Grace (The Family Simon Book 5)

by Juliana Stone

  At the moment he was content to stay right where he was. In bed—no, in his bed—with Grace Simon. His eyes adjusted and he had no problems seeing her.

  She’d turned in her sleep, and her face was inches from his, that cute little nose scrunched a bit, her forehead furrowed. Maybe she was dreaming, or maybe her mind was already racing ahead, but whatever it was, with her hair a wild halo, and her mouth slightly parted, she was without a doubt, the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  And she was fully clothed. Imagine that.

  He eased himself back an inch or two for a couple of reasons. One, he could see her better. And two, he had a hard-on that wouldn’t quit and any relief he could garner was welcome. It was torture being this close to her—being this horny—and not being inside her.

  She inhaled sharply and he froze, smiling a bit as she began to mumble. Again. The girl talked in her sleep. Constantly. And though he tried, he couldn’t understand a word, or at least anything that made sense. What the hell did an appendix have to do with anything?

  So for the next twenty minutes or so Grace mumbled, moving restlessly against the pillows—occasionally getting too close and making him shudder at her touch. He watched her, tracing the lines of her cheek, the dip at her neck, and the shape of her mouth, with his eyes.

  Damn, that mouth.

  He leaned a little closer, thought maybe he’d steal a kiss, but her eyes fluttered open and he froze as her gaze settled on him. Luminous and still full of sleep, he felt those eyes like a physical touch and as she slowly became aware, he saw the questions that lingered in their depths.

  Yet he didn’t speak. He couldn’t. And long moments ticked by—long moments filled with nothing but their breathing, and the pounding of their hearts.

  Her lids lowered a bit and she whispered, voice a little hoarse, “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself,” he managed to say.

  She blew out a soft breath and glanced back up at him. Were her eyes always this shade of blue? They reminded him of the deepest end of the swimming hole out near the lake he used to visit when he was a kid.

  What was it about this woman that made him think of the past? A past he’d been running from for years?

  “When did you…” She bit her lip and hesitated. “Come…here?”

  “Late.”

  Her eyes fell from his mouth, down to his chest, and paused near his navel, where the covers rode dangerously low.

  She moved her knee slightly but paused. And he held his breath because she was getting a little too close to things that were going to take on a life of their own if he didn’t get his shit under control. Her eyes widened and shot back up to his.

  There it was. That cute blush of pink in her cheeks he could stare at for longer than he cared to admit.

  “I’m naked.”

  She recovered, that gorgeous chin of hers jutting out a bit. “I see that.”

  Feeling lighter than he had in ages—and that was something considering all the Jack he’d ingested the night before—Matt inched closer to her and smiled. “We have a bit of a problem.”

  “Oh?” Her tongue darted out, and her breaths quickened.

  “You’re not.”

  He watched her tongue sweep across her bottom lip. Felt the warmth of her breaths as they fell across his cheek, and when her eyes caught at his again—when the deep blue of them made him feel as if he were drowning—he realized he’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted this one.

  It was more than sex. Damn, but he wasn’t expecting that.

  “Are you okay?” Grace asked, hesitantly.

  Was he?

  Filled with the urge to act and not speak anymore, Matt sank his hands into all that shiny hair. He pressed his mouth over hers and moved her back onto the pillows. He pulled his body on top of hers and kissed her like no tomorrow. He kissed her until his head spun and he was out of breath. Until she whimpered beneath him, making little sounds that were enough to drive any man insane.

  And for the record, Matt Hawkins was already halfway there.

  “I need to feel you,” he whispered feverishly, pulling back and reaching for her top. She didn’t say a word. She just watched him with those big eyes of hers. When he pulled her top over her head and threw it to the floor, she already had the clasp at the front of her bra undone.

  The flimsy piece of lace followed her top over the side of her bed. She bucked her hips slightly, and Matt sat back on his knees, uncaring that his erection was front and center. He ripped off her panties…and then she was laid bare to him.

  The woman took his breath away. She really was perfect.

  Slowly he lowered himself overtop of Grace, using his forearms to hold his body an inch or two away. He dipped his head and nuzzled her neck, licking and suckling on the skin there as he made his way along her jawline, until he was able to claim her mouth in another scorching kiss.

  “I want you,” he said into her ear.

  Her answer was a whimper and he smiled, moving his attention to her breasts. They were full, the dusky nipples pebbled, and she clawed at him when he circled the tips with his tongue. When he opened his mouth wide and suckled at her, she dug her nails in.

  That was good. He liked a little pain with his pleasure.

  He kissed and licked and suckled until she writhed beneath him, her legs around his hips, the very heat of her sliding against his cock.

  “Hold on,” he said, moving lower. His breaths were ragged, his body about to explode, and yet he wanted to do more. To give more.

  It was something he gave no thought to, but it sure as hell was something out of the ordinary for Matt. Sure he was about pleasing a woman, but he’d always been more about pleasing himself.

  He kissed her stomach, his tongue swirling around her belly button. With both hands on her hips, holding her steady, he kissed his way down to her inner thigh, and paused, smiling up at her when she hissed and clutched at him.

  “You smell amazing,” he rasped.

  If it were possible, her cheeks went even darker, and he had to slide his hands down to her knees in order to keep her open to him.

  “Don’t ever do that,” he said, leaning closer.

  “Do what?” she managed to ask as her body surged against him.

  “Close yourself off from me.”

  Gently he blew on her, eyes drinking the wetness there. He blew once more and then his tongue went to work. He tasted her. All of her. He rolled his tongue over her clitoris, and then he was inside her. Kissing. Sucking. Tugging.

  Matt loved her with all the skill he possessed, using his fingers, his tongue and his mouth. She trembled beneath him, her body shiny with sweat and sex, and when she sank her hands into his hair to hold him right where he wanted to be, it felt as if he’d won some kind of race.

  Her body tensed and Matt growled like an animal when she came for him. She cried out and lay there trembling, but he was far from done. He moved up again, claiming her mouth once more, wanting her to taste how exquisite she was.

  He kissed her tenderly and held himself above her with one hand, while the other slid underneath her butt. Lifting her a bit, mouth still attached to her as if she were his lifeline, Matt positioned himself and with a guttural cry sank into Grace.

  She was so damn wet and tight and as he began to move, her legs wrapped around his and her hands clutched at his back. His eyes flew open and he stilled, just for a moment, when he found her eyes on him.

  There were gold flecks around her pupils. He’d never noticed that before. They smoldered as he began to move, slowly at first, taking his time. He’d never been this connected to another human being before. Never.

  His forehead fell to hers and his tempo increased. Grace matched his thrusts, her body slick and straining against him. And when he knew he couldn’t hold off any longer, he found her mouth once more, his lips on hers as he came hard.

  When he was spent and weak from pleasure, Matt rolled over and brought Grace with him. He held her body with gen
tle hands and listened to her fast beating heart. He stroked her temple, and kissed away the tangled hair that stuck to her skin.

  He glanced around his room, at the familiar things that he owned and it wasn’t much. He’d never been the guy to need more than a place to rest his head and a plan for each day.

  This was his life. A bedroom with nothing but a few pieces of furniture, and a home that was a place to crash.

  “You’re the first woman to sleep in this bed,” he said without thinking. And surprised at himself, he continued. “The first woman who’s ever been up here.”

  Grace didn’t answer and maybe that was a good thing because Matt had no idea where his head was at. And for him that was a dangerous place to be. Because when Matt Hawkins strayed from the only road he’d ever known, things easily got out of hand.

  And right now he was feeling too damn content. He didn’t want to ruin this moment.

  So he tucked her back into his arms, settled the both of them deep into the covers and pillows, and as the sunshine crept into the room they both fell back asleep.

  11

  It was a well-known fact that Grace Simon had a habit of diving into situations without thinking. Literally. She’d nearly drowned when she was four after jumping into the lake in order to save a small duck that had become separated from its mother.

  The duck could swim. Grace could not.

  Sure it was scary because her feet didn’t reach the bottom, but she was determined to shoo the duckling toward its mother. In the end, the mother duck returned for her baby, and Grace’s older brother Jack pulled her out of the water.

  All was right in her world. She was saved and so was the duckling. That’s what Grace did. She saved people. She wore her heart on her sleeve and said to hell with the consequences. Of course she’d been hurt in the past, but who went through life without at least a few scrapes and bruises?

  All that it meant was that you were alive. Hurting meant you were alive. Plain and simple. It meant that you were willing to jump into the deep end and possibly drown. To some folks, that thought was scary. But to Grace, it was a part of her genetic code. It was how she was wired. As far as she was concerned, you couldn’t have joy or love or anything good without hurt.

  Grace was used to falling. Used to brushing off those scrapes and bruises. She was used to picking herself back up and moving on.

  And right now? Right now she was standing on the edge of something. But what that something was, she couldn’t say. The only thing she did know, was that she wasn’t drowning. At least, not yet.

  “What am I doing here?” she asked quietly, stroking the back of Rosie’s neck. The dog’s eyes were half closed, clearly enjoying her attentions. It was early afternoon and with the roads finally passable, Matt had taken Dory back to her place. He wouldn’t be long and her stomach was in knots anticipating his return.

  They hadn’t talked about what had happened, mainly because they hadn’t had the chance. She’d woken up alone hours after they’d had sex, and Matt was out clearing snow from his driveway. He’d come in for a quick bowl of chili and then headed back out without more than a few words.

  Was he avoiding her? For sure.

  The only question was, what was she going to do about it?

  Grace got up, ignored Rosie’s protests, and with one more pat on the head moved into the kitchen. She was bored and the house was spotless, so there wasn’t much for her to do. She wandered back to the front of the house and entered what must have been a library or office at one time. The bookshelves were full of dusty volumes and she fingered them absently, searching for anything that would give her some insight into Matt Hawkins.

  She grabbed a hardcover, The Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley, and paged through it, noting the name Whitwell signed in cursive with a date from the early seventies. She grabbed another book and had a look. Same deal. The things in this room didn’t belong to Matt.

  She crossed over to the window and peered out into the sunlight. She spied a barn off to the left and noted that the path had been cleared. Before she could stop herself—the whole jumping in thing again—Grace grabbed hoodie from the cupboard in the hall and slipped into her boots. Pulling the hood over her head, she dashed out into the cold and didn’t stop running until she made it to the side door of the barn.

  The sunlight felt wonderful, as did the fresh air, and giggling like an idiot Grace let herself into the barn. She fell silent as she gazed around the large open area. It was not what she’d expected—not at all.

  “So, this is who you are,” she murmured.

  The area to her immediate right boasted some pretty impressive gym equipment—both weights and cardio, while the area to her left had a couple of sofas and a bar. The walls were filled with posters of bands the likes of Led Zepplin, The Who, Foo Fighters and Pearl Jam. There were also several jerseys hung and framed—Gretzky, Crosby, Manning.

  “So you like hockey and football.” She smiled at that. It was such a simple thing, yet it made her happy to know it.

  Grace turned in a full circle, eyes moving everywhere. The bulk of this space was taken up by three cars. All of them antiques and worth a small fortune. Her Papa Simon had always had a passion for North American cars and as a little girl she used to love hanging out in his garage, sitting in his cars, pretending she was driving all over the world.

  He’d be impressed with the finery on display here. She walked closer, eyeing them up appreciatively. Two Fords, a Thunderbird and a Mustang convertible had been restored to their former glory in painstaking detail. The third, a Chevy by the looks of it, was badly in need of restoration and Grace guessed that Matt would be the guy for the job.

  She opened the door of the cherry red Mustang and slipped into the driver’s seat. Her Papa had had one nearly the same—he’d kept it up at their summer place in Canada. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and envisioned the two of them barreling down the twisting road that led to the lake, wind in their ears and sunlight on their faces.

  Her papa had caught hell from her mother when they’d finally pulled into the driveway, but it had been so worth it. “I miss you,” she whispered, eyes slowly opening as a wave of melancholy rolled over her. He’d been dead for nearly ten years and the ache was still just as strong.

  She wasn’t sure how long she sat in the car, lost in thought, but it was long enough for the chill to take hold once more. With a shiver Grace exited the car and carefully shut the door. She caressed the chrome handle one last time and turned, her intention to head back to the house before Matt got back.

  She took exactly two steps before the door to the barn flew open. Matt stepped inside and she froze, unsure if she’d just crossed some invisible line that shouldn’t be crossed. Her heart took off like a rocket and she had to take a moment because she wasn’t so sure she could speak without sounding like a babbling idiot.

  Matt closed the door behind him and then headed toward the bar. “You wanna beer?” His tone was casual—not at all pissed off—and relieved, Grace relaxed a bit.

  “Sure.” She hated beer, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. She wasn’t about to say anything at the moment, thinking that Matt needed to lead them down whatever path they were headed for.

  This was his space and it was his call on how to proceed. Of course that didn’t mean she would agree with whatever path he chose, but the least she could do was let him choose one.

  He doffed his hat and gloves along with his jacket and Grace took a moment to appreciate the man in front of her. He wore a thick blue turtleneck, faded jeans that fit just right, and kick-ass work boots. With his dark hair curling over the collar, more than a few days’ worth of stubble on his chin, and a smile that wouldn’t quit, he was the entire package.

  And he was smiling at her right now. Holding out a beer.

  Grace walked to him and accepted the bottle, her heart leaping a little when his fingers brushed over hers.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I came out he
re,” she managed to say, proud that she sounded like a normal adult human being, and not some scared-as-hell fifteen-year-old. The fact that she felt like the fifteen-year-old might have been a sign that she was in over her head, but again, the jumping in thing kinda prevented her from figuring that stuff out in time.

  Matt took a swig of beer and leaned back against the counter. “I don’t mind.” His eyes were glittery again—the kind of glittery that made her stomach jump and her mind race ahead to things that maybe they shouldn’t be racing ahead to. Not when they needed to talk. Not when they needed to figure some things out.

  She took a sip from her beer bottle and managed not to wince as the cold liquid made its way down her throat. When she got it down, she picked at the label and spoke. “I talked to my brother today. He says that the fundraiser is a go for next weekend.”

  “I heard that.” Matt leaned back, elbows on the bar, legs casually crossed in front of him.

  She took another sip. “Apparently Josh Hayden can’t swing it. He had some other commitment so…”

  “I heard that too.”

  Grace was quiet for a few moments, and continued to peel at the label. “Good news is that Beau can make it now and I think him and Betty are traveling down mid-week.”

  “Betty was saying.”

  She glanced up at him, a little annoyed. “Beau suggested I come back for the indoor beach volleyball.” She watched him closely as he took another long swig from his bottle. He set the bottle on the bar top and shoved his hands into his front pockets.

  “You play volleyball?

  She nodded. “Yep.”

  “It can get intense. And some of the guys don’t care if there are women on the other side of the net.”

  She tore off the entire label and crumpled it in her hand. “I grew up playing sports with my brothers. I can handle myself.”

  He nodded then, a soft smile on his face. “I don’t doubt that.”

  Grace cleared her throat. “My flight home is later tonight.”

  Matt looked surprised and shuffled his feet a bit, his smile fading as the air between them filled with a whole bunch of things that needed to be addressed. He knew it, she saw that in his eyes.