by Katie Ruggle
Shortly after Grace had escaped, one of the twins had pounded on her door, saying that they’d been playing a modified game of curling in the dining room, during which there had been an incident with one of the broom handles, and now there might be a tiny hole in the ceiling that they really were hoping to fix before Jules got back from a parent-teacher conference.
After a semi-decent attempt to fix the dining room ceiling that involved homemade papier-mâché and some of Dee’s white poster paint, Grace had ended up watching television with the kids for the rest of the night. It had all been so very…domestic.
Staring into her coffee cup, Grace wondered how this had happened. How had she gone from her wonderful, sparkling life to where she was now, sitting in a VFW-turned-diner in the shrinking town of Monroe, Colorado, and dreading her upcoming shift at a dog kennel?
“What’s wrong?”
No. Please, no. Grace pushed her coffee out of the way so her forehead could hit the counter with a thump. Why do you hate me, God?
“Are you sad because Oliver’s evil twin cheated on Constance with Tatiana?”
“Stop!” Sitting up abruptly, Grace covered her ears and glared at Hugh. He looked all amused and hot and cheerful sitting there on the stool next to hers—right next to hers—and that made her even crankier. How could he look so good when she was always such a mess around him? “Quit it, you nasty spoiler!”
He lifted his hands, palms out, as if to protect himself from her eye daggers. “Sorry! That was yesterday’s episode, so I assumed you saw it. Oh, wait… That was during coverall fashion-show time, wasn’t it?”
Since she could still hear his stupid voice, even with her ears covered, she dropped her hands and reached for her coffee again. She sipped it, pretending it wasn’t as cold as Hugh’s rotten, spoiler-y heart. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d go away.
With a groan that Grace knew was for dramatic purposes only, Hugh stretched out his leg. Since their stools were so close together, that put his foot right under hers, which were hooked on the bottom rung of the stool. For some dumb reason, her heart rate sped up.
From rage, she told herself, even as she recognized the lie. Sheer rage.
He shifted, and his knee bumped hers. When she transferred her glare from her coffee to his face, Grace caught the tail end of his smirk. That little knee touch had been intentional. “Respect my personal-space bubble, please.”
“Did I…nudge you?” His eyes widened with completely unbelievable innocence. “So sorry. My leg—the one that was shot, you know—was feeling a bit stiff.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she saw the corner of his mouth quiver. Even after knowing him for such a short time, she was perfectly aware that he was holding back a laugh. “So sorry your leg is stiff. Maybe you should walk a little to loosen it up.” She gestured toward the door. “How about that way?”
He laughed, and Grace turned her gaze back to her now disgustingly cold coffee so she didn’t reveal how much she liked the sound. “So, Grace Robinson…what’s your birth date?”
“Why?” The seemingly random question made her glance at him again. “Are you planning to steal my identity?”
That look of fake innocence was back, but this time there was a harder edge hiding beneath it. “Of course not.” He absently rubbed his thigh, and Grace wondered if his leg really was hurting. Three people—Dee, Jules, and Ty—had told her the story about how Hugh had been injured while heroically rescuing Sam during a school shooting. “Just wanted to make sure I knew when to bring over a birthday cake…and how many candles to put on it.”
“That’s okay. You won’t be invited to my birthday party anyw—You weasel!” It had taken her several confused seconds to realize why he wanted to know her birth date. The ass wasn’t just trying to get her to spill her secrets; he was actually investigating her! A reflexive surge of anger quickly morphed into fear. A cop was looking into her background, possibly checking databases and whatever other tools police had at their disposal. What had he found out about her? What did he know? Did Monroe share information with other police departments? Would Officer Jovanovic figure out that “Grace Robinson” from a small Colorado town was actually Kaylee Ramay from Los Angeles? Grace had no idea how police searches worked. All she knew was that she was screwed.
“I have to go.” She twisted off her stool so quickly that she lost her balance and was forced to stumble back a few steps. “I’m late for…” It was like her anxiety had made her brain shut off. She couldn’t be acting any more suspiciously if she’d tried. “Whatever. It’s none of your business anyway.” Her attempt to put more snap into her words failed when her voice quavered. It was time to walk away from this disaster before she made it worse.
“Hang on,” Hugh said, but the need to escape overwhelmed Grace. She couldn’t even pretend to act calm and unflustered. If she stayed, she was going to give herself away—even more than she already had.
Pivoting in a half circle, she scanned the viner for Jules, raising a hand in farewell when she caught her eye. Grace ignored Jules’s stay-there-I’ll-be-over-in-just-a-minute hand gestures and speed walked toward the door.
“Wait, Grace.” Hugh was behind her…right behind her. If she walked any faster, she’d be flat-out bolting, so she went for plan B—the women’s bathroom. The door was right next to the exit, so it only took her a few hurried steps to dodge inside. “Grace!”
The door closed behind her, shutting out Hugh. After quickly pushing in the button lock, Grace leaned back against the tiled wall. It was a tiny space without any stalls, just a sink and toilet. Grace’s stomach fell when she didn’t see any windows. It wouldn’t have helped, though. If she crawled out a restroom window to escape from Hugh’s questions, she’d only look guilty—guiltier.
A knock on the door made her jump. “Grace?” When she ignored him, the knocking increased in volume.
“Give me a minute!”
Thankfully, Hugh went quiet. She dreaded leaving the bathroom and facing him. The memory of how she’d checked him out, how his laugh had warmed her and her heart had sped up at his proximity, how comforting it had been to sit next to him while watching a soap opera, how stupidly safe he made her feel, brought an embarrassed flush to her cheeks. He was investigating her as if she were a criminal, at the same time that she was thinking how attractive he was. It was humiliating.
The seconds ticked by, and Grace knew she had to leave the bathroom, had to walk past Hugh and get to her car. Taking a deep breath, she pushed away from the wall and took a step toward the door.
The doorknob jiggled. She was opening her mouth to tell what was most likely a woman needing to use the bathroom that she’d be out in a second, when the button lock popped out.
Grace stared at it, horrified, as the knob turned and the door began to open. Suddenly, she was back in that bloody basement, watching the stairs. The torturers were coming back, they were here, and she was trapped. They were going to tie her up, and cut her, and beat her, and rip out one of her eyes, leaving a gaping, bloody socket—
“You okay?” Hugh asked, sticking his head and one burly shoulder through the opening.
Just like that, she jolted out of her waking nightmare, and her fear switched back to anger. “No! I’m not okay!” Her words came out in a screech. “You just picked the lock on the women’s bathroom and stuck your big, stupid head inside while I was in here!”
He shrugged, one corner of his mouth turning up. “It’s just a button lock. A two-year-old could’ve opened it. And it’s not like your pants are off or anything.” His gaze flickered down, and rage flared so strongly that her skin tingled. With a sound that came close to a roar, Grace shoved past him and stomped to the viner door.
“Grace,” Hugh called after her. The ass sounded like he was trying not to laugh. She didn’t even bother turning around, but slammed outside instead. The morning sunshine blinded her, and she s
topped, blinking rapidly.
I’m not crying, she told herself, pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes. It’s just the sun. Hugh Murdoch is not getting to me.
The door opened behind her, bumping into her back and pushing her forward a couple of steps. Knowing exactly who was standing behind her, she whirled around and glared.
Her glare must’ve been on point, because Hugh actually stopped right outside the door and winced. Laughter was still there, though, bubbling just under the surface of his contrite expression, and that brought Grace’s rage up another notch, burning away any residual tears.
“You,” she said through gritted teeth. Her jaw actually ached from how hard she was clenching it.
Taking a step closer, he let the door swing shut behind him. “Yes?”
“You are the most aggravating person I have ever met!”
“Really?” Although he looked relaxed, there was a sharp edge to his gaze. Grace couldn’t tell if it was interest or excitement or just the look of a bloodhound on a trail—her trail. “Most people find me rather soothing.”
“Liar.”
With a shrug, he took another step. Although Grace wanted to stand her ground, she wasn’t sure what would happen if he were within reach. Her hands itched to either punch him or grab him. Both would end badly, so she retreated a step.
The gleam in his eyes intensified, and he moved closer. As desperately as she wanted to bolt, she knew it would just make him chase her. “I have to get to work,” she said, turning away and walking as casually as she could toward her car.
“Now who’s the liar?” He was just a half step behind her. Even though she was running away in slow motion, his predator instincts had apparently been triggered. “You don’t have to be at the kennel until eleven today.”
Stopping abruptly, she whirled to face him. “How do you know my schedule, stalker?”
“I keep telling you, I’m not a stalker.” Turning around had been a mistake, Grace realized. They were just inches apart. If she took too deep a breath, there would be chest touching. “I’m just…well informed.”
With the way his face was tipped down toward hers, she could actually feel the warmth of his breath against her lips. Unexpected heat roared through her, and she rocked back. Unwilling to take a step away and give up ground again, Grace crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to create a barrier between them. It didn’t help; Hugh was still much too close for comfort. She scrambled to catch the thread of their conversation. “Well, stop being informed.”
Even before he grinned, she knew that hadn’t made any sense.
“About me. Stop informing yourself about me.” That was even worse. Struggling to find her usual composure, Grace shifted back a step. That gave him the advantage, but she couldn’t think with him so near. Stupid Hugh with his stupid, muscly body was distracting her.
“Sorry, Grace.” His grin took on a shark-like cast. “I’m not planning on stopping. You’re a puzzle, and I don’t like things to go…unsolved.”
The last of her equanimity disappeared, evaporated with the knowledge that he wasn’t going to quit investigating her. Beneath her anger and the anxiety about what he’d discover, there was a hard kernel of disappointment. She didn’t want to be interesting to Hugh because she was some sort of unsolved puzzle. Despite herself, she wanted him to be interested because she was fascinating to him.
A tiny, dumb part of her wished that he was as attracted to her as she was to him.
When she realized she was just staring at him, thinking silly, useless thoughts, Grace abruptly turned and walked—well, stomped—toward her car. She was parked on the other side of the building, and she cursed herself for not picking one of the front spots instead. If she had, she’d already be inside, away from Hugh’s looming presence. Having her car sitting exposed, for anyone to see if they drove past, bothered her, though, so she tended to pick the most hidden spots she could find. It didn’t matter that the car wasn’t registered to her real name. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she just didn’t want to take any chances. One screwup, and she would be dead.
She turned the corner. Although she couldn’t hear footsteps behind her, she knew he was there, and close. Shooting him a narrowed-eyed look over her shoulder, she snapped, “Don’t you have something better to do than follow me?”
“Not really.” Although his words were light, the usual humor wasn’t there. Instead, he met her gaze with an intensity that made her whip her head around so she was facing forward again. Jokey Hugh was one thing, but smoldering Hugh could be a serious problem.
“Grace.” He caught her hand, bringing her to a halt. Although her feet stopped moving, almost of their own accord, she kept her gaze focused on her car. “Grace, look at me.”
She couldn’t do it. If she looked at him, she wouldn’t be able to think. It wasn’t good that the man who had the drive to discover her secret made her incapable of rational thought. A tug at her hand made her realize that she was stuck. Until she met his eyes, Hugh was going to stay there.
I can do this. She’d faced worse than Hugh over the past two weeks.
Setting her jaw, she turned around. Her gaze traveled up his solid chest, over his serious face, and locked on to his gaze.
“Why are you running away from me?” he asked, sounding completely sincere. “You can trust me.”
Unable to look away, she just pressed her lips together. She couldn’t trust anyone. Martin Jovanovic’s reach was too extensive. She’d made that mistake already, and it had left her hunted and crouching by a dumpster.
“I can help you.” He tugged her closer, and her traitor body gave in to his pull. His head tipped down, and air from his words brushed her cheek. Her breath left her in a shuddering rush as her eyes closed. He felt so safe, so solid, so strong…
“What’s your name?” he asked softly, directly in her ear. “Your real name?”
With a frustrated sound, she jerked her hand away. He was playing her, using her attraction to him to get the information he wanted. “You are such an ass!” She started to stomp away, but Hugh caught her again, around the waist that time. He pulled her tightly against him, her back pressing against his front.
“It would make things a lot easier for both of us if you’d just tell me the truth.” The rasp in his voice and the way his breath brushed her ear distracted her, tempting her to sink into the heat and strength of him—but then the meaning of his words hit her.
Clenching her teeth to hold back a frustrated scream, she yanked out of his grip and spun around. “I am not your puzzle to solve,” she gritted out, poking him in the chest with each word. “I’m not one of your suspects. You do not get to interrogate me.”
He caught her jabbing finger in a firm but gentle grip. Their eyes met, and his were hot and shockingly hungry. “You’re so beautiful when you’re yelling at me.”
Her mouth fell open, but she couldn’t say anything else. Was he serious this time, or had that just been another way to distract her, to disarm her? “Quit trying to butter me up. It’s not going to make me tell you anything.”
“I mean it.” His expression was completely earnest. There wasn’t a hint of laughter to be seen.
She stared at him, fury and anxiety and desire all swirling together in a molten mixture that burned her from the inside. This man was going to be the death of her. “You are so…”
“I’m so…what?” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “Hot?” The lilt of humor had returned to his voice.
“Arrrgh!” She started to turn away, fully prepared to stomp to her car, after which she would perhaps run him over several times, but his fingers closed around her arm, tugging her back around. Grace opened her mouth, ready to tell him off, but then her gaze collided with his. All amusement had been erased from his expression. The heat, the hunger burning in his eyes erased all thoughts of their latest argument and l
it an answering inferno inside her.
Then his lips were on hers, and Grace was lost.
Chapter 9
There was no hesitation, no moment of shock. From the second their mouths met, Grace was kissing him back. All the anger, all the worry, all the aggravation she’d been feeling just seconds before were burned away by heat and need.
Hugh yanked her against him, and she went willingly, clutching at his shoulders. She’d never felt anything so intense, so incredible, as the feel of his mouth on hers. He kissed her hard, taking control. Sliding a hand behind his head, she nipped his lower lip and bossed him right back. They traded, giving and taking, back and forth, as if one of their arguments had transformed into a kiss—and it was wonderful.
She couldn’t stay still, wanting to feel all of him at once, her hands greedily roaming over his shoulders and up his neck to the back of his head and then down again. Her fingers clenched around handfuls of his shirt, bunching it in her fists so she could use her grip to drag him even more tightly against her. She felt as if she couldn’t get near enough, couldn’t kiss him hard enough, couldn’t hold him tightly enough.
With a grunt of pleasure, he pulled her even closer, his kiss deepening until she forgot to breathe. His hands roved over her as if he would die if he couldn’t touch her, sliding over her back and then down to grab her hips. His squeeze sent a shock of desire through her, so intense and unexpected that she lurched forward, knocking them both off-balance. Hugh took a step back to catch them, never letting go of her. She loved how easily he caught her and held both of them upright.
There was a sharp thwack, the sound so close that her eardrum buzzed. A spot on her cheek stung sharply, like she’d been poked by a needle. Hugh’s arms turned into hard bands of steel around her as his entire body stiffened.
