by Lily Cahill
How could a kiss feel like this? Feel so … so much more. Grace slid her arms up Tim’s muscled back and held on tight. He groaned against her lips, and she felt his groin tighten. It made her core explode with heat and a wonderful ache. Grace pushed up against his cock, reveled in the way it made him groan again, deep in his throat. God, she was so wet.
Grace pushed hard against Tim, kissed him with all the heat she was feeling inside her body. Their arms roved and roamed, their lips moved together in a delicious dance that pled for more, more, more.
“Grace,” Tim croaked.
Grace opened her eyes to stare into Tim’s electric gaze. “The apartment,” she panted. She snaked her arms down his sides and caught up his fingers in her own, tugging him toward the back.
“Are you sure?”
Grace nearly moaned. “Hell, yes.”
Tim stumbled over himself to rush for the back, one hand already going to his belt buckle. But then a door slammed, boots pounded, a man snarled.
Grace whirled around, and her heart stuttered.
Tuco stood in the entrance to the bar, his eyes blazing.
“What the fuck is this?” he demanded.
“Hey,” Tim started.
Grace pressed a hand to his chest and caught his eyes. She gave a little shake of her head, then glanced at the back. She desperately hoped he understood. Only she could deal with Tuco.
“Grace,” Tim said, his voice low.
“Let me handle this,” she pleaded. “Tuco’s my cousin.”
Her knees almost gave out with relief when, after an excruciating moment, Tim nodded and stalked toward the back. Grace closed her eyes in silent prayer, then turned to face her cousin.
“What are you doing with that drifter?” Tuco’s whole body was taut with anger, and his movements were more like jolts of electricity.
“Nothing, Tuco. It doesn’t matter.”
Tuco hissed. “It does matter. You belong with another shifter. A wolf like Carver.” Tuco eyed her, and his finger poked at the hideous scar down his face. “Though Carver just came to me with a strange story. Something about a god-damned bear protecting my cousin.” Tuco got close, his mouth a thin line. “You’re not hiding something from me, are you, Grace?”
“No!” Grace managed. Her voice was strangled, and she struggled to breathe. God, if he knew … if Tuco discovered her soulmate was a bear shifter …. Grace clenched her fingers into fists. “I don’t know who that bear was or where he came from. I swear, Tuco.”
Tuco paused, every line of his face etched with anger. Then his mouth relaxed, and he nodded. “That’s what I thought. My cuz wouldn’t betray the family like that.” Tuco clapped Grace on the shoulder, and she tried not to wince. “But listen, you need to give Carver a chance, not debase yourself with some lowlife in a bar. An Espinosa deserves better than that.”
Chapter Seven
Bret
TUCO. THAT WAS HIS NAME. Bret snarled the name in his mind over the next two days as he worked through the list of fixes at the bar and Grace steered clear of him. Because of Tuco.
A large part of Bret wasn’t sure why he was even sticking around. There was nothing keeping him here. Except the thought of heading out of the road again, without purpose, without meaning. It left him feeling hollowed out inside.
And the thought of leaving Grace behind ….
Bret gripped the pliers tight in his hand and squeezed his eyes shut. Damn it, but that woman was impossible. Impossible to stop thinking about, impossible to stop staring at. She followed him through his dreams, was the first face he saw when he shut his eyes tight and succumbed to the desire making him hard in the morning. He’d never felt like this for a woman before.
She was the voice in his mind as he’d scribbled down melodies and stanzas over the last two days. For the first time, he was writing for two voices—a man and a woman.
“Dude,” someone said, pulling Bret from his thoughts. “Dude, Tim. You just, like, froze.”
Bret grimaced and glanced at Mateo. “Sorry, kid.”
He and Mateo had spent the last hour conquering the dishwasher. It was the last big thing on his list. After that … he really wouldn’t have a reason to stay. He kind of hoped he wouldn’t be successful.
“Hand me the Phillips head,” Bret said with a grunt. He was stretched out on the stainless steel counter, his body contorted to reach inside the godawful machine.
“That’s the …?”
Bret raised an eyebrow at Mateo. Grace’s brother was as handy as a one-legged llama, but he was a good kid. He’d spent the weekend helping out around the bar, then came here straight after school today. Though his constant presence did make it difficult for Bret to find some time alone with Grace and peel her clothes off her body like he wanted.
“The one that looks like a star,” Bret said. “Don’t they have shop class at your school?”
Mateo handed over the correct screwdriver, looking a bit sheepish. “My sister makes me take art as my elective. She said I shouldn’t waste my talent.”
“You should listen to her, she’s a smart woman.”
Mateo pulled a face, but smiled. Bret could tell he agreed. It was nice, to see siblings that so clearly loved one another. It made his chest ache for his own brothers. As much as they’d always bickered, Bret had always known they wanted the best for each other.
Until, that was, they’d found their mates. Then, Bret had convinced himself they no longer cared about the family, about the success they’d worked so hard to find. And he didn’t want the best for them. He’d grown to hate the women they’d locked onto, hate them for what they’d done to the band, to Bret.
God, no wonder his brothers didn’t come after him that night he’d walked out on them. He didn’t deserve them.
“Dude, you’re gone again.”
Bret smiled. “Sorry, Mateo.” Bret twisted the new wiring into place and screwed the plate back on, then shifted his body out of the dishwasher. He hopped down from the counter and stood back. “Okay, kid, give it a go.”
Mateo flipped a switch, and the dishwasher whirred to life. The grin that lit the teen’s face mirrored Grace’s smile. Bret nudged Mateo with his shoulder.
“Nice work.”
Mateo rolled his eyes. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You handed me the star-shaped screwdriver. I’d have been lost without you.”
Mateo laughed, and it made Bret grin.
“Listen, I want to do something for Grace. Something to say thank you. Any ideas?”
Mateo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Then his eyes went big. “You’re playing again tonight, right? Bring her up on stage. There’s an old upright in the storage room that shouldn’t be too out of tune. She loves anything by Jeff Tweedy.”
Bret nodded, his mind turning. He knew a couple Wilco songs for guitar, now he just had to pick the right one.
Each night, the crowd filtering into the Starlight Lounge had grown. There were more women standing before the stage, more hipsters that looked like they’d driven out from Austin. Apprehension prickled at the back of Bret’s neck as he took the stage—how long before someone recognized him?
But there was no going back now. And plus, Grace had told him earlier in the evening she’d had the best sales weekend she’d had since taking over the bar four years ago.
Still, as Bret climbed onto the small stage and took a seat at the stool, he had a feeling this was nearing its end. He’d have to move on soon. He cleared his throat and caught Mateo’s eye. He was perched on a stool behind the bar with his head bent over some homework, but—true to his word—he’d helped wheel out the old piano an hour ago and covered it with a moth-eaten velvet cloth. Bret had trilled his fingers up the keys, and it wasn’t even that out of tune.
“Hi, folks. I’m Tim Smith, and this is a song I wrote.”
Bret played one song, two songs, and he felt more alive on stage than he had in a month. He smiled against the mic, he riffed on his gui
tar between songs as he explained the next selection. It was a mix of acoustic covers and original material, and Bret felt he could play for hours. Each new song energized him.
And through it all, Grace watched him. She had to know … surely she knew he was playing for her. Why else would he play a Dolly Parton cover, then follow it up with Elton John?
Finally, he took a pause to drink some water. From somewhere in the crowd, a woman shouted.
“Play ‘A Love So Deep!’”
Bret froze, his fingers going taut around the plastic bottle so hard it crinkled in his grip. He cleared his throat again and pulled his newsboy cap down low. “Sorry, ma’am, I don’t know that one. But,” he said, his gaze finding Grace. “I do have a surprise. The fine woman who runs this little joint is a singer you should all know. And, I can attest, a great line-dancer.”
Faces in the crowd shifted, looking for Grace. Her face had gone cherry red behind the bar, and she shook her head frantically at Bret.
“Come on now, Grace. Don’t disappoint them,” Bret teased, making sure to speak into the microphone.
The crowd cheered for her, and a few even started chanting her name. Grace looked like she wanted to die, but Mateo jumped off his stool, grabbed her arm, and led her to the stage. Then, with a flourish, he yanked the velvet cover off the piano. A cloud of dust plumed into the air, making them both cough.
Grace strode up to Bret with her eyes wide and shoved her hand over the mic. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Blame Mateo.”
Grace quirked a brow. “Don’t think you’re getting out of the blame for this, mister.”
But, though she grumbled, she sat at the piano and tried out a few keys. Bret slid off the stool and whispered the song choice in her ear, a Wilco song that featured piano. Her grimace flipped up to a wide smile, and she glanced behind at Mateo. He nodded at his big sister, grinning.
“Okay, Tim. I’ll play,” she finally said. She stretched her fingers and laid them against the keys. “But only because Jeff Tweedy is a genius.”
It was a song that descended into chaos toward the end, but when just two harmonized voices along with guitar and piano, it became something sweet. Something perfect.
Bret faced the crowd, took a breath, then started playing. After a beat, Grace joined in on piano, her fingers creating a haunting, beautiful melody that sent goose bumps shivering down his limbs. Their voices started out song, intertwining together like soft vines. But they grew stronger, louder, confident of how perfect they were together.
All too soon, the song ended. Bret closed his eyes and let the applause wash over him … over them.
He was still buzzing with the song a few minutes later when he had made his way through the crowd to the bar. He and Grace deserved a drink. A toast.
A warm hand slipped down his arm and tugged him to a stop. Bret turned, frowning, to see a young woman smiling up at him. Bret was all too aware of the open invitation in the woman’s gaze, and the way Grace went rigid at his side.
“You sound like that singer, but I heard he was in rehab,” the woman said. She pushed up on her toes and pressed her body against Bret’s. She smiled up at him, batted her eyelashes. “Plus, you’re much hotter.”
Bret gently disentangled himself from the woman and shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am,” he managed, keeping his eyes down and his cap pulled low. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Oh, you know. That band with all the hits.”
“I don’t know. Sorry,” Bret said, worry zig-zagging through him. He didn’t know why it mattered, but Bret didn’t want Grace to know who he was, to know that he’d lied to her. This thing between them, it felt pure. If she knew he was actually asshole womanizer Bret Hart, everything would be ruined.
The woman frowned and pushed out her lower lip, but then slunk away when it was obvious she wouldn’t be getting anywhere with Bret.
He laughed shakily and shrugged at Grace. “They always think I’m someone.”
Grace cocked her head, regarding him. They were surrounded by people, by sound and light and bodies. Suddenly, Bret hated the crowd, hated the feel of eyes on him. He grabbed Grace’s hand and whispered in her ear.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Grace grinned and squeezed his hand, but then eyed the crowd. “You’ll just have to wait a bit longer, mister.”
They worked side by side behind the bar, and every time Grace’s hand brushed against his, Bret’s desire grew. He could barely keep his hands off her by the time Grace announced last call.
Bret’s body was alive with need, with anticipation as the final customer settled his bill and slowly—so damn slowly—ambled out of the bar. Bret took one look at Grace, the silence between them ringing with unspoken desires, then grabbed her hand and ran down the hall.
Bret slammed the apartment door and pushed Grace up against the wall. His fingers roamed over her skin, through her thick hair, across her plush lips. Jesus, she was a marvel. He wanted to kiss his way down her naked body, make her come against his mouth. His cock strained against his pants, and his skin prickled with desire.
Her hands caught up in his unruly hair and tugged him closer. Bret groaned and pressed his body up against her lush curves. His mouth was hot against hers, insistent. It said all the things the last two days of longing couldn’t. And God, the way she moaned against his lips made his hard cock beg to be released. To plunge into her, claim her.
Urgently, Bret reached down and grabbed the hem of her white cotton dress. He yanked it up, and Grace lifted her hands so he could free her off it completely.
She was perfect. Her sun-kissed skin was soft, and the innocence of her simple white panties and matching bra made him want to do very bad things to her. Grace’s lips curled into a wicked smile. Bret had a feeling she wouldn’t mind one bit.
Bret traced his way up the inside of her arm, between long, pink scars that made him wonder. But he had other parts of her body to explore at the moment. He dipped his fingers along the edge of her bra and breathed hard to see her nipples stiffen under the fabric. Then down, down along the curve of her waist and the fullness of her hips.
Grace squirmed and pressed her palm against his hand. She locked eyes with him and unbuttoned his plaid shirt slowly, so slowly. With gentle hands, she pushed it open, exposing his taut chest and abs. Her eyes fell lower, to his dick pressing against his jeans. Her small, warm hand brushed along the length of it, and Bret shivered with ecstasy.
He couldn’t stand this, this distance between them. He encircled Grace in his arms and hauled her mouth to his. The urgency he felt all through his tightly-coiled body was released in that one searing kiss. His fingers cupped her face, then his lips roamed to her jaw, her ear, slipping down her neck.
“Tim,” Grace gasped. He’d just nipped at the sensitive skin of her neck, and Grace arched up against his mouth. “Tim, wait.”
Bret growled at her ear. “I’ve been waiting for you so long already.”
But he stopped, though it hurt like hell to put any space between them. Shoulders heaving, he leaned his forehead against her shoulder.
Grace’s fingers were soft as they slid up the muscles of his back, around his shoulders, then she brushed the edges of his shirt open.
“What are you hiding, Tim Smith?”
Bret managed to breath past the tightness in his chest. “We all have secrets, Grace.”
Grace frowned, then she touched the tattoo of the wolf inked above his heart. “Can you at least explain this?”
Bret looked down at Grace’s hand, her palm pressed against his heart. “It was meant to symbolize my life, my future. I only wanted to be beholden to myself.”
Grace peered up at him, her lips swollen from his kisses. “Was?”
“I got this a long time ago. It seems like a different life, sometimes.”
Grace’s fingertips whispered against his skin, outlining the stark, black tattoo. The sight of her, standing the
re in her plain cotton underwear as she brushed her hand over his chest, was staggering. She sucked her full bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, the looked up at Bret with shining eyes.
“I always thought I knew my destiny and found comfort in that, but ….”
She tried to look down, but Bret tugged her chin up with one finger. “But what?”
Grace blinked quickly and looked away. She dropped her hand from his skin. “In my culture, there’s no escaping your fate. It’s written before you’re even born, I think.” Grace shook her head, her eyes still a million miles away.
“I’m promised to another, Tim. And I always accepted it, wanted it. But then …,” she looked up then with a face full of naked emotion and touched Bret’s face. “Then I met you.”
Desire exploded through Bret, until he saw stars. It rolled through his body like a spring storm, consuming everything in its path until Bret could only see Grace before him. She was all he wanted.
Bret cupped his hands on either side of Grace’s face and leaned close.
“Screw destiny,” he growled, then claimed her mouth.
Chapter Eight
Grace
GRACE JUMPED INTO TIM’S ARMS, crossing her ankles behind his back. Her body pulsed with need, with a thrumming desire to realize all her fantasies with this man.
She needed to forget about Tuco, about clans, about her messy family. The bear who was supposed to be her mate. How could she be fated to another when she felt this way about Tim?
A rumbling groan sounded deep in Tim’s chest, and he held tight to Grace’s ass as he strode through the tiny room. Outside the windows at the back, lightning forked through the sky and rain lashed the windows. Tim’s face was illuminated with each new strike of lightning, his body a relief of black shadows and bright silver.
Grace couldn’t keep her hands from roaming over the bulging muscles of his back, her lips from sucking and kissing at his neck. Tim groaned and eased them down to the bed.
Grace leaned back on her elbows, her legs wide open, wearing only her plain cotton panties and bra. She’d never felt more alluring in her entire life. Her eyelids were heavy as she looked down at Tim, kneeling between her thighs. She watched him look up and down her body, his gaze reverent and his pupils blown wide with desire.
