Remind you of anyone?
The knowledge sat uneasily inside her, pricking at her, making her irritable. “I know you’re not Griffin,” she muttered.
“So tell me the truth then. Why were you afraid of me last night?”
Jesus, he was relentless.
“I was nervous.” She looked down at the broad, muscular chest beneath her and the sprinkling of crisp blond hair on it. “I’ve only ever slept with two men in my life, Griffin and you. And I guess I was a little out of my depth.”
His fingers were resting on her hips and she felt his thumbs begin to move on her skin, a slow back-and-forth as if he was stroking her, soothing her. It made her unease, her embarrassment and guilt, feel less tight.
“Understandable,” he said. “Especially if you’ve never done any of that before.”
It wasn’t a question and it made her look up at him, feeling oddly exposed and not a little defensive. “What makes you say that?”
The stroking thumbs stopped, his focus settling on her. “Because you were uncertain and hesitant, and there really wasn’t any other explanation.”
Uncertain and hesitant. Great.
Her jaw tightened and she looked back down at his chest again.
Only to have one long-fingered hand catch her under the chin and tilt her face up to look at him. “That wasn’t a criticism,” he said quietly. “You were everything I’d hoped for, Grace. Everything I wanted.”
There was warmth inside her, making the other feelings start to fade, soothing the old hurts and stings, the scars left from her father’s constant criticisms. And yes, from Griffin’s apparent lack of passion too, though she knew that was something she’d encouraged.
It was silly to feel so good about a simple bit of praise, and yet she did. So she looked into Lucas’s eyes and gave him the rest of it. “I was scared of this feeling as well. Of what happens when you touch me. It’s like being shocked awake. I’ve never … wanted anyone the way I wanted you.” She took a breath. “Not even Griffin.”
A flame glittered in his eyes and she knew the confession had pleased him. “You’re feeling guilty about it, aren’t you?” he said.
She colored. “Is it really that obvious?”
“No. Only logical.”
“You don’t feel guilty?”
“Griffin is dead,” he said bluntly. “Which means you’re not married anymore and he won’t know anyway. So no, I don’t feel guilty.”
She looked down at his chest again, her throat tight for some reason. Nice for him that it was so cut-and-dried.
“But then,” Lucas went on, “I wasn’t married to him.”
Grace stared at the beat of his pulse at his throat. “I know what was missing in our marriage. It was this. It was what we did last night. And I didn’t understand that until now.”
Lucas said nothing for a long moment. His hands slid from her hips and up her back, then down again, long, caressing movements that had her wanting to arch into his touch like a cat. He was still hard, she could feel it against her thigh, yet it didn’t seem to bother him.
When he spoke, it was quiet. “It wasn’t your fault.”
The words shocked her for some reason. “I know it wasn’t.”
“Do you?” The stroking hands on her back paused. “Look at me, Gracie.”
Gracie …
Her father had once called her that and she’d hated it, so when Griffin had tried to she’d snapped at him. But hearing that old name in Lucas’s deep voice … It was different.
Fucking come for me, Gracie.
Oh yeah. Very, very different.
She lifted her head uncertainly, meeting his gaze. “What?” She couldn’t quite keep the defensiveness out of her voice. “I know it’s not my fault. Griffin didn’t seem to feel it either. In fact, he—”
“I’ve had a lot of women.” The blue in Lucas’s eyes was beginning to burn out the silver. “And I’ve never felt anything like this for a single one of them.”
Her breath caught. It shouldn’t matter that he hadn’t, it shouldn’t. “Really?” The question sounded like she was begging for reassurance, and she regretted it the instant she’d said it.
His hands paused on her back, his gaze pinning her, making her lungs feel tight, as if he’d emptied all the air out of the room. “No. In fact, I felt it the moment I saw you, Grace.”
The moment he’d seen her … Which had been when? That day when Griffin had finally earned his trident and she’d come to the graduation. He’d pulled her over to meet his friend Lucas Tate, and she’d taken one look into those icy blue eyes and instantly hated him.
Because you wanted him too.
“Why?” she couldn’t help asking, some part of her unable to let this go. “I’m not beautiful. I’m not all that interesting. My career is just a series of part-time jobs I took purely to make money, and my art is my life. I haven’t really done anything else.”
Lucas’s gaze was sharper than a scalpel, peeling her apart. “Who’s that talking? I know it’s not Griffin. He made some stupid choices in his life, but he wasn’t into running people down, especially not his wife.”
Her throat felt tight. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you can’t possibly believe all those things about yourself.” The look in his eyes became even more intense. “You’re beautiful. Why do you think I was standing there staring at you that day in your room? When you opened your towel? I couldn’t take my eyes off you because you were just so fucking glorious.”
Her mouth opened, but he clearly hadn’t finished, continuing on. “And as for your goddamned career, aren’t you already doing it? You’re following your dream of being an artist and that takes guts and bravery and a shitload of determination. Don’t you understand that?”
She blinked, her eyes filling with stupid tears even though the last thing she wanted to do was cry. But her wounded soul was soaking up the praise like a plant that had been starved of sunlight and she couldn’t help it. “I know that,” she croaked yet again, because she didn’t know what else to say.
But Lucas shook his head. “Who was it, Grace? Who was it that did such a fucking number on you?”
She wanted to deny it, say that of course she didn’t really think she was as pathetic as she’d made out. But the words that came out weren’t denial at all. “Okay, fine. I guess it was my dad.” She sighed. “I’m sure it’ll come as no surprise to you that he was an artist too, and was actually a pretty good one. But he had these dreams of making it big that never happened, and that ended up making him bitter and just plain old mean.” She glanced down at Lucas’s chest, because it was easier to talk about this when she wasn’t looking directly at him. “He was very temperamental and controlling. Used to get hypercritical when the work wasn’t going well, and of course he’d take it out on me and Mom, since we were the closest targets.” Her finger moved, tracing a pattern on his skin. “It’s funny, when I was small he taught me how to draw, and he used to love that I took after him like that. But when I got older and things got tougher money-wise, and he couldn’t sell his work … Well, he began to pick everything I did apart. Not just my work, but everything. How I was so untidy. How I was hopeless at math. How I was plain. How I was talentless and wouldn’t amount to anything…” She stopped, the hurt of it still lurking inside her like a shard of glass she couldn’t ever get out.
“He sounds like an asshole who didn’t know a fucking thing he was talking about.” Lucas’s voice was hard, his hands settling on her hips once more, fingers pressing down as if he were trying to impress his conviction into her skin. “Did you tell Griffin anything about this?”
She lifted a shoulder. “He knew Dad was difficult, but … I never told him about the other stuff.”
The silver was back in Lucas’s eyes, glittering. “Why not? And is there more stuff?”
“I didn’t tell him because I don’t like talking about it.” She still didn’t. It brought up too many bad memories. Of feeling smal
l and ugly and talentless as the brilliant father she’d once adored sneered at her drawings and made remarks about her plainness as if he’d never once tossed her and caught her in the air the way he’d done when she was small. Never once called her his pretty little sunset.
“What other stuff, Grace?”
She looked at him. “Why do you want to know all of this? Why does it matter to you? It’s got nothing to do with last night.”
“It matters to me because I don’t like the idea of you basing your self-worth on some bullshit your asshole father told you.”
“I’m not.” She was sounding defensive now and she knew it. “I’m not that pathetic.”
His fingers pressed down even harder on her. “Tell me about it, Gracie.” Then he added, intensity burning in his voice, “I want to know about you. I want to know everything.”
* * *
Grace’s amber eyes widened and he wondered if he’d gone too far, said too much. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. The hunger he’d felt the night before was still just as strong, just as relentless. And it wasn’t purely physical anymore.
He’d woken up to find her cool fingers curled possessively around his cock and initially he’d thought there was nothing he wanted more than her hands on him and very possibly her mouth.
But first he’d wanted to check she was okay after last night, and things had gotten thorny after that. Or rather, not so thorny. He’d realized that although he wanted her hands on him, he also wanted to know why she’d gotten all embarrassed the moment he’d starting asking her questions. Why she’d been nervous when he’d dumped her on the bed the night before. What had been happening with Griffin …
Yes, all of it.
He wanted to know everything. And he especially wanted to know why her confidence was such a fragile, brittle thing that she’d thought the lack of passion in her marriage was her fault. Because it was clear to him that she did think that.
And yes, knowing that was more important than how hard his cock was and how badly he wanted her to do something about it. Sure, he’d lost it with her the night before, but now it was time to get that fucker under control.
Her lashes lowered, a red-gold veil over her amber eyes. “Okay, so what’s to know? My dad was selfish and controlling, and everything that happened in our house revolved around him and his moods. Around him and his work.” She let out a breath. “When he was painting Mom and I had to walk on eggshells so as not to disturb him, because if we did he’d yell and throw things, and blame us for taking him ‘out of the zone.’ When he wasn’t painting he was angry and bitter. Drinking too much and tearing Mom to shreds about how she wasn’t supportive enough. We were dirt poor because Dad was absolutely insistent that he support us as an artist. But because he barely sold enough to get by, even making the rent was an issue, let alone buying food.” She was looking down at Lucas’s chest the way she had before, tracing more patterns on his skin. “Dad’s parents were rich and they tried to offer us financial support, but Dad wouldn’t take anything from them. He blamed them for not supporting his artist dreams back when he was a boy and I think shoving our poverty in their faces was some kind of twisted revenge.” Her lashes quivered. “He hated that I wanted to be an artist like him. Once, when I was thirteen, I showed him something I’d been working on just for him. I so wanted him to like my work. He used to, when I was little. Used to be encouraging and patient, showing me how to explore my creativity. But that day…” She stopped and was silent for a moment. “That day, he took one look at my drawing, told me I was a talentless waste of time, then balled it up and tossed it in the fire.”
Lucas felt his jaw get tight, the anger he always tried to keep inside himself suddenly burning hot.
This is why you shouldn’t care, remember?
He wasn’t caring. He was simply angry on her behalf, as anyone would be. Because he could see that this had hurt her, and badly.
“Like I said, he was an asshole.” Lucas kept his voice hard, so she was in no doubt about how he felt about her prick of a father. “No decent father takes that kind of thing out on his kid.”
Grace shifted, her beautiful hair trailing over his chest in a long fall of silk. “Yeah, he was kind of shitty. My grandparents offered to pay for art college for me when I was seventeen, but Dad refused. Told me—in front of them—that I wasn’t good enough. That I didn’t have the talent. God, I was so angry. I decided enough was enough after that, so I ran away, headed out west, and that’s where I met Griffin.”
Lucas slid his hands into her hair once again, wanting to touch it and tip her head back at the same time, so he could see her face. Because she kept looking down as if she was hiding and he didn’t want her doing that with him.
He’d known she used to do that with Griffin, because he had always complained about it. About how whenever he wanted to talk about stuff, she withdrew. Shutting herself away in her studio and telling him she had to “work.”
Well, she wasn’t going to do that with him. He wanted to know what was going on with her and he wasn’t going to stand for any withdrawing.
“Why didn’t you tell Griffin any of this?” He curled his fingers in the soft, silky strands of her hair. “He would have wanted to know.”
Her gaze met his, her lower lip full and red and strangely vulnerable. “If Griffin had really wanted to know, he would have come into my studio and made me tell him.”
“Did you say that you didn’t want to talk about it?”
She looked away. “Maybe I did. But Griffin never pushed. He didn’t seem interested enough.”
Ah, so that was it. She wanted to be chased and Griffin was not a chaser, that much Lucas did know. He’d complained a lot about how Grace shut him out, but it was clear that was only because he’d let her.
Her fingers traced yet another pattern on Lucas’s chest. “I’m not sure I want to discuss my marriage with you, Lucas. It feels wrong right now.”
It was either that or she was deflecting. Keeping him out the way she’d kept Griffin out.
Why do you want in?
Lucas shoved the thought away. Perhaps he should leave it for now. The weight of her soft, warm body was maddening and all it would take would be a slight shift of her hips and he could slide inside her.
“Anyway,” she went on without waiting for a reply. “What about you? I should ask you whether you’re okay too. After what went on with your brother and sister.”
The question made him uneasy. No one had asked him if he was okay for a very, very long time and he didn’t much like the way it made him feel.
He opened his mouth to tell her he was fine, but then his brain started firing. Van and Chloe. Cesare de Santis … Shit. He still had an unwanted guest in his shooting range whom he had to deal with.
Lucas had questioned the guy again the day before but hadn’t managed to get any more out of him, which meant there was no point keeping him. And most especially not with Grace around.
Christ, and that was another thing to worry about. Whoever had sent the guy would still be waiting for a report and by now they would have realized something had gone wrong, since he hadn’t come back. Which meant whoever it was would be alerted to this location.
Fuck. He really had to deal with this and ASAP.
You’ve got your own ways of dealing with unwanted questions too.
Lucas gritted his teeth and gently eased Grace off him, slipping out of the bed.
“Lucas?” There was surprise in her voice. “Where are you going?”
Moving over to his dresser, he began pulling out the drawers and finding clothes. “The guy in the basement needs to be dealt with; otherwise we’re going to alert the pricks after you to the fact that you’re here.”
“Oh.” There was a rustle of sheets behind him. “What are you going to do with him?”
Lucas began to dress in his basic off-duty uniform of jeans and a long-sleeved tee. A plan had begun to form itself in his mind, but he didn’t want to tell G
race about it yet. Not until he’d managed to get the specifics nailed down.
Finishing dressing, he picked up his SIG from where he’d left it on the dresser and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.
“Lucas?” Grace said again. “You’re … not going to kill him, are you?”
He turned.
She was sitting in his bed, the white sheet wrapped around her, the apricot cloud of her hair around her pale shoulders, her golden-brown eyes fixed worriedly on him. There was something vulnerable about the way she was sitting there, about the way she looked at him, that reached inside his chest and held on. Filling him once again with that need to reassure her.
He didn’t question it, crossing to the bed and bending to take her vivid angular face between his palms. “No,” he said. “I’m not. I’ve got something else in mind.”
She searched his gaze and he could see the questions in her eyes. But the question she actually asked wasn’t the one he was expecting. “Are we done? Is this over?”
He didn’t need to ask her what she meant by that. “Do you want it to be?” He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from her.
“No,” she murmured. “No, I don’t.”
“Good.” He bent and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. “Because like I told you last night, I’m not done.”
He didn’t miss the relief in her eyes and it made him savagely glad, because he didn’t know what he’d have done if she’d said she wanted it to be over. The spark he’d let out of the box would not go back inside it and he was pretty fucking sure it wasn’t going to burn with anyone else.
It had to be Grace. Grace or no one.
“By the way,” he added, as he remembered the thing he’d pushed to the back of his mind the night before. “You know we had unprotected sex last night, don’t you?”
“Oh … uh … so we did.” Color flooded her cheeks. “Look, you don’t need to worry. I got my last birth control injection just before Griffin died. It was six months ago, but the effects can last a while.”
The Wicked Billionaire--A Billionaire SEAL Romance Page 18
