by Skye Jordan
She’d scrubbed off all her makeup, changed into shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops, and thrown her hair into a ponytail. Yeah, she’d probably taken a decade off her looks. And the affection in Josh’s eyes when he saw the Grace beneath all the props swelled her heart against her will.
“You didn’t know me when I was twelve,” she said.
“But I saw pictures. Remember when your mom brought your photo albums to the team’s barbecue?” He laughed. “God that was sweet.”
Sandy’s hands worked a towel over a glass, but she was shooting Grace her why-exactly-aren’t-you-jumping-this-guy look.
The past washed in and took every ounce of comfort from the moment. Grace answered Sandy’s silent question with “Long story.”
Customers beckoned, and Sandy and Kelly drifted down the bar again.
“You’re even more beautiful than I remember,” he murmured.
She sighed, running her fingers through his hair. “And you’re even more obnoxious.” He grinned, that sleepy, sloppy grin that made her insides ache. “Shit, what am I going to do with you?”
He lifted his head and propped it on his palm, then curled the other hand around hers. “Talk to me, Gracie.”
Christ, that voice, deep and smoky. Those eyes, bright and intense. He pried her heart open, and Grace felt the year separating them melting away.
“Josh—”
“You sold your town house; you’re living in a dangerous neighborhood. Now you’re working here. What happened to cheer coaching at the high school?”
Just like that, her defenses burned to life. “I’m still coaching. The girls are on winter break. We cut back the training schedule.”
His brow creased. “You’re working both jobs? How long have you been here?”
“Nine months.”
“Jesus, Grace, what does your mom think about you working at a strip club?”
She sighed, the weight of everything he wanted to know wearing on her patience. “I’m too tired to get into this now. Come on.” She pulled on his hand until he stood. “I’ll drop you at a hotel.”
When she tried to take her hand from his, he laced their fingers and let her guide him through the club, following like a puppy. God, he was so drunk. Which was completely out of character for the Josh she’d known—always in control, always sharp, always on.
Theo stood ready to open the door for them. “Want me to call him a cab?”
“I’ll do it, thanks.”
“It’s raining out there…” Theo warned.
“I know.” Grace had seen the rain splashing on the windows in the dressing room, but she didn’t care. She was burning up from the inside out. She could play hot and sexy with the customers all night without getting worked up, but put Josh Marx within eyesight and she felt like she’d burst into flames.
She stepped out into the night and paused under the awning as the club door closed behind them, muffling the music. She took a cleansing breath of the cold, rain-soaked night air, letting some of the stress leak from her shoulders, but an old, familiar ache had settled in her heart.
She pulled her phone from her purse, tapped into the Internet browser, and started searching for hotels nearby.
“Seems like your shoulder healed just like the doctor said it would,” she said absently as a website popped up on her screen.
Josh pulled her around to face him, his gaze deliberate. “Okay, what’s going on here, Grace? No one’s listening. No one’s watching. Talk to me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I think you’re the one who should be telling me what this is about. Why are you suddenly so concerned?”
“Your whole life has changed in a year, and not for the better. If you needed something, why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you tell Beck?”
All the anger and frustration and hurt she’d buried crept in. “First of all, my life might be different, but it’s definitely not worse, and that assumption offends me. Second, why in the hell would I call you for anything after you so completely bailed on our friendship? And third, Isaac was never there for me even when we were married. Why would I think it would be any different now?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She couldn’t. She’d been holding everything together for so long on her own, she was ready to break. She’d put Isaac and Josh behind her. She had goals now. A direction of her very own. No mother guiding her to an acceptable place in life, no absent husband placing confining expectations on her. No friend stealing her heart.
She turned and walked into the rain. “My life may not look perfect to you, but it’s mine, and it’s staying that way. Find your own way to a hotel.”
Hold it together. Hold it together.
“We may not be perfect, Grace,” he said, coming up alongside her, “but Beck and I would have been here for you if you needed us.”
She stopped and turned on him, outraged he’d claim such bullshit. “Really? Where is Beck right now? Oh, wait, classified, right? Let’s narrow it down—is he in the United States?” When Josh glanced away, she said, “I thought not. And what about you? When’s the last time I heard from you?”
His jaw shifted sideways, gaze lowered to the ground for only a second before he met her eyes with familiar determination. “I’m here now.”
Way too little, way too late.
“Ironically, I don’t need you now. And I never needed Isaac.” She turned toward her car again, and the rain came down harder. By the time she reached the cheap little sedan, her clothes clung to her body.
“Is that why you’re not answering his calls?” Josh called behind her. “Because you’re too damn stubborn to accept help?”
Grace’s feet stopped dead in a puddle. She swung around on her heel and took three steps back toward him before she stopped herself. “That’s why you’re here—Isaac called you.” She threw her hands out, caught between fury and heartbreak. “Of course that’s why you’re here—for Isaac. Not for me.” She started for the car again, shaking now, but not from the cold or the wet. She was shaking with anger, disillusionment, hurt. So much hurt. “God, I’m so fucking stupid.”
Water splashed around her flip-flops and squished through her toes. She should have been freezing, but she only felt numb. Why did she keep falling for physically and emotionally unreachable men? Men who were never satisfied with who she was?
She fumbled with her keys, struggling to find the one for her car through the rain and welling tears.
“He heard a rumor that you were stripping, and—“
Grace pivoted toward him, eyes narrowed. “A rumor?” That was a strange turn of phrase…or maybe she was just oversensitive. “How did he hear a rumor like that when he’s all the way across the fucking world?”
“Someone from another SEAL team was here. He recognized you in a photo from your anniversary trip to Mexico.”
She closed her eyes. “The trip from hell?”
“Couldn’t have been all bad. Beck still has fond memories of—”
“Isaac is clueless, Josh. He may be a good man and an amazing soldier, but he’s clueless in just about every other area of his life.” She turned away again, muttering, “I’m starting to wonder if that’s a prerequisite to become a SEAL.”
“Wait, Grace, we can talk this out.”
“I don’t have anything else to say.” Christ, that had come out in her borderline hysterical voice. But she couldn’t control the wild emotions as she faced him again. “You already know I’m not stripping. And even if I was, it wouldn’t give either of you the right to shove your two cents at me. And, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine. So when you talk to Isaac again, you can tell him I don’t need either one of you. Which works out fine, because neither of you ever really wanted me either.”
Tears swam in her eyes. Angry tears. Hurt tears. Sick-to-death-of-this-shit tears. She jammed her key into the door lock and clicked it open. Josh pulled her around to face him again, trapping her against the car, and stared down into her face with frustration dark
ening his expression.
“I didn’t walk away because I didn’t want you, Gracie,” he said, his words so low they were almost drowned by the night sounds. Rain dripped off his straight nose and clumped his golden eyelashes. His smoky blue eyes lowered to her mouth in a languid way that told Grace the alcohol was still singing in his bloodstream. “I walked away because I did.”
Grace’s lips parted with another protective, dismissive remark, but nothing came out. Her throat tightened into a ball. Her mind teetered between believing the sincere declaration in the moment and brushing it aside.
“Sure. That’s why you moved to LA when I told you how I felt.” She drew a breath, forcing herself to put self-preservation first. “Here’s what I learned during those four long years married to Isaac—action, not words, is what separates the boys from the men. And I’ve had more than enough little boys in my life.”
His eyes narrowed, and the skin over his cheeks tightened. His lips thinned. And God, he was beautiful, his bronze skin contrasting with his crystal-blue eyes.
“I’m not Beck,” he rasped. “And I’m no kid either.”
“Kids run when they’re scared. Which is exactly what you—”
His hands tightened on her arms. His body pressed her against the car. The surprise of cold steel at her back and warm muscle at her front made her gasp and close her fists in the wet folds of his shirt. He lowered his head, pressing his body into hers. A rigid erection indented her lower belly and burned hot beneath his zipper, stealing Grace’s breath. Her body flooded with surprise, confusion…and lust.
“Damn right you scare me,” he murmured, his lips an inch from hers. “You’re the only thing that’s ever scared me, Grace.”
Her mind didn’t have time to process what that meant, because Josh’s mouth sealed over hers, cool and wet and firm. The deliberate press of his lips stunned her for long seconds, while thoughts snapped in her brain like firing synapses. She’d never believed he’d ever cross that line. There had been so many times in the past, perfect moments for their first kiss, but he’d always backed off.
Now, he groaned, the sound a combination of pleasure and frustration. He tilted his head, curved one hand around the back of her neck, and this time when he kissed her again, he meant it—lips parted, searching, suckling. His other hand slipped around her waist and dragged her up against his body.
Her brain scrambled. Let go and enjoy, or push back to safety? Swoon or rail?
She shouldn’t give in to temptation. She knew this was the alcohol taking over. Knew he’d regret kissing her the moment the lust ebbed and his buzz cleared. But then his tongue licked across her bottom lip, her muscles went limp, and her mouth opened. The first sweep of his tongue across hers made her breath catch, made heat rush between her legs. He was hungry, demanding, and far more passionate than she’d ever imagined. The man who’d gone out of his way to deliver appropriate responses, keep respectable distances, and spare her every courtesy, was now fucking her mouth with long strokes of his tongue, exploring in decadent caresses, driving the kiss with hungry urgency.
Grace’s mind spiraled. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t reason. Couldn’t make any decisions. She just held on tight, experiencing this lightning strike. Every inch of her skin burned with desire. Every cell vibrated with the thrill of being so desperately wanted by a man she’d craved for years. And she needed more of him. So much more. But somewhere in the back of her mind, she didn’t dare ask or even suggest, sure he’d pull away. Again.
She just kissed him back, tasting the hint of whiskey, of mint. The heat, the passion. Letting herself go, letting herself feel his arms around her, soaking in the sounds of pleasure in his throat. She opened her mind to take in every rock of his hips, every squeeze of his hand, every breath lifting his chest, so she could save them in her memory banks for the future.
His mouth slid off hers, kissing a trail across her cheek, resting his forehead against her temple. “God, Grace…”
His hands slid down her sides, curved over her waist, cupped her hips. Grace shivered—a combination of his words, his touch, and the cold. She wanted to tell him how good he felt, how much she wanted him, but feared if she spoke, she’d break this fragile bubble in time. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and scraped her fingers through his wet hair. How many times had she dreamed of doing this? Hundreds? Thousands?
God, he felt good. Big. Strong. Hard. Hot. Wet.
It had been so long since she’d been wanted like this. She pulled on his shoulders and lifted herself up his body, the same way she pulled herself up the stripper pole. He gripped her waist, settling her open thighs around his hips and her ass on the car’s trunk, pressing his rigid cock to her heat with a long groan into her mouth.
She rocked her hips into him, sliding her sex along his length. He broke the kiss on a long “Oh, Gracie…”
She pressed her face to his neck and bit her lip against her need to say his name. Her need to tell him she needed him inside her—right here, right now, in the parking lot, in the rain.
He pressed her against the car and rocked his hips into her, simulating a long, deep thrust. She couldn’t keep the high-pitched cry of pleasure from escaping her throat. Then his hands moved beneath her tee, pushing the wet fabric over her breasts. She hadn’t bothered with a bra, and now he bent his head, watching as he took her gooseflesh-textured breasts into those big, strong, scarred hands and stroked roughly, brushing her nipples with his thumbs.
Sensation flooded her chest and arched her back on a soft “Yes.”
“So fucking beautiful.” His head lowered, and the warmth of his mouth covered one breast.
His name echoed in her head, lay heavy on her tongue, but she held it back, wanting more. Needing more. He sucked her nipple against the roof of his mouth with a growl of lust that vibrated along her skin, and she couldn’t hold back the sound that rolled out of her.
Pleasure washed her body, her mind, her soul. She groaned and arched. Rain tapped her face. Cold and hot spiraled through her body. So alive. So free.
“More,” she moaned, fisting his hair, lifting her hips against his. His mouth released one breast only to move to the other, freeing another bubble of delicious sensation at the center of her body. “Fuck… Josh…”
He paused. Exhaled heavily. Then pulled back, sucking her nipple from his mouth and making her shiver. He dropped his forehead to her chest. His quick breaths bathed her skin with heat. Her body ached and throbbed. She needed more. Needed him.
“Come home with me,” she whispered, combing her hands through his hair. “My place is close.”
He rocked his head side to side, then tapped his forehead against her shoulder as if banging it against a wall, his hands fisted in the back of her shirt. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
His body had gone rigid, his muscles coiled, and an uneasy energy buzzed around him. A flash of panic burned a hole through her chest. This was a huge, huge step they should have taken a year ago. She wasn’t just going to let him run again.
She used his shoulders to drag herself upright and pressed her mouth to his neck. The hands in her shirt slid down her skin as he pulled the drenched fabric back into place. Even though her instincts told her to keep her barriers up, her heart opened. Hope swelled through her chest, but experience pushed tears to her eyes.
“Look,” she said, working for a teasing lightness. “We’re still alive. No lightning strike.”
His hands rested at her hips, his head on her shoulder, as if he were as much frozen in fear of moving forward as Grace was of him pulling away.
She eased kisses toward his ear, then along his jaw as she slid her hands down his chest, his abdomen, then lower, stroking his erection. His hips rocked into her touch and he groaned. With her free hand, she cupped his jaw and pulled his mouth to hers. She kissed him, licked into his mouth, then whispered, “Come home with me.”
With another groan, he pulled from the kiss with a shake of his head. “Can’t.”
He pressed a hand to his face, rubbed his eyes. “Can’t, can’t, can’t.”
She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or trying to convince himself, but he was definitely pulling away.
Hurt flared, drawing anger. She stomped it down, drew on patience, and tried to drag his face up to meet her eyes. But when he lifted his head, his eyes were squeezed shut, as if he couldn’t bear to look at her.
“Josh—”
“No,” he murmured. Then his eyes opened, and the look there told Grace she’d already lost him. He was miles away. “No, Grace… God… I shouldn’t have…”
“We’re good together,” she insisted, her patience thinning. “We want each other. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
He stepped back, easing his wet body away from hers with a sucking sound.
“Goddammit.” She gripped his forearms and dug her fingers in. “I haven’t been Isaac’s wife for three years. You haven’t been his teammate for a year and a half. How much time has to pass before it’s okay?”
“I…don’t know.” His expression had gone flat and resolute. “I…just… I don’t know.”
He pushed away, leaned down, and picked up his soaked blazer from the ground. Grace hadn’t even remembered it falling. She wiggled off the fender and gripped his arm. Hurt and anger battled in her chest. “Josh—”
“I know you don’t understand.” His gaze drifted down her body, and the pain in his eyes stabbed her heart. He shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
He turned toward the club, pulling his phone from his pocket.
She fisted her hands. “Don’t walk away from me again, Josh.”
He paused, hand on the door, head hanging.
Please turn around.
Please.
But he pulled the door open and disappeared inside.
Josh balanced his cell between his sore shoulder and his ear and jotted down Carolyn Ashby’s address. “Twenty-eighth Street? Isn’t that on the east side of Balboa Park?”
“You got it.” Pete was an information broker of sorts. Josh used him for background checks on employees involved in any consulting job. “And I must say, a much nicer neighborhood than where her daughter resides.”
