Grace (The Family Simon Book 5)

by Juliana Stone

So why did it feel so wrong?

  7

  Grace woke up to AC/DC and “Hells Bells.”

  What the…

  Slowly her eyes opened and she groaned, reaching around to rub at the kink in her neck. She frowned as the iconic clanging of bells kept ringing. And ringing. And ringing.

  It took a few moments for the fog to lift but eventually she realized that in fact it was her cell phone, and the damn thing was on the other side of the room.

  The room. Funny. She was sleeping in Matt’s bed. In his bedroom. Her body snuggled in his sheets. She buried her head in his pillow. God, she could still smell him. She squeezed her eyes shut and wished that the dull ache in her chest would go away. But it was there. Had been since the night before when Matt had shut down and basically told her to go away.

  How ‘effing embarrassing.

  AC/DC agreed and “Hell’s Bells” rang out once more.

  Grace rolled out of bed and stumbled to her jacket, grabbing up the phone as she pushed a tangled mess of hair from her eyes and walked to the window. Cold. It was so damn cold. Shivering, she gazed out at impressive snowdrifts that clung to everything in sight. Gray skies accented the dull pallet, and a strong wind rattled the window.

  She glanced at the missed calls and frowned. Tucker. Not in the mood to talk to anyone just yet, she decided to call him back later. There were also two text messages from Josh. The first one wondered where the hell she was, obviously sent before she’d messaged him the night before, and the second—she smiled and scrolled over the message—the second was a promise to behave himself, but only if she got lucky.

  “Fat chance of that,” she muttered, cheeks heating up at how she’d been dismissed. She tossed her cell back at her jacket and glanced around the room, getting her first good look at Matt’s private space. When she’d come up the night before, the light had flickered and then went out.

  The hardwood floors had obviously been redone, and the walls were painted a tasteful cream. His furniture was simple, an oak sleigh bed, with a matching armoire, and a deep leather chair next to a fireplace in the corner. A chest of drawers was tucked beneath a second window and other than a few area rugs, there was not much else. Nothing to show her what Matt Hawkins was all about. No personal effects, no pictures…nothing.

  She crossed the room and after a quick glance around, mostly because she was being sneaky and that’s what sneaky people did, she opened his armoire. Sweaters, jeans, and T-shirts were arranged in neatly folded piles but again, nothing personal could be seen.

  Carefully, she closed the door and turned in a full circle, spying another door to her right. She crossed the room and opened it, happy to find a bathroom where she could clean up. It hadn’t been updated as of yet and the linoleum was curling in the corners, while peeling wallpaper adorned the walls. The pattern, small rosettes and sprigs of greenery, didn’t exactly scream masculinity, and she smiled a bit, picturing Matt in here going about his business.

  A large bathtub stood in the corner, its claw legs a throwback to a much earlier time. There was no shower, although she supposed he must use the long showerhead that hung from the wall.

  She glanced in the mirror and sighed. Her hair was a mess and after a quick search through her jeans pockets, she found an elastic. She secured the wild waves in a loose knot at her neck and then splashed water on her face. There was only one toothbrush so she was forced to use her fingers to clean her teeth.

  That should do it, she thought, satisfied that she didn’t look like she’d just rolled out of bed. (If you didn’t count the rat’s nest at the back of her head and her wrinkled clothes.) After hesitating for a second or two, she grabbed Matt’s deodorant. It wasn’t overly masculine, sporting a clean, crisp scent that suited him. With one last glance in the mirror Grace headed for the stairs, though she paused at the top. The house was silent and, suddenly nervous, she hesitated. She had no idea which Matt would greet her. The charming hot guy, the brooding hot guy, or the closed-off hot guy.

  “God, don’t be such a baby,” she whispered.

  On sock feet, Grace crept down the stairs and made her way to the back of the house. It was on the dark side—no lights were lit—but her eyes adjusted and, well, thank the Lord for that.

  Matt was shirtless with bare feet, his jeans riding so low on his hips that she was pretty sure they were undone. Mouth dry she couldn’t take her eyes from him, and her cheeks heated as she fought the images she had tucked away. Images of him naked. Behind her. Inside her. Muscles straining. Skin glistening.

  He stood near Rosie’s pen, cradling one of her pups in his arms, and though she couldn’t hear him, he was talking real low. The tone was intimate and the sight of him practically naked, those impressive shoulders of his hunched protectively over a fragile puppy made her heart pick up. Her chest tightened, a lump formed, and the yearning that washed over her wasn’t simple or small or anything that didn’t scream complicated.

  She wanted him. Plain and simple. But how much rejection could she take?

  Determined to start the day over with a clean slate, Grace exhaled and decided to concentrate on something other than the very sexy and very complicated Mr. Matt Hawkins.

  Puppies. Concentrate on the puppies.

  The little bundle in his arms squirmed and made the sweetest noises. She remembered this particular pup from the night before. Rosie’s babies were all black except the smallest, which sported white spots along the back end and a pure white nose to offset a midnight face.

  Matt nuzzled the little guy and Grace’s heart filled up watching him. She thought of how swiftly he’d turned to stone the night before. Of how he was so desperately trying to push her away when all along she knew he felt the pull as strongly as she did.

  Bad guy my ass, she thought taking a step forward and whacking her knee against a small side table.

  Matt glanced over his shoulder and she offered a tentative smile and a small wave. “How did Rosie make out?” she asked, moving closer so that she could have a look herself. The dog was asleep, as were all of her babies, nestled up against her body for comfort and warmth.

  “She did good,” Matt replied, placing the puppy among its littermates. “How did you sleep?”

  “Your bed is…well, there’s a lot of room and the mattress is firm and…” Darn she was mumbling like an idiot. “I slept like a baby.”

  Matt was silent for a few moments, though his eyes never left hers. “The storm isn’t letting up until Monday. Looks like we’re stuck here at least until then.”

  Grace glanced out the window. She knew it looked bad out there but…

  Panic set in.

  “Monday? I can’t leave until Monday?” How in hell was she going to survive in such close quarters with Matt when all she wanted to do was rip those jeans off and have her way with him?

  “Nope. All roads have been closed. Even the road crews are grounded.”

  “Oh.” Grace frowned. “How did we not know this was headed our way? I mean, I knew they were calling for snow, but a blizzard?”

  Matt shrugged and hiked up his zipper. He grabbed his shirt from the sofa. “It wasn’t supposed to be this bad. The storm picked up strength overnight. Happens a lot out here.”

  “What about Betty? Wasn’t she flying in with Fitz this morning?”

  Matt moved past her into the kitchen. “Not anymore. I already talked to her. She’s staying put in Florida until this storm blows over. They’re probably going to reschedule the fundraiser to next weekend.” He paused and arched an eyebrow. “Your brother Tucker wants you to check in with him as soon as you can.”

  Crap. “He talked to you?” She thought of the missed calls on her phone.

  “Not me personally, but apparently he gave it to Betty real good. He called the hotel as soon as he found out how bad the storm was and when he learned that you hadn’t checked in, he had a little convo with Hayden. Apparently your little boy toy told him that you’d gone home with some guy named Matt and he ble
w a gasket.”

  Annoyed, Grace frowned. “Josh Hayden isn’t my boy toy.”

  Matt leaned against the countertop, still barefoot, still shirtless, and still sexy as hell. He needed a shave and Lord but his hair was a mess, and yet something about this side of him, this at-home, intimate, and comfortable side of him—made her girlie parts roar to life.

  “Didn’t think so.”

  “Then why say it?”

  He smiled—a full-on, sexy-as-hell smile. “Because when you get pissed off your cheeks turn this shade of red that I like, and your nose scrunches up a certain way that’s kind of cute.”

  “Glad to know I’m so damn amusing.” His house might be cold as hell but her temperature was rising.

  “You just did it again.”

  “What?” she snapped.

  “Scrunched up your nose.”

  “Why don’t you put a shirt on?” Wow. Grace inwardly cringed. Great comeback.

  The smile on Matt’s face didn’t go away, not even when he tugged the Henley he’d been wearing the night before over his head. He pulled it down slowly, his smile fading as the two of them stared at each other for what seemed like a very long time. He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin.

  “You should talk to your brother. He has a right to be concerned.”

  “So he knows I’m here,” she replied slowly. “With you.”

  “He does and he’s not happy about it. Told Betty that if I laid a hand on you, he was going to personally rearrange my face.”

  “As if I’d let that happen.”

  “What exactly would that be? The laying of the hands or the rearranging of my face?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want that pretty face of yours ruined, now would I?” she quipped lightly, reaching for the fridge.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been called pretty before.” Did he have to look so damn adorable?

  Grace slammed the door. “Actually that was a bad word choice on my part, wasn’t it?” She leaned on the fridge. “What about, arrogant? That’s a good one.”

  “Can’t argue with you there.”

  “Bastard?”

  “Pretty sure that’s been used a time or two.”

  “Dick—“

  “Yeah, okay I get it,” he interrupted.

  Grace’s heart was suddenly pounding so hard, she felt it like drum inside her chest. “I don’t think that you do though, Matt. I don’t think you have the slightest clue.” Was she really going to do this right now? Tell him exactly what she was feeling? Even knowing that he could reject her yet again? “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

  Guess she was.

  “I knew the moment I laid eyes on you at my brother’s wedding, you were special.”

  “You’re wrong.” His mouth was tight and he crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes, oh those incredible dark eyes, were unreadable. He looked so damn closed off.

  “No I’m not.” She shook her head. “I felt something then. I still feel something now. Even after Nashville. Even after you made me feel so small. It’s more than a physical connection, Matt. It has to be to make me this crazy. And I know you feel it too. So why are you pushing me away? Why are you so intent on killing something before it has a chance to grow?”

  “Because you and I could never work.”

  Tears welled in the corners of her eyes and she swiped at them angrily. “How do you know that? You got a crystal ball or something? Tell me that you don’t feel anything for me. Look me in the eye right now and tell me that you feel nothing.”

  He swore. Said a few choice words that would have made a nun’s toes curl. But Grace was riding a train that wouldn’t stop and she ignored him, inhaling a big gulp of air and plunging forward.

  “Tell me that the kiss we shared nearly two years ago isn’t something you think about all the time like I do. Tell me that our night in Nashville was just sex. That you didn’t feel the connection that I did. That you didn’t almost cry because you’ve never felt that connected to another human being. Ever. Tell me that and I’ll leave you alone.”

  Matt was silent, but he was angry. She felt his anger roll off him and fill the space between them. Those damn tears wouldn’t go away and she sniffled, trying like hell to get her emotions in check. This train was going off the rails and she was about to crash.

  Had she got it so wrong?

  Suddenly humiliated, Grace whirled around, her only thought to leave. She would have bolted too—ran through the blizzard just to get away from him—but he stopped her cold.

  “I can’t,” he said roughly. Two simple words. But they were enough.

  8

  Matt spent the day avoiding Grace. It was easy to do. The storm had dumped a ton of snow overnight and he spent several hours clearing his driveway, in and around the barn out back, as well as the path up to his house. He’d have to do it again—that was a given—but it kept him busy and he needed to be away from Grace so that he could think.

  Not that it had done him a lot of good. In fact, the only conclusion he’d come to was that he was a stupid son-of-a-bitch for letting his guard down with this girl. He knew that he was no good for her—that was the undeniable truth. Because eventually the demons from his past would come back to haunt him—they always did. And when that happened, everything would go to shit. He wasn’t so sure Grace Simon could survive the shrapnel that came with it, and he sure as hell knew she didn’t deserve it.

  What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  “Dumbass,” he muttered to himself.

  It was barely four in the afternoon and what little daylight the storm had allowed was fast disappearing. The wind still blew and the snow still fell, so if it wasn’t for the fact that his neighbor Dory McCallum had called in a panic, he would never have made the trek out to her place. The elderly woman was supposed to be on a plane to Florida, however the storm had not only managed to ground her flight, it had done a number on Dory’s generator.

  Matt slid from his snowmobile and waded through snow as high as his waist. He frowned, more than a little annoyed that neither one of Dory’s kids had come for her before things had gotten this bad. He’d have something to say to Luke McCallum the next time he saw him.

  He was just about to knock when the door opened and he was greeted by the one woman on this planet (other than Betty) who held a special place in his heart. Dory McCallum was on the wrong side of eighty, barely reached his chest, and though she looked as frail as a woman on the wrong side of eighty would be, nothing could be further from the truth. She was a tough little thing, with a wry wit that made him laugh, and a habit of poking her nose in his business that drove him crazy. She was a straight shooter and he’d always appreciated her honesty. Even when it meant she was being brutally honest with him.

  “Mathew. Bless your soul for coming out in this mess of a storm but I didn’t know who else to call.”

  Matt headed to the basement where the generator was located and after tinkering with it for nearly twenty minutes, he knew there was nothing he could do. It was an older model and deader than a doornail.

  He headed back upstairs and had a look around. Unlike his home the fireplace in the living room was gas, but with no electricity to run the fan the heat was minimal.

  Dory had candles lit, which he wasn’t exactly keen on. She had a habit of falling asleep at the drop of a hat, and unattended candles coupled with an old clapboard home wasn’t exactly a safe scenario.

  “Well, Mathew?” she asked, pulling food from her fridge.

  “Sorry, Dory. It’s not good.”

  “Not surprised,” she muttered. “They don’t build anything to last anymore.” She nodded toward the table. “Have a seat. I don’t have much, but I’ll see if I can whip up something for you to eat.”

  “Dory, we don’t have time for dinner. I need you to come with me.”

  “Don’t be silly, Mathew. Why on earth would I want to head out into this storm when I am perfectly fine here on my own.”
>
  “I’m not leaving without you.”

  “It’s out of the question. I’ll be fine.”

  The little lady was fiercely independent, and he knew it was going to take some convincing to get her to come home with him.

  “Shoot, Dory. I don’t let just any woman ride on my sled.”

  Dory peered over the rims of her small reading glasses. “Your flirting will get you nowhere young man.” She frowned. “I have cold chicken. Or cold ham. Take your pick.”

  He moved toward her. “Why don’t we go back to my place. I’ve got heat.”

  “So do I.”

  “That gas fireplace is hardly doing anything and you know it.” He glanced at her feet. “How many pairs of socks you wearing anyway?”

  “Don’t get uppity with me, young man.” She glanced down at her feet. “I just so happen to like wearing three pairs of socks.”

  She turned back to her fridge. “So which is it? chicken or ham?”

  “I’ve got newborn puppies.” He smiled and winked. “Rosie had her litter last night.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “I’m allergic to dogs.”

  “Bullshit. You’re allergic to cats.”

  “Language, Mathew.” She leaned against the counter, eyebrows raised imperiously. Faint tinges of red still ran through her hair and he knew she must have been something else when she was younger.

  “Dory,” he said coaxingly—he knew he was going to have to pull out a big gun. “I’ve got a friend over and I should get back.”

  “A friend?” Dory paused, suddenly interested. “A lady friend?”

  Matt shrugged. “Guess you won’t know unless you come back with me.”

  “I’m too old for games, Mathew. Just exactly who is it you’ve got hidden away at your place? And it better not be that Sasha woman I heard you’ve been keeping company with.”

  Matt should have known that juicy little piece of gossip would find its way back to Dory. It was a hazard of living in a small town. Everyone knew everybody else’s business and most of ‘em sure liked discussing his.

  “You don’t have to worry about, Sasha.” Hell, he hadn’t slept with her yet and after the nasty voicemail she’d left the night before, he was pretty damn sure there was no chance of that happening. Ever.