You Complicate Me

by Isabel Jordan

  Grace frowned at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve said that same thing to every girl I’ve ever dated. This is the first time I’ve been on the other end of the conversation.”

  Her heart flipped over. Did that mean he wanted more than a casual affair with her? “And that’s funny to you?”

  “No. Not at all. But you’re the boss, Grace. I said I’d take whatever you were willing to give, and I meant it.”

  That reminded her of her other ground rule, since the things her body was willing to give Nick and the things her heart and head were willing to give him were very different.

  “That’s the other thing,” she said. “Anything…physical that happens with us…I need it to be on my terms.”

  “I would never pressure you or make you do anything you didn’t want to do, Grace,” he said, sounding offended.

  “I know that,” she said, surprised to realize she meant it. Nick wasn’t the sort to pressure or cajole her into anything. He was the anti-Brad. “I just want to take it slow.”

  He laughed, and she conceded, “From here on out.”

  “That’s fair enough,” he said. “Whatever you want, angel.”

  She finished swiping blush over her cheekbones and wandered into his room. “Why do you call me…”

  All thought evaporated as she took in the sight of him in front of the bathroom mirror, shaving. Shirtless.

  Dear God, there was miles and miles of taut skin stretched over muscles that rippled in places she hadn’t known could ripple. And there were—two, four, six—eight abdominal muscles visible to her questing eyes. She hadn’t even realized that was possible outside of the movie 300 and Photoshop.

  He had just the right amount of chest hair, too. Not so much that it looked like he was wearing a sweater (like her uncle Mort), and not so little that rubbing against him would feel like being on a Slip-N-Slide (like Brad). No, Nick’s perfect chest had a light dusting of dark hair that narrowed over his abs and arrowed down in a perfect happy trail to his…

  He cleared his throat and caught her mortified gaze in the mirror with a knowing one of his own.

  Stupid smug Adonis-like man.

  “You were going to ask why I call you angel?” he prompted, wiping the remnants of shaving cream from his face with a hand towel.

  She nodded, not yet trusting herself to attempt actual words.

  He turned and faced her, leaning a hip on the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. The posture was casual, but the heat in his eyes was anything but as he said, “Because I knew as soon as I first saw you that if you ever turned those perfect green eyes in my direction and smiled at me…well, that just might be as close to heaven as I’d ever be able to get.” He grinned at her. “And I was right.”

  And with that, any hope of taking it slow vanished. Without a second thought, she launched herself at him. He caught her easily, swinging her up and around so that she was in front of him, sitting on the counter. Grace grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers as she wrapped her legs around his waist, locking her ankles behind his back.

  Two hours ago—hell, even two minutes ago—she would’ve said there was no way they could ever top the kiss they’d shared in the elevator.

  Oh, how wrong she would’ve been.

  This time there was no hesitation, no struggle for self-control. This kiss was all raw passion and hot, blind lust.

  After what could have been minutes or hours of tangling tongues and clashing teeth and breathing only each other’s air, Grace broke the kiss and rested her forehead on his.

  When they both caught their breath, he smiled and pressed a light kiss on the tip of her nose. “I thought we were taking it slow,” he whispered.

  She gave a wobbly chuckle. “You don’t play fair, being all shirtless and hot and saying nice things to me.”

  His smile widened and his gaze drifted down. “You’re not exactly playing fair yourself. You look amazing.”

  Grace wasn’t sure she looked as amazing as the hot look he was pinning her with would suggest, but she had put a little extra time into getting ready for dinner.

  The full skirt of her favorite red dress fell a few inches above her knee, and the snug-fitting bodice dipped low enough in the front to make the most of her cleavage, yet not low enough to make her look slutty or desperate. The dress was sexy while still managing to be totally classy.

  But her mile-high, snakeskin Louboutin ankle boots? Those were pure sex. The epitome of fuck-me shoes. This was the first time she’d ever worn them. And she was willing to admit to herself, if not to anyone else, that she’d worn them for Nick. She wanted him to want her as much as she wanted him.

  And if the impressive erection pressing into her belly was any indication, she’d succeeded.

  Thoughts of his impressive erection quickly derailed her train of thought, forcing her to ask, “What were we talking about?”

  His hands slid up her thighs. “I don’t remember talking, but I remember exactly where we left off.”

  She giggled—honest to God giggled. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d done that. If ever. Had she ever been a giggler?

  That gave her pause. Maybe the crazy rush of emotion she felt with Nick wasn’t so scary after all. She’d been in control most of her life and she couldn’t remember ever giggling. That couldn’t be normal, could it? What else had she been missing out on in her life?

  “Your thoughts are so loud they’re practically hurting my ears,” he said, twirling a lock of her hair around his index finger. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  Her gaze fell to his mouth, just a breath away from her own. “Do you think anyone would miss us if we skipped dinner?”

  He sucked in a sharp breath and rested his forehead on hers again. “It would be cruel to tease me about something like that.”

  She swallowed hard. “I’m not teasing. I’m reconsidering my earlier position on taking it slow.”

  “Really?”

  He couldn’t have sounded more shocked than if she’d told him she was a virgin. Frankly, she was a little shocked herself. This was totally out of character for her. She’d only had one lover in her life, and she’d dated Brad for two years before she had sex with him. Now she was ready to jump Nick, who she’d known for about two days.

  And somehow, the decision to be with Nick felt more right than being with Brad ever had.

  She nodded. “Really.”

  He opened his mouth, but was interrupted by a rather loud, rather embarrassing protest from her stomach. He chuckled. “Something tells me we better not skip dinner.”

  Grace shrugged sheepishly. “Maybe not. But maybe we can duck out early instead?”

  “Definitely. Are you ready to go?”

  She chuckled. “No, no, no. The real question is, are you ready to meet my family?”

  He raised that sarcastic brow at her. “I don’t know. Am I?”

  She shook her head and patted his hand sympathetically. “Poor clueless bastard. You’ll know soon enough how totally unprepared you are for these people.”

  He scoffed. “Oh, come on. They can’t be that bad.”

  “Let me leave you with this thought, my friend.” She crooked her finger at him until he leaned in so that she could whisper in his ear, “I’m the normal one.”

  He leaned back and frowned down at her. “Okay, now I’m a little freaked out.”

  Grace nodded. “Welcome to my world.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Michael pulled her aside at the entrance of the resort’s restaurant, a four-star establishment called Serendipity. Grace introduced Nick and frowned sternly at him when Michael winced as they shook hands. Nick shrugged and winked at her, completely unrepentant.

  After brief pleasantries were exchanged (none of which involved threats to disembowel her baby brother if he hurt his sister, thank God), Nick pressed a kiss to Grace’s temple
and excused himself.

  She tried, and failed, to keep her gaze off his butt as he ambled into the restaurant. Really, what the man did for a pair of black dress pants was damn near criminal.

  Michael cleared his throat and Grace lifted her guilty gaze to his. “Really, Gracie? You’re banging Sadie’s brother? Since when? You don’t find that a little weird?”

  Grace had a pretty good idea that banging Nick would be anything but weird. Spine-melting, life-altering, multi-orgasmic, all-kinds-of-awesome hot, yes. Weird? No. Complicated, for sure, but never weird. “I met him on the flight here. And, no. I don’t find it weird. It’s not like we’re blood relation or anything,” she said, repeating Nick’s early take on their situation.

  Michael frowned at her. “He’s going to be our brother-in-law.”

  Her chin lifted. “Yes, I’m aware. What’s your point?”

  “Just that it’s weird. Incestuous, sorta.”

  She narrowed her eyes on him and gave him her best dead-eyed lawyer stare. “You know what I find weird? The fact that my little brother who’s never even had a serious girlfriend before now is getting married.” She paused for effect. “Married. At nineteen. What’s that all about?”

  He shifted his weight as he always did when she gave him her lawyerly stare. “Jesus, Gracie,” he muttered. “You still talk to me like I’m a kid. I’m a grown-up, damn it.”

  Grace gave him a good once-over. OK, she’d admit that at a quick glance, he looked like a grown-up. He was, after all, a good nine inches taller than her, and his green eyes sparkled with intelligence. But on the flip side, his sandy blond hair still stood up in the front thanks to the terrible cowlick he’d inherited from their father, and under an ill-fitting suit jacket that looked like it had never met an iron, he wore a white T-shirt with “Suck it, Trebek” printed on it.

  Yeah, no way was Michael Montgomery a mature grown-up who was ready to be someone’s husband.

  “You are a kid, Michael,” she hissed. “I just don’t want to see you make a terrible mistake.”

  He shook his head, visibly shutting her out. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

  “What do you mean you’re not talking about this with me? You used to talk about everything with me.”

  “Well, not anymore.”

  “Okay, ouch,” she said, absently putting a hand over her heart. “So now that you’re a big adult about to be married you don’t need your older sister anymore?”

  His lips turned up slightly. “I wouldn’t say I don’t need you for anything. I was going to ask you to be my best man, but now…”

  Her jaw dropped. “You were? Oh my God, Michael, that’s huge.”

  “So what do you say, Gracie?” he asked sheepishly. “Will you be my best man?”

  “Of course I will,” she said, grabbing him and pulling him to her for a hug. “I love you, Michael.”

  “I love you, too, Sis.”

  And it wasn’t until he walked away that she realized he’d totally distracted her from her point, which was that he was too young to get married.

  “Damn,” she muttered. The slippery little bastard should have probably considered law school instead of art school.

  Good old Brad could take a few lessons in executing a proper stink-eye from Grace’s mother.

  Sarah Montgomery was a formidable woman, Nick thought. Sure, on the outside she looked harmless with her cloud of soft blond hair that reminded Nick of cotton candy and five-foot-nothing stature. But the look in her blue eyes could only be described as glacial as she eyed the man who stood between Grace and Brad, whom she obviously saw as her best shot at a grandbaby daddy.

  What the hell was he doing here? Families always made him feel uncomfortable, like an outsider. Like the orphan he was. He didn’t belong here.

  But then he thought of his sister’s beaming face when he’d seen her earlier and remembered exactly why he was here. He sighed. Damn it. Bailing wasn’t an option.

  On his left, Grace’s stomach growled again. He grabbed the bread basket and shoved it toward her. She smiled gratefully up at him and he felt gut-punched, suddenly knowing he could tolerate anything Brad and Sarah could throw at him if it meant earning even one more of Grace’s smiles.

  Bailing definitely wasn’t an option.

  “So, Nick,” Sarah began, and Nick mentally cringed, thinking, shit, is it my turn to talk again? “What is it that you do?”

  She didn’t say “other than defile my daughter,” but it was clearly implied by her tone.

  “Jesus, Sarah,” Gage muttered. “You know what he does. Why don’t you back off?”

  At least Gage didn’t look at Nick like he was gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. It was really kind of pathetic how grateful for that Nick was.

  Physically, Nick and Gage weren’t that different. About six-two, 190 pounds, dark hair, light eyes. That’s where their similarities ended, though. Gage was a year younger than Nick and about to finish his residency at Johns Hopkins, which kind of made Nick feel like the not-so-proud owner of the lowest IQ at the table.

  He hated feeling that way, too. Nick was proud of his military service and of his current job, but sitting at this table full of white-collar professionals made him feel decidedly unaccomplished. Not that he could let those feelings show. Nick had no doubt Brad would use that weakness against him however and whenever he could.

  Sarah placed a splayed hand over her chest and shifted a wounded gaze toward Gage. “What did I do? Am I not allowed to ask questions?”

  “I told you what he did before we sat down, Mom,” Grace said, giving her mother a sharp look. “We know you’re fishing.”

  “Like Brad Pitt in A River Runs Through It,” Gage confirmed, reaching around Nick to snag the bread basket from Grace, who looked like she was considering stabbing his hand with a fork.

  If the rest of the family didn’t arrive soon so they could start the meal, Nick feared she was going to go all Donner Party on their asses.

  Brad, sitting across from Grace, raised a brow. “You can’t blame us for being curious, Grace. You show up at a family event with this…man. You can’t be surprised that we have questions.”

  As Nick toyed with the idea of dragging Brad into the men’s room and flushing his head in a toilet a few times, Grace swayed forward like a viper preparing to strike.

  “You know what, Brad? If I was a good person, I’d tactfully remind you that you lost the right to be curious about my social life when you dumped me for a woman the color of Cheetos whose bra size most likely exceeds her IQ. But I’m obviously not a good person. So I’m just going to remind you that I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, and your concern is neither needed nor wanted. You may leave at any time if you don’t approve of the choices I’m making for myself.”

  “Hear, hear,” Gage said, raising his wine glass.

  “Amen to that,” Michael muttered, leaning across the table to touch his glass to Gage’s.

  Brad cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “I really don’t know how many times you expect me to say I’m sorry, Grace.”

  “You never said it,” Nick muttered.

  The bastard had the nerve to look down his smug nose at Nick. “Excuse me?”

  “Can’t think of one.” Gage chuckled as Nick added, “But I said that you never apologized to Grace.”

  “He’s right,” Grace said. “You said you intended to win me back and that you realized you still loved me. You never said you were sorry.”

  Brad sputtered for a moment. “Well, I should think that goes without saying.”

  “Guess it has to in this case, huh?” Michael asked, ripping into a roll.

  “Boys,” Sarah cut in sharply. “Leave Grace’s husband alone.”

  “Ex-husband,” Grace and Nick said in unison.

  Sarah ignored them. “I expect that kind of behavior from Gage.” She shot a quick glare at Gage, who shrugged. “But I expect more from you, Michael.”

  �
�Jesus, Mom,” Michael grumbled. “I don’t know what you want me to—“

  “Sorry we’re late, guys,” a sweet voice interrupted.

  Sadie practically floated into the room. She looked happier than Nick had ever seen her. His heart pinched at the thought of what she’d gone through—what both of them had gone through-—to get to this place in her life.

  Sadie wore a scooped-neck dress in a shade of deep blue that perfectly matched her eyes, and her hair hung loose around her shoulders, looking carelessly elegant. The woman in the wheelchair she was pushing in front of her, though? She was anything but elegant.

  The woman’s hair was an odd shade of pale lavender and teased into a short beehive that looked like it was held in place using every pin in the state and possibly some Elmer’s glue. If Nick had to guess, he’d say she was about 200 years old.

  A man in a tattered cardigan—the kind with leather elbow patches that Nick would’ve assumed only existed in movies about college professors—wandered in behind them, staring at a Kindle as if it held the secrets of the universe.

  Liquid splashed Nick’s leg as Gage dropped his glass. Nick grabbed his napkin and started mopping up the mess. Grace grabbed her napkin and began swiping at his pants. “Christ, Gage,” she said. “What’s the matter with you?”

  Nick glanced up and saw exactly what was wrong with Gage. He was staring at Sadie, eyes glazed, mouth slightly agape. He was accustomed to this kind of reaction from men when they first saw Sadie, but it didn’t mean he liked it. Nick elbowed Gage sharply in the ribs. “That’s my sister,” he hissed under his breath.

  Gage blinked, but kept his eyes on Sadie.

  Grace reached around Nick and swatted Gage on the back of his head. “Michael’s fiancée,” she clarified sharply.

  That did it. Gage gave his head a quick shake, seemingly breaking out of his Sadie-induced stupor.

  Introductions were made all around, and Nick learned that the man behind the Kindle was Grace’s father, David, and the woman in the wheelchair was her grandmother and David’s mother, Ruthie Montgomery.

  “O’Connor,” Ruthie grumbled, wrinkling her nose.