The Road to Redemption: Finding Grace, Book 1

by DM Davis

  Thirty minutes come and go quickly. She’s breathing hard, but beams with exhilaration. She is an excellent student.

  As she enters the women’s locker room to shower and change for dinner, I can’t help but think of her naked, showering only a door away from me.

  I shake my head to reset that train of thought, collect my stuff, and go shower.

  I’m exhausted—in a good way—full of accomplishment. We’re just beginning, but I feel like I’ve already learned so much more than I would in weeks of group classes.

  I was worried how the one-on-one instruction would go, given our relationship. I didn’t want to disappoint him or make a fool of myself. But after a few minutes it was clear it would be easy to follow his lead. It was the same as it was in the group class, but more personal—intimate.

  He’s strong, authoritative, in control, and…totally hot.

  I shower and get dressed, fixing my hair and makeup. When I exit the bathroom, Theo is standing against the far wall talking to a guy in full gi.

  Theo waves me over. “Simon, I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Lauren Frasier. Lauren, this is Simon Lee, the owner.”

  I shake his hand. “Simon, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you for allowing us to train here.”

  Theo smiles assuringly and puts his arm around my waist, pulling me to his side.

  “You’re more than welcome, Lauren. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Simon turns his attention to Theo. “You must have done something right to deserve such a beautiful woman.”

  Heat creeps up my cheeks. Theo’s eyes scan my face before he responds, “I don’t know that I could do anything to deserve her, but I’m trying.” He squeezes my waist, and I lean into him while his kind words wash over me.

  They wrap up their conversation, and before I know it, we’re on our way out.

  Theo walks me to my car, pausing before opening my door. “I’d like to take your car home before we go out.”

  “Are you sure?” I don’t want to inconvenience him.

  “Positive. Besides, I’d like you to ride with me to dinner.” He opens my door and waits for me to get in. Then he bends, giving me a soft kiss on the mouth. “I’ll follow you.”

  My thoughts trail after him as he walks to his car. Handsome, kind, gentle, and thoughtful, what more could a girl ask for? This detour to drop my car off is his way of protecting me. He may want me in the car with him, but he also doesn’t want me to drive alone late at night or traipse into my apartment alone, either.

  As long as he’s near, I’m safe. The problem is when he’s not, hence the self-defense training. If all goes well, and I’m an apt pupil, he’ll still be protecting me, even when he’s not around, by the skills he’s teaching me.

  I lead the way to my apartment, feeling grateful.

  Parking in my garage, I grab my bags and walk to Theo’s car. “Do you mind if I put my bags inside? I’d rather not leave my laptop in my car.”

  “Of course. I’ll come with you.” Ever the gentleman, he takes my bags. His hand on my lower back, he gently guides me to my apartment. Once there, he uses my key to unlock the door, ushers me in, turns off the alarm, and closes the door behind us.

  He then proceeds to set my bags on the dining room table and comes back to me. “You look beautiful. This blouse is the most amazing color of blue, like your eyes. I want to swim in that color with you.” He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering, and then he pulls away. “Ready?”

  I nod, feeling heady with him so close here in my apartment. He smiles as if he knows, takes my hand—intertwining our fingers—and leads me to his car (after arming my alarm and locking the door, of course).

  I love that he’s kind and generous, yet strong and confident in his role as a man. He leads, and I follow, not because I need him to lead me, but because I want to follow—him. I want him to be the lead. I don’t want to be in control. I’m in control of everything. Always. It is nice to know that I can relax, be me, and not worry about taking care of him. He’s the one taking care of me. It’s comforting. I feel feminine and appreciated. Two things I’m not sure I’ve ever felt.

  I squeeze his hand at the thought. He looks back, giving me his brilliant make-a-dentist-proud smile, and squeezes my hand in return. I could get lost in that smile, in his purely male handsomeness that screams I am man, hear me roar, but it’s the softness in his eyes that does me in. It’s not always there—except when he looks at me.

  He pulls into the Houstons parking lot, my favorite restaurant. How did he know? “Have you been here before?”

  “No, but a little bird told me this is one of your favorite places.”

  “It is. Would that little bird be named Silvy?” I try to hide the dopey smile his grin and teasing induce.

  I would be happy eating anywhere with him, but the fact that he made the extra effort to find out my favorite place—that he planned ahead, thinking of what would make me happy—has those lonely dark places in me filling with light. His light.

  Tears pricks behind my eyes. My emotional baggage is never far from the surface, threatening to darken even the lightest of moments.

  “Yes, I believe it was.” Looking satisfied, he takes my hand and leads me inside.

  We settle into a booth in the back where it’s secluded, minus the hustle and bustle near the bar area, and order drinks and the best artichoke spinach dip—ever.

  His eyes bore into me like it’s the first time he’s seeing me—really seeing me. The world narrows and closes down around us. I don’t flinch. I keep his stare, matching his intensity.

  Moments pass, and I think for sure he’s going to look away—realizing I’m nothing special to look at.

  “You’re fearless when you want to be.” His baritone voice breaches the moment.

  God, if he only knew how far from that mark I actually fall. “No.” I break eye contact. “I’m not fearless.” My hands flutter in my lap, smoothing my napkin. “I’m afraid of so much, it’s sad really.”

  “Well, then it’s bravery—facing your fear in spite of it. But the woman who just stared me down is fearless.”

  A smile ticks at my mouth. “I wish I was as you see me.”

  “You are. I need to help you see it.” He places his hand on the table, palm up, eyes asking me to trust him.

  With little reluctance, my hand finds sanctuary in his larger one. His fingers contract, his strength evident yet controlled.

  “You did great tonight. I have no doubt you’ll surpass my expectations and blow yours out of the water.”

  Expectations are a dangerous thing. My world is soiled with shattered expectations, both mine and others’. I want to be the woman he sees—both brave and fearless. Maybe if he believes enough, and I believe in him, I will become that woman. Not a farce, but the true embodiment of the woman shining in his eyes, her reflection, a vague resemblance to me.

  “Thank you. It was fun.” I make light of his words, but his knowing gaze doesn’t miss a thing.

  Philosophy professor, remember? He’s good at reading people—reading me. “I bet you’re a really good teacher. I can imagine all of your students falling for you.” His penetrating eyes, expressive brow, and pouty lips would have anyone swooning, but add in his stature, his accent, and his commanding presence—it’s a full-on assault to the senses.

  Indignation flashes across his face. He shifts in his seat, jaw clenched, clearing his throat. His hand, still holding mine, twitches like he wants to let me go, but he manages to hold tight. Clearly, I’ve ruffled his feathers.

  “Did they ever catch the guys who attacked you and Holly?” His voice is harsh with a practiced indifference. I’ve done more than ruffle his feathers—perhaps I unintentionally plucked a few.

  “No.” It’s all I can manage. Him bringing up my attack—here, in a public place—with such detachment cracks my fragile expectations. “I should know better,” I mutter to myself, pulling my hand free. Without much thought, I grab my purse and stand. “Excuse me
.”

  My feet move as tears threaten. I blink repeatedly, looking like an idiot, I’m sure, making my way through the throng of patrons and waiters. Almost to the restrooms, my pace slows at the sight of a rather amorous couple making out in the alcove between the men and women’s entrances. His large frame engulfs hers, nearly sequestering her from prying eyes. The sound of their passion and the sway of their bodies has my distress morphing into something more pleasant.

  Jeez, they’re hot.

  “Bloody hell.” Theo steps in front of me, blocking my view.

  I step to the side, ignoring him, and return my focus to the couple.

  “Caveman,” she moans.

  Surely, she’s not… They’re not—

  Theo’s hand draws my eyes to his face. “Eyes on me,” he commands.

  “But—” I try to move away.

  He stops me with a firm grip on my hip. “Can we go back to the table. Please.” He adds the last word to soften his demand, as it wasn’t a question at all.

  “I—”

  “Please.” His lips press to my forehead, stealing my protest.

  “Professor Wade?”

  “Bloody hell.” Theo sighs against my skin. His shoulders straighten as he comes to his full height, releasing me and turning to face the couple who had been making out like horny teenagers. “Ms. Cavanaugh.” His hand laces with mine, squeezing it tightly.

  “I thought that was you.” The stunningly beautiful woman beams up at the tower of a man standing next to her. Beyond her flushed appearance and his hungry eyes, there’s little evidence of their make-out session. I wonder if this is a usual occurrence for them. “Joseph, this is Professor Wade, my philosophy professor.”

  The hunk of a man sticks out his oversized hand to Theo. “Joe. And it’s McIntyre now. My wife.” The pride in his words makes my heart flutter.

  Theo takes Joe’s hand, which surprisingly doesn’t look all that big anymore. “Of course. You wed over the Christmas break. My apologies. Congratulations.” Theo’s smile seems genuine, and the angst he was emanating before seems to fall away. He releases my hand, putting his arm around my shoulder. “Lauren, this is Sam—one of my top-performing students—and her husband Joe McIntyre—of McIntyre Corporate Industries.”

  I don’t miss Joe’s brimming pride when Theo mentions Sam is one of his top students, or the shake of Sam’s head as if she’s dismissing the thought.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” I shake their hands, stepping out of Theo’s hold, only to be drawn back in once my hand is free. “Congratulations, by the way.”

  They both glow with wedded bliss as they thank me. Sam’s eyes roam over us—not in a judging way, more like thoughtful interest as she’s obviously madly in love with her husband. Her lips part to speak.

  “Samantha,” Joe pulls her attention, “we should let the good professor get back to his woman. I believe they were having a moment.”

  My skin warms that he even noticed after what I witnessed going on between the two of them. With a quick goodbye, he pulls her away, but their conversation trails back to us via the arched ceiling.

  “A moment, huh? I seem to remember us having a moment too,” she teases.

  His hand slides down to her rear. “You can’t blame a man for wanting to relive a fond memory in that alcove.” He leans down, whispering in her ear. Her step falters, but he keeps her in pace with a firm grasp around her hip.

  “I wonder what he whispered to her.” My eyes follow them until they disappear around the corner.

  Theo pulls me close, sinking into the darkness of said alcove, his lips dangerously close to mine, his body pressing me against the wall. “I imagine it was something like…” His lips graze my ear, and I shudder as goosebumps ripple down my arms. “The mere sight of you makes me hard as stone, and I’d give my left nut to sink balls deep in you right now.”

  A small moan escapes. Did he mean me? Or was he speaking as Joe?

  He lips graze my jaw but stop short of my lips. His eyes lock on mine as if he heard my thoughts before he draws my hand along the hard length in his jeans. My fingers flex, squeezing slightly.

  “Bloodyfuckinghell,” he groans, thrusting his hips, pressing my hand against him.

  I guess he means me. I make him hard as stone.

  I FIGHT THE URGE TO SIT on her side of the booth, hold her in my lap, and make this right. But we’re in public, and my cock is threatening to break free of my zipper; it’s better that I’m across from her where I can plainly see desire, residual anger and hurt warring in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry. For how I reacted to your innocent enough statement. For what I asked. My tone—my coolness.” I clasp her hand that’s resting on the table. I try to keep her gaze, but my next words are hard to admit. “I’m a bit of an arse at work.”

  “What? Why?” That was not what she expected.

  “There’s a girl—”

  Lauren tries to pull her hand out from under mine.

  “Please don’t.” I ensconce her hand in mine firmly. “Don’t pull away from me.”

  She leans forward, her hand gripping mine back. “I’m sorry, it was a knee-jerk reaction.”

  I nod. “I understand. It’s not what you think. I don’t have feelings for her—at least not positive feelings. I feel plenty, mostly irritated indignation, to be honest.”

  Lauren’s expression softens. There’s no judgment. Her eyes search mine, waiting.

  “Her name is Susan James. She’s one of my students. Her infatuation is a nuisance. She thrives on disrupting the class, making a show of her…esteem.” I huff out a relieved sigh to be sharing my dark secret and sit back. “When I decided I wanted to be a teacher at Uni, my dad warned me about such things. He spoke of his own experience—advised me to be prepared. But my coping mechanism is not the best.”

  “Which is?” she asks, her eyes glistening with curiosity, not recrimination. Thank God.

  After a deep breath, I admit my faulty tactic, “I’m basically a curmudgeon, a right ole arsehole.”

  I’ve shocked her. Her wide eyes, her frown, pull at my scarred heart. “I know. It’s not very nice. I figure if I’m an arse, it will keep the students at bay, and we can focus on learning instead of…other things.”

  “I’m surprised, but then I’m not. I witnessed your aloofness in the coffee shop that first day I met you.”

  “Ah, yes, the girl who was trying to get my attention.”

  She laughs. “I think she was trying to have your babies.” Her eyes crinkle with humour.

  I lean over the table, right in her face. “The only woman in danger of me impregnating her in that coffee shop—or anywhere else—is you.”

  “Oh.” She quickly regains her composure. Her hands bracket my face. “Is that an offer?”

  The corner of my mouth ticks to smile at her brashness. There’s that fire I love so much. “It’s a promise.” I press my mouth to hers briefly before reclaiming my seat.

  Her stunned expression is back. I relish that small victory of showing her how much she means to me. “I’m not playing around with you. This”—I motion between us—“is for keeps.”

  She simply nods, remaining silent as our waiter delivers our food, even though we haven’t touched the appetizer.

  Moments pass as we sample our meal. It’s delicious, but we’re both preoccupied. She’s contemplative, based on the twist of her lip and the crease of her brow. When she looks up, she startles, finding me already watching her. Her broad smile is infectious. “Were you watching me?”

  “Always.” It’s that simple. She’s never far from my sight or my thoughts.

  Her eyes narrow. “Hmm,” is her only reply to that.

  “Were you going to say something?”

  “Oh, I was only thinking.”

  I prompt her to continue with a raised brow. It’s beyond obvious that brain of hers has been working overtime since I silenced her with my comments of impregnation and playing for keeps.

/>   For some, those revelations may have been over the top, but based on the depth of my feelings, it seems relatively prosaic compared to the inferno raging inside.

  “Lauren,” I manage without bite, but a command nonetheless.

  Her mouth opens, closes, then opens again. “Okay.” Her hands splay in the air. “I’m just going to put this out there. These are my initial thoughts.” She pierces me with her eyes. “So, don’t judge.”

  “Never.” She doesn’t know me well enough to know I’d never judge her. I want her every random musing. I don’t want her to self-edit, only giving me some of her.

  I. Want. It. All.

  “First of all, I don’t blame any of your students for crushing on you. Have you seen yourself?” She points at me. “I mean, you…” She looks around the room, her eyes landing on random blokes and then back to me. “You’re not an average-looking guy. You’re a thousand on a grading scale of one to a hundred.”

  I crack up, I can’t help it. She’s animated and clearly passionate about her opinion. “I’m honoured. But it’s only a face.”

  “And a body.” She leans closer, gesturing to me, nearly brushing her breast in her food in her exuberance. “You can’t forget the body.”

  “Alright. It’s only a face and body.” I know my qualities are above average. I’m not daft—I own a mirror. “I’m more than the sum of my face and body.”

  She stills, her eyes warm with her smile. “Yes, you most definitely are. But unfortunately, we are judged by our outward appearance before we even open our mouths. And it’s all uphill or downhill from there.”

  True.

  “And you have the cards stacked in your favor. That’s all I’m saying.” She raises two fingers. “Second of all, if you were my professor, and not friendly, I’d see that as a challenge to win you over. I’d kill you with kindness, so to speak.” Her finger taps against her lips. “I wonder if that’s what this girl is doing.” Her tapping finger now points at me. “She sees you as a challenge. She’s trying to break through your steely façade.” She shrugs. “The more aloof you are, the harder she tries.”