Falling Free ( Falling Fast #3)

by Tina Wainscott

  She couldn’t help laughing, even as some distant part of her screamed, Yes! Yes, I am! “Cute.”

  “Your turn.”

  “How about ‘Can I take your picture so I can prove that angels do exist?’ “

  “Sweet and sappy, perfect.” He rubbed long fingers down his sort-of beard as he gave it some thought. Then it was his turn to lean in close. “On a scale of one to ten, you’re a nine, and I’m the one you need.”

  “Ohmigod, precious. I haven’t heard that one. Does it work?”

  He shrugged. “Damned if I know. Never used it.”

  “You should. Not on me,” she added quickly. “On some woman who wants to be picked up.” In case he needed a hint. She did like that he had to really think about cheesy lines; they didn’t roll right off his tongue. Then again, that could be his ploy.

  Cynical much? her inner critic taunted.

  Come on, he had to be a player. Look at the man.

  He pulled a peanut from the bowl. “What’s the worst line someone ever laid on you?”

  “Heh, I don’t even have to think about that one. It was years ago, at a different bar here in PCB. This guy comes up and says, ‘Your shirt is very becoming on you. If I was on you, I’d be coming, too.’ ”

  He slapped his hand over his face. “I’m ashamed for my gender. That’s disgusting.” He peered at her through the cracks between his fingers. “Unless it worked?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, because some guy talking about gracing me with a sperm bath right out of the gate is such a turn-on.”

  He laughed. “Tell me you threw your drink at him.”

  “And waste good alcohol? No way. Though sterilizing him might have been a good idea, come to think of it. I told him to go away, using words my mama would have washed out of my mouth.”

  “I wish I’d been there to see that. Or to give him the boot.”

  She liked the thought of him defending her honor…until she figured that he’d probably been a tween back then. He had to be in his midtwenties.

  He cracked open the peanut shell with the fingers of one hand. “You had dropped your smile, so your first line would have been apropos for me to use.” He popped a peanut into his mouth. “Which was really sad, considering you have a great laugh.”

  “Well, that’s a better pickup line.”

  “I don’t do pickup lines. It was merely an observation.”

  “Other than the ‘you looked angsty and compelling’ one?”

  “Damn, woman, you’re a tough cookie. What do you do for a living, anyway? CEO? Lawyer?”

  She maintained her lawyer face. “I’m an undercover cop scouting out men with bad pickup lines. They’ve instituted a law against it, didn’t you know?”

  “I did not, but if I’d known there was a petition I’d have signed it.”

  She decided then and there that she would not tell him anything about herself. All that came to mind anyway was: I became a lawyer to free my unjustly convicted father, who, as it turns out, was justly convicted after all. I’m an utter failure and completely lost at the moment. “What do you do?”

  He flashed her a playful smile as he checked dramatically to make sure there was no one within earshot. “I’m the prince of a politically insignificant European country who’s playing the average Joe because I’m tired of women wanting me for my title.”

  Touché. “Why are you telling me the, ah, truth, then?”

  “Because you’re clearly not here to scout out a sugar daddy.”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Or, I imagine, scouting for any reason.”

  “You got that right.”

  That should put him off any sexual ideas.

  The cute server came over bearing the highball from his table. “Thought maybe you’d like this over here?”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  Grace appreciated that he hadn’t been so presumptuous as to bring his drink with him. Or maybe he’d really only come over for peanuts and was playing with her presumption. Either way, she was enjoying the exchange.

  “Would you like another lick, toss, and suck?” he asked, then nodded toward the empty shot glass when she gave him a shocked look. “That’s what I call the shot you just had.”

  “I’m good, thanks.” One more, and she’d be licking him. Which would be good and so not good at the same time.

  He swirled the glass, making the ice clink pleasantly against the sides. “My name’s Artemis, by the way. What’s yours? Wait, let me guess. Jane Smith?”

  She chuckled. “Grace. You’re Artemis? Seriously?”

  “Yeah, I know. My mom obviously had high standards for me. Or low ones. I can’t quite figure it out. Never got a chance to ask her.”

  She frowned at the implication of that but didn’t want to pry. “That’s too bad.”

  “So, Grace. Wanna talk?”

  “I thought we were.”

  “About whatever had you in such a frown.”

  She did, surprisingly. He had the kind face and inviting voice that made her want to confess all. And the way he’d rolled her name over his tongue made her glad she’d told him her real name. “I just found out that my husband has four other wives and fifteen children. He wants me to move to an old motel where we can all live in one place. I hate him, but I still love him. Should I agree to it?”

  “Do you love him as much as you hate him, or is it a percentage or two off either way? I’m thinking, if you love him thirty-five percent and hate him the rest, say no.”

  He played along so easily, appeared to be so earnest in his advice, that she wondered if he believed her. It made her curious, with a start, whether he was an attorney. She decided that she didn’t want to know. In fact, she rather liked this little liar’s game of theirs.

  She studied the ceiling, made of bronze, molded tiles, and pretended to consider her deep feelings for her bigamous husband. “I think I love him twenty-nine percent and hate him sixty-five percent, and the rest is ambiguous. So I’ll say no. And since our marriage is null and void there’ll be no divorce.” She cupped her hand over her stomach. “But what will I do about our triplets?”

  That, unfortunately, drew his gaze down her body to said stomach. “Let’s get married. I’ll raise them as my own.”

  She doubled over in laughter, because he’d said it so damned straight-faced. “They’ll be princes and princesses,” she said when she could speak again. “Will the paparazzi be a problem in your country? I don’t want to have to fight them off whenever we take the children out.”

  “Nah, in my country we stone them.”

  She actually snorted that time, her hand automatically going to his arm to steady herself. “I hope you mean the paparazzi and not the children.”

  “Of course. Goodness, woman, we’re not barbarians.” He gave her a mock shocked look that failed to mask his grin.

  His arm was solid, warm, with a light dusting of silky blond hairs. Maybe it was the three tequila shots, but she felt giddy and light for the first time in…well, maybe years. An awareness stole through her, and though she made herself pull back as the nachos arrived, she sensed that a lever had flipped. She could almost hear the rusty grind as it switched from OFF to ON. That switch released electricity through her blood and heat over her skin.

  She focused on the nachos lest she act on it and pushed the plate between them. “Since we’re going to be married soon, I suppose I should share.”

  They shared the nachos, and another order, and she dared have another lick, toss, and suck now that she’d consumed food. More people started filtering in. The music grew dancier, and the din grew louder, and they had to lean closer to hear each other. He smelled good, a light, musky scent of either soap or cologne. Their arms pressed together as he accurately guessed which guys would approach which women. They put words into their subjects’ mouths, hilarious lies tantamount to the ones they’d told each other.

  Three hours later, he hadn’t tried to hook up with her. Hadn’t ev
en dropped a hint or tried to eyeball her cleavage. When she thought that he simply wasn’t interested in her that way, she saw his gaze drifting down her body appreciatively.

  “I’m not showing yet,” she said with a caught-you smile.

  “You’ll always be thin and beautiful to me, even when you’re out to here.” He hovered his hand three feet from her stomach. She wished he’d move it closer, pretend to feel a kick, maybe.

  She tilted her head. “And that’s why I love you.”

  She expected him to choke or double over in laughter, as she had, but he merely grinned and said, “I call it as I see it.”

  You told him that you loved him. Even if you were kidding, that was crazy.

  The only guy she’d said that to was the one who broke her heart back in college. By then she’d sorted out the “make love doesn’t equal love” conundrum; Patrick wasn’t a one-night stand. They had dated, talked about the future in watercolor strokes. Now she knew that what she’d really felt was a desperate need to be loved. Validated. One kick-in-the-ass lesson later, she emerged cynical and slightly bitchy about men. She’d mellowed since then, but she would never put herself in a position to want a man that badly. Or to believe that because a man desired her meant that he cared—that he might, in fact, come to love her. She had decided that the only thing she wanted was her degree. Then to succeed, and free her dad.

  Look how that had ended.

  “Uh-oh, we’ve lost the smile again,” Artemis said, studying her so closely that she could lean forward an inch and touch her lips to his. Friggin’ tempting, that. He looked around, under the decimated nacho plate, the coaster, even down at his black boots. “Holy shit, I stepped on it. I am so sorry—”

  Grace couldn’t hold on to those dark thoughts; she was laughing too hard. When her laughter faded, she said, “It’s easy to think about the crap.”

  “Not while I’m here. I’m the gatekeeper for crap thoughts. Here, I’ll do a mind suck for you, take ’em right out.” He pressed his forehead to hers, his fingers resting on her shoulders, and made some ridiculous sound as he supposedly sucked out her crap thoughts. She felt the soft caress of his exhalation on her chin, the gentle brush of his eyebrows mingling with hers.

  He remained there, his eyes on hers. “I think I might have taken too many. Are you still in there? Grace? Hello?”

  He’d stolen something all right, but it was more like her resistance and good sense. Lordy, she wanted to kiss him. Just for fun, for making her laugh on a truly awful day, for helping her to forget for periods of time that she had no idea what she wanted to do with her life now.

  He braced his hands on her cheeks, moving back an inch, a look of concern so real in his expression that she believed he believed. “My God, I have, haven’t I? Stripped you of all reason. Sucked out your very identity.” He rolled his eyes. “There it is. Ah, I see that you fibbed about the husband and twins. Or was it triplets? The Grace part, that was true. I’d better put it back before I find out all your secrets.”

  Even though that was impossible, the thought made her cringe. Luckily, he didn’t see it as he pressed his forehead to hers again, his fingers still touching her face, and made a reverse sound. Her hands went up to his shoulders, an automatic gesture.

  “There. Are they all back?” he asked. “Even the bad ones?”

  “Yes, unfortunately. But thank you.”

  “Why are you thanking me? I failed my mission. I guess it’s all or nothing with you.”

  “That has always been my problem.” And so far it’s been pretty much nothing. “Thank you for making me laugh. I needed that.”

  He stepped back, his dark-blue eyes on hers. “I know.”

  Her hands fell back to her lap, tingling at the memory of his hard shoulders beneath them. “So, give me some truth: did you come to this bar for a hookup?”

  “Miss Grace, I haven’t gone to a bar for the sole intention of hooking up since I was twenty-two. I’m headed south on a diplomatic mission, and I wanted to chill for a few days. People-watch. I did find your lost bluesyness compelling.”

  “You took pity on me.”

  “I didn’t say anything about pity, darlin’. I said you were compelling. Even more compelling when you smile. And damn near irresistible when you laugh.”

  Which, of course, made her smile. He leaned back against the bar, sliding her a look. “Did you come here to hook up?”

  “I haven’t gone to a bar to hook up since I was technically too young to purchase alcohol. Today, I came to forget my troubles.” She tilted her head, taking in his eyes. “But…I’m totally open to possibilities.”

  There. It was out there, something the old, old Grace would say when having sex meant feeling loved for a short time. She didn’t need to feel loved now, but she did need to feel something. And if she felt something just sitting here talking with him she could only imagine what being naked in his arms would do for her.

  His eyes flared with interest. “Well, Grace, we ought to explore those possibilities. I’m staying down the road apiece. It’s a bit of a walk, but we could take a stroll there via the beach.”

  She felt as though she’d just taken the drop on one of Busch Gardens’ roller coasters. “Sounds great. I just need to run out to my car and grab a light jacket. I get chilled easily.”

  He didn’t give her a cheesy line about keeping her warm. She liked that. They settled their tabs, with her refusing to let him pay hers. It felt like a cheap hookup to let the guy pay, and this wasn’t cheap. She wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but that was okay. It was good.

  They walked out into the dusky night to her car. “I parked in the hotel lot, just in case.” She didn’t want to tell him she had a room right there; she wanted the option of leaving in case things went sour. Though she doubted that would happen with Artemis. No, she had a feeling things would go too well. That was even scarier.

  “You have a ’79 Thunderbird convertible,” he said as they approached her car. “Wow, in sweet condition, too.”

  She tried to see the old thing through his eyes. But he obviously didn’t think it was outdated. In fact, he asked her a couple of questions about the engine, only one of which she could answer.

  “I try to understand what my mechanic does,” she said. “Maybe it’s time I learned.” Explored, expanded her horizons. But she didn’t want to think about her life just then.

  She slid into the jacket, and they wandered out toward the beach. The sun had set, but the sky was still bright with colors. Like a child’s painting, with big, puffy clouds and streaks of pink and purple.

  “Hold on, I want to take off my shoes.” She leaned on his shoulder for balance as she pulled off the pumps and hooked the straps over her finger.

  He waved for her to hand them over and did the same. “I got ’em.”

  She smiled in thanks as he slung his arm over her shoulder and pulled her close while they walked. It felt so easy and natural, as though they’d done this a thousand times. She didn’t even think before sliding her arm around his waist.

  “I love this. Being on the beach,” she amended. But she loved the easy affection between them even more. God, how long had it been since she’d had a man’s arm around her shoulders? Something so simple and yet so profound.

  “Me, too,” he said. “It feels…free here. The breeze, the miles of ocean like an endless possibility. If I ever settled down, I could live on the Gulf. The sugar-sand beaches, the weather…” His arm tightened ever so slightly on her.

  If I ever settled down…The words lodged in her heart the way a too-large bite of food might in her throat.

  “How can the prince of a small country not be settled down?” she teased, though her curiosity was probably obvious.

  “I’m not running the country; I’m an ambassador, traveling far and wide. I have no roots, never have. A free bird, like the Lynyrd Skynyrd song.”

  It wasn’t as though she were thinking of a future with this guy. She knew nothing about h
im. She stole a glance at the hand draped across her shoulder. No ring, no telltale white band. That was all she needed to know. This was for tonight, nothing more. And, in case she did get any ideas, he’d just told her that he wasn’t settled down. Had no imminent intention of doing so.

  “I’ve been tied down for a long time, and I’ve sure settled…but I don’t feel as though I’ve ever settled down.” Or maybe settled in would be a better way to put it. Her gaze followed a family of three, the mother holding a toddler’s hand as she balanced the bucket and various tools that were about to tip out. “I know that makes no sense, but suddenly my whole life doesn’t make sense.”

  He came to a stop and pulled her in front of him, his hands lightly on her waist. “So tell me, Grace.”

  The way he looked at her, as though he really wanted to know, and the way he said her name, tangled up her words and left her with only the truth. “I just realized that my whole life has been wrapped around a lie. And…I feel so lost.” For a second, she felt like that panicked eight-year-old girl, when the police came to arrest her father.

  Artemis’s hands came up to her face, his thumb brushing her mouth. “I’m sorry. Want to talk about it?”

  She did, but spilling her guts to a man she’d never see again felt unwise. “I already told you…my husband. The bigamist, the triplets.”

  “Hmm. Sticking to that story, huh?”

  She nodded, unable to meet his eyes for a second. “I don’t really want to talk about it. It’s depressing, and I liked how I felt before I spilled that.”

  “How ‘bout I kiss you instead?” He leaned down and covered her mouth with his. Soft, sweet, and chaste. Incredible. Mind-sucking.

  Now she was lost in a whole new way, which made no sense. It was just a kiss with a stranger. A gorgeous stranger who— “Crap,” she said. “Now it’s a pity thing, isn’t it?”

  “What, the kiss?”

  “Yes. And everything that might come after. I’ve turned it into a pity thing with my stupid confession. It was either walk away or kiss me out of pity, and you kissed me. Here, let me suck that last minute from your mind.” She pressed her forehead to his and made the same sound he had—or an attempt at it, anyway. Then she slipped her arm around his waist and tried to get him to start walking. “I love this, being on the beach.”