heap as I respond, “We were when I was young. Not so much anymore.”
Grady scratches the stubble on his chin in thought, then asks, “What happened?”
The mound of jelly plops onto my toast and I slather it with the knife. Tearing my determined stare away from my hands, I look Grady right in the eyes and offer in a clipped tone, “They stopped paying attention.”
Grady’s brows draw together and his head jerks backward. And on that note, I decide to end the conversation. Drastic times call for drastic measures.
Folding the toast in half, I squeeze it as I bring it to my mouth, forcing some jelly to fall from the bread and land smack-dab on the swell of my breast.
“Oh, look at that. I can be such a klutz sometimes.” I tsk and shake my head, then lower the toast to my plate. Keeping my gaze downward, I bring my hand to cup the underside of my breast and press it upward. As it lifts toward my mouth, I slowly extend my tongue and lazily draw it along the surface of my skin, clearing most of the jelly with a long, leisurely lick. Once through, I bring my eyes to Grady’s and smile innocently while batting my eyelashes.
His stare is not fixated on my breast, nor following my tongue as it disappears back into my mouth. His eyes are merely filled with humor as he grins, shaking his head and relaxing back into his seat. “Not ready to discuss the parents. Got it.”
My face falls and I gape back at him, uncertain if I’m more surprised that he showed absolutely no reaction to my ploy, or the fact that he so easily dismissed the conversation. His shoulders shake with more laughter, warm gaze still focused on my face.
I find myself a bit depressed at his blatant lack of interest. It must be displayed in my disheartened expression, because Grady rises from his relaxed position, leans into me, presses the pad of his thumb into the supple skin, and drags it along the path just taken by my tongue. The trail that had been cooled by the air scorches as his thumb grazes along the top of my breast. The burning fades when he lifts it to his mouth, seals the pad between his lips, and sucks the remainder of grape jelly off the digit.
It’s the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
My mouth dries and I can do nothing but stare as he leans closer and whispers, “Missed some.”
Grady’s lips are soft and sweet as he presses them against the corner of my mouth before rising and taking both plates with him to the sink.
And I watch, riveted.
Never before have I ever been treate
d with such . . . care.
It’s an odd, yet captivating feeling.
I inhale deeply, just as Grady pivots to face me. His palms press against the counter as he rests his body against it. “Come here.”
I remain by the stool, and Grady grins crookedly. “Please.”
Slowly, I leave the safety of the island, grabbing the Waldo T-shirt as I pass by on my way to Grady. Curling my fingers around the cotton material, I walk to where he stands. He extends his hand, requesting the shirt, and I willingly hand it over because, well, it doesn’t belong to me.
I watch as he unfolds it, turning it upside down and opening its bottom.
“Arms up.”
I do as requested, and the shirt is carefully tugged down my arms and over my head. Grady pulls it taut over my stomach, then brings his eyes to mine. They’re filled with warmth, and for some reason, the gesture of him dressing me, caring for me, prompts me to speak. “I just . . . my past . . . I can’t . . .”
He lifts his hand to my face, stroking my cheek lightly with his knuckles as he dismisses my lack of explanation. “I don’t need you to tell me anything you’re not ready to discuss, Cass. Everyone has a past. I have mine, you have yours. When and if you’re ever ready to discuss it, I’ll be here to listen. No judgment. No assumption. But most importantly, no pressure.”
I nod, then whisper, “Thank you, Grady.”
His mouth kicks up at the side. “Thank you.”
Grady’s hand falls from my face, and I turn to leave, only to halt my steps when he calls, “Oh, and, Cass?”
I twist to face him, brows raised in question. “Yeah?”
He dips his head and speaks in a low register, watching me intensely from beneath his lashes. “Lucky for you, I swore an oath to remain a gentleman on this date. Considering I’ve been rock-fucking-hard for the past thirty minutes, I feel the need to warn you ahead of time that next one, all bets are off.”
Well . . . fuck.
He lifts his eyebrows.
I blush.
Then I die for the third time today.
But death by Grady Bennett?
I sigh to myself then speak nothing but the truth when I answer, “I look forward to it.”
OPENING THE DOOR TO my apartment, the alarm sounds and I nearly jump out of my skin, surprised it’s been activated. Spencer and I hardly ever use the thing.
“Shh,” I scold, my fingers flying as fast as they can across the keypad. Once it’s been quieted, I bring my hand to my chest and breathe in deeply, trying to calm my racing heart. As it slows, I turn and gently press the door shut with my fingertips then pivot back around. With a plastic bag containing my dress and heels clutched between my fingers, my yellow sock is set upon the hardwood with a hesitant first step. Then another. And another.
As I tiptoe, it feels strangely reminiscent of performing the familiar walk of shame, but at the same time, it couldn’t be more opposite. I don’t feel weighed down by the usual grime of disgust and remorse. I merely feel as though I’m a normal sixteen-year-old, sneaking into her house, praying she doesn’t get caught.
Tunnel vision in full effect, I focus on the hallway leading to my bedroom, steadily increasing my strides toward its safety. My stare is so intense, I completely miss the burly, bearded man leaning casually against the windowsill in my living room.
“You should lock the door.” His voice is low with caution as he pulls the chain on the lamp next to him.
“Jesus Christ!” My palm hits my sternum in attempt to keep my heart from launching out of my chest as I whip around. My widened gaze lands on the altered appearance of Dalton Greer, calmly crossing his arms, still dressed in the same dark grey shirt and charcoal pants as last night. His hair is still dark, now loose and messy from sleep as it hits his shoulder, but his deep brown eyes no longer remain. Familiar and penetrating clear-blue irises observe my reaction from across the room.
I narrow my stare.
“Are you two trying to give me a fucking heart attack?” I whisper-yell, clenching my teeth together.
White teeth flash from behind the brown beard concealing his face just as quickly as they disappear. He presses off the windowsill, makes his way to the door, then glances at me over his shoulder, taking his sweet-ass time to demonstrate how to lock the door.
I roll my eyes and curl my fingers around my cocked hip.
Dalton steps out of the entryway, his presence so potent, it seems to take up the entire living room upon his reentry. The low grumble of his voice is gone, replaced with the tone I remember as he speaks. “I’m not sure what Grady told you.”
“He didn’t have to tell me anything, Dalton. I know why you’re back.”
Dalton nods his head, absorbing my words. “Well, then you must also know that our situation is . . . precarious.”
I fight a snarky grin at his use of the word. It’s just so Dalton.
He continues, “I need to know that both you and Spencer are doing all you can to remain safe. Which means,” he gestures toward the entryway, “locking the door and setting the alarm at all times.”
“All right, Dad,” I scoff.
Dalton narrows his eyes. “This isn’t some fucking joke. You know just as well as I do exactly what Silas Kincaid is capable of.”
All defiance is lost and my throat seals shut as I nod, words escaping me.
Dalton steps forward, covering the distance between us in three long strides to place his hand on my shoulder. Holding me captive with his stare, his voice is surprisingly gentle when he adds, “I’m sorry, Cassie. Rat’s death, well . . . it’s on me. I let him down. I lost him, but you lost him too. And I’m so sorry for that.”
I shake my head. “There was nothing you could’ve done, Dalton.”
He inhales deeply, pain and sadness filling his expression. “I got him involved. That’s enough.”
Memories of Rat and our brief time spent together unleash a fiery fury from somewhere deep within me, a place that has remained securely hidden for years. My head dips forward, and anger is threaded through my tone with my harsh whisper. “Then make it right.”
Tenacity fills his baby blues with a jerk of his chin. His grip on my shoulder tightens as he responds, “Keep the doors locked and your apartment alarmed until it’s done, okay?”
The urgency in his voice takes me by surprise. “I thought we were safe.”
Dalton’s brows shoot upward with that admission, but he recovers quickly. “You are safe, Cass. Grady and I are both making sure of that. But you can never be too safe. So please, for my sanity, just do as I ask.”
My head bobs in answer, then he surprises the shit out of me when he tugs me into his body, pulling me into a tight embrace. All anger subsides and my eyes widen against the material of his shirt. I remain completely still, shock freezing my muscles. His hold remains, so hesitantly, I lift my arms and clumsily pat his back. His broad shoulders shake us both with his laughter until he finally releases me.
I look up at him, surprised to see a wide smile. I don’t think Dalton Greer has ever smiled at anyone other than Spencer. Peacefulness settles into his eyes as they stare back at me. Rooting myself in their depths, I realize that some time during the past five years, Dalton’s wounds have healed. I know with absolute certainty; his head is finally in the right place to get his vengeance. And his girl.
I grin shamelessly back at him.
He angles his head, assessing me before he speaks. “I underestimated you, Cassie. In high school, I thought you weren’t a good friend for Spencer to have. I couldn’t have been more incorrect in that assumption. I’m sorry for that too. You’ve always . . . protected her, so to speak.”
I chuckle with my response. “Well, it was my job to protect her for six years before you came along. Then I passed the torch because, well . . . she was in love with you. There was no competing after that. I knew she was always safe with you, and safe she will remain, now that you’re back. I have no doubt.”
Dalton stares
back at my blatant honesty, and the intimacy of the moment begins to overwhelm me. So before it gets too serious, I add, “But just in case, I’ll be sure to set the alarm and lock the door, as requested.”
Deep laughter fills the room as he steps away. His amused stare drifts to my shirt and his darkened brows rise, a huge smile lifting right along with them. “Nice shirt. Have fun last night?”
I shoo him with my hand. “Oh my God, go away now. I’m so not discussing my evening with you.”
“Come on, Daisy Mae. You know you want to talk about it.”
I grin at the endearment and shake my head. “Not with you, I don’t.”
“Oh!” Spencer’s angelic laughter fills the air as she practically floats into the living room. “Talk about it with me. I want to know everything.”
“And then there were three,” I remark under my breath.
Spencer’s long, blonde hair is piled messily on the top of her head, bouncing with her steps. Her eyes fall to my socks, filling with humor before rising. Wearing a simple light-blue tank top and black yoga pants similar to the ones loaned to me by Grady, she happily bounds off the balls of her feet as she makes her way to Dalton. His arm lifts with her approach, and she nestles into his body. My eyes take in the sight, its completeness, and my heart lifts with the knowledge that all is right in their world.
The two halves of their broken hearts mended as they come together.
I sigh inwardly, then jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “I have to get ready. I have an appointment at eleven.”
Spencer’s eyes widen and she covers her mouth, but her smile is still evident. “You liiiiiike Grady,” she sings. She looks up at Dalton, who’s grinning back at her, explaining, “She never gives up deets about the ones she likes.”
I snicker. “How would you know?”
“I just know,” she retorts, offering nothing more.
I’m thankful for her discretion, because the only other person I’ve ever not shared deets about is Rat, who has already been painfully discussed in-depth. Over the past twelve hours, I’ve officially hit my emotional quota for the next year, and I really don’t think I can handle anymore today.
Out of Focus (Chosen Paths #2) Page 11
