Blackmail & Lace

by Tracy A. Ward

  “According to the police report, she’d accidentally overdosed on anti-depressants, which is what caused the accident in the first place. No charges were filed and the woman went home after being treated for minor injuries.”

  I took a long drink from my glass of wine. “What was the woman’s name? Do you remember?”

  “I’m sure my parents know but I never found out.” Grayson sipped from her own glass then set it aside. Her eyes met mine. “What’s the point in finding out? It was no one’s fault. Just one of those freak things.”

  Could it be a coincidence that her sister and my mother were involved in eerily similar accidents?

  Probably not.

  What if I wasn’t the only one with revenge on my mind? What if Grayson had known all along, concocting the bucket list scheme to get me up to the mountain in a snow storm where she could mete out her own brand of justice against the son of the woman who ultimately killed her sister?

  I had to admit it was possible.

  When it came to people, I had an uncanny instinct for sniffing out liars. It was part of what made me so good at my job. But when I studied Grayson’s face for what felt like forever, I didn’t find one ounce of deceit in her. She truly didn’t know.

  “Adam, the sandwiches are burning.”

  I pulled my eyes away from her. With two quick flicks of my wrist, I shut off both burners.

  “What?” she said. “Why were you looking at me like that?”

  Fighting against the sudden pull I felt for her, thinking that Grayson Montgomery might just be the most incredible woman I’d ever met, I finally gave in and drew her to me. Grayson set down her spoon and held on tight.

  Why did she feel so good in my arms? Like some sort of muscle memory knew the shape of her body against mine. Though part of me warred against the intense attraction I felt for her, the other part felt like a school boy whose only thought was to get her naked. Which left me feeling like a complete tool considering the reason I now held her in my arms.

  Grayson pulled back. She wiped at tears. Then those blue eyes locked on mine. “I’m sorry, Adam. You have every right to be angry, to hate me even. I just want you to know I would never have resorted to blackmail if I thought there was another way.”

  I didn’t like the fact that as she stood in front of me, vulnerable and apologetic, I wasn’t the least bit angry. How could I be after hearing Rebecca’s story? Then there was the guilt of knowing that my mother might have had at least an unwitting hand in her death. But the most unsettling reality was that I’d only known Grayson for a few short hours. And those hours somehow felt like decades.

  “Say something, Adam,”

  I didn’t want to believe her. To believe any of this was true. But God…I did.

  Before I could stop myself, I closed the distance between us. With my hand on the back of her neck, I pulled Grayson in and covered her mouth with mine. The softness of her lips, the addicting taste of her, the way our tongues matched stroke for stroke had me staggering, moving her along as we walked backward to the living room.

  Tension mounted as we tumbled onto the leather sofa. My hands went to her hips, helping her to straddle my lap. Her teeth nipped at my lips as my hands roamed until our fingers laced.

  Now would be a good time to tell her about Corinne. Maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe my mother and her sister was just something we had in common and not the one thing that would ruin my chances of getting to know this incredible woman after tonight. Then again, what if it wasn’t and this snowstorm or even this moment was the only chance I’d have with her?

  Her tongue flicked at the sensitive spot beneath my earlobe and I lost all train of thought.

  “I have the upper hand now, Adam. I make the rules.”

  I placed a stream of kisses across the tops of her breasts. No harm in letting her think that was true.

  The mischievous look in her eyes said she wanted to play games. I loved games.

  I asked, “What are the rules?”

  She raised my hands above my head, manipulating them so that I gripped the back of the couch. “You aren’t allowed to touch me. If you touch me, this stops.”

  I grinned. “I give you ninety seconds before you’re begging for my touch.”

  “Fair enough.” Grayson squeezed my wrists then sensuously maneuvered from my lap to rest on her knees between mine on the floor. Our eyes locked as she opened my pants. “You can’t touch me until I say please.”

  The feel of her hand on my throbbing cock sent electric charges detonating in my veins. Blood rushed. Her tongue licked at the head of my shaft and all my internal wiring short-circuited.

  But I did not touch her.

  While I held on with a death grip on the back of the sofa, Grayson’s hot mouth took me in the way no one ever had. I thrust my hips to meet her rhythm until all too quickly I teetered on the edge.

  Honoring the deal, I kept my hands where they were. “Take off your clothes, Grayson, I need inside you.”

  Chapter Nine

  Grayson

  Rising, I pulled Adam’s white t-shirt up with me and slipped it over his head, running my fingers along his rib cage as I did. God he was beautiful. Hard-bodied and naturally tan. I leaned in and licked at his nipple. Watched the gooseflesh raise on his skin. The muscles in his chest and shoulders bunched as I ran my hands over his torso. His eyes glazed with want.

  “You’re dying for me to touch you, too,” he said. “You’re nearly shaking from it.” He wasn’t too far wrong. But I was on a mission. I wanted to be the one who maintained control. The one who made him lose it.

  “I can make you forget your own name, Grayson. All you have to do is say the word.”

  I hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my pants and slowly peeled them down, rotating my hips seductively, causing Adam to readjust his grip on the back of the sofa. Standing naked from the waist down, I tossed my bottoms aside.

  “I need to be sure you’re ready for me,” he said.

  I pulled my camisole down from the top, past my breasts, and removed my bra. One hand covered my nipple while the other slid slowly lower before finally stopping between my legs. Adam bit his lower lip as he watched.

  I approached. “Oh, I’m ready.”

  “Jesus, Grayson, fuck,” Adam said. Our fingers entwined as I straddled him again.

  God, he felt amazing against me. Solid and safe, but also like every rule I’d ever wanted to break. With our hands still clasped, he moved quickly, flipping me onto my back on the sofa. Like a starving man, his mouth covered mine, trailed to my breasts, then lower still.

  I smiled. “Does this mean you’re conceding?”

  Adam planted a kiss on my pelvis and gave me a bone-melting smile. “You said I can’t touch you. You didn’t say I can’t kiss you. Or lick you.”

  His tongue took a slow swipe along my center and I arched into him. Loosening our fingers, I placed his hands on my breasts.

  He moved them away.

  “Adam…”

  “You made the rules. Are you already breaking them?”

  With a half-smile, I shook my head. “No.”

  “Then take off your shirt, Grayson. I want you naked.”

  Though I wasn’t a modest person, since Rebecca’s accident, my lace camisole had become a staple in my wardrobe. And I didn’t remove it for anyone. Not only did having to explain my Frankenstein scar not appeal, but neither did having to own up to the fact that no matter how hard I’d tried, I hadn’t been able to save my sister. So to distract him from his request, my fingers raked his hair and I pulled his head to me again.

  Adam’s tongue flicked against my clit then delved deeper until my legs locked around his neck. My back arched. Hips moved to the rhythm of his assault until finally, I couldn’t take his hands not being on me a second more. “Oh, God, Adam…please.”

  As lighting quick as he’d flipped me onto my back moments before, he flipped me on my stomach. Then he grabbed my hips, sliding so deep
inside me I lost my breath in the perfect feel of him. Never before had I felt like this—this sexy, this wanted, this understood. But Adam made me feel all that and more with the way he responded to my every sigh of pleasure, the way he flowed into my every touch. And when my insides gripped him and pulsated around him, he opened himself up, let go of all the tension he carried, and poured all he had into me.

  “Grayson,” he said against my ear. I could hear the satisfied smile in his voice. “Jesus Christ, you’re amazing.”

  Though my initial seduction of him was for a purpose that had nothing to do with sex, now that I had him with me I didn’t know if I’d be able to fight against the addiction. Adam Holder was like a drug, and soaring to the pentacle of the high of him was something from which I never wanted to come down.

  “You didn’t have to eat that,” Adam said just before I took another bite of ham and cheese.

  We sat on the couch in front of the fire, partially covered in a heavy throw. The electricity had been out for over an hour but the expanse of the fireplace meant we weren’t at a loss for light or warmth. In the den anyway.

  “Are you kidding? I love leftovers. The colder and soggier the sandwich, the better.”

  Catching the playfulness of my tone, he nudged my foot that rested, curled against his knee.

  “How’s the soup?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Better than a burnt sandwich.”

  Setting my plate aside, I focused on the tattoo on Adam’s inner ankle. I traced my finger along the 84. “Is that your college number?”

  Adam didn’t answer right off. He set his soup aside and snuggled in closer. I could tell by the way he acted this was a subject that hit close to home.

  “We don’t have to talk about it. I was just—”

  “Brian Beaumont,” he interjected. “He played for Wyoming.” Adam rubbed the back of his neck, moved his head from side to side. “He was the innocent casualty of my fallout with a teammate, Darius Harding.”

  My brows knit. “The guy who gave Becca problems?”

  “She told you about him.” Adam didn’t seem surprised. “It was the middle of the season and Wyoming was our school rival. Darius missed a tackle, causing me to get sacked. The result was a season-ending shoulder separation for me.” He looked down at his hands, as if they held the script for his next words.

  I was confused. “What’s that have to do with Brian Beaumont?”

  “During the sack I threw an interception. And somewhere through the play, when Beaumont broke a tackle, his helmet flew off. But all I could think about was saving the score. So when he rushed by I grabbed his leg. He fell forward hard, doing a face-plant into his fallen helmet.”

  As he told the story, Adam’s face paled. He swallowed and went on. “There was so much blood…I thought his nose was broken for sure. Maybe loosened some teeth. I wasn’t prepared for it being so much worse than that.”

  It sounded like a perfect storm of awful. Though I’d been younger and hadn’t followed sports at the time, I vaguely remembered hearing the fate of the injured college football player. He hadn’t died, but I seemed to recall a long and arduous journey from an injury in which he was never expected to fully recover. My heart went out to Adam who’d likely felt responsible.

  “What was the diagnosis?”

  “His nose shattered of course. Other than that it was a severe concussion.” His eyes locked on mine. “There was so much fucking blood, Grayson.”

  Suddenly Adam’s comment from earlier made sense. How he’d admitted to not always being squeamish over the sight of blood. Why he’d passed out when he saw his own fingers after he’d wiped at the trail running down his face. Made sense that playing a part in the traumatic injury of an opposing player would trigger psychological and physiological reactions.

  It also occurred to me that the tackle Darius Harding had missed might not be chalked up to the hazard of the game.

  I reached a hand over to cover one of his. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know that. It later came out just how many concussions Beaumont had had over the course of his career. If it wasn’t this game that did him in, it would’ve eventually been another. He was only a junior. But I still feel responsible.”

  Though it wasn’t true, I could understand how Adam felt guilty. But somehow I understood the deeper meaning of what he’d said. “You mean because of Rebecca? You think Darius missed the tackle on purpose, don’t you?”

  “Harding would never cop to it. But he does go see Beaumont at least once a year. If that’s not guilt…”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I go, too, visiting him in the rehab facility where he lives now. I guess you could say his parents and I have become close since they lost the ability to be able to take care of him in their own home.”

  “You pay for his rehab facility, don’t you?”

  I don’t know why it hit me, but from everything I knew about Adam Holder, making sure Brian Beaumont was taken care of, that he would be secure and his parents unworried about his long-term care, would be something Adam would feel compelled to do. And though he didn’t answer me, the way he stared off into the crackling fire was answer enough.

  Watching him watch the fire, the thought suddenly struck me. It was no wonder Adam Holder was so tense all the time. It must’ve been hard for one man, carrying the weight of the world’s problems on his shoulders.

  Without thinking, I rose up on my knees on the sofa facing him. Then I lifted my camisole from the bottom, stopping just below my breasts. Adam’s gaze rested on the scar that wasn’t yet old enough to have faded much. He reached out and ran his finger along the raised jagged line.

  “Becca needed a partial liver transplant and I was a match. We did the surgery, all looked well, but after a week in, her body began to reject mine.”

  Something in Adam’s face closed down as he continued to stare at my scar. “It’s not your fault either, Grayson.” But his words were emotionless, flat. Then he reached up and gently pulled my camisole back down.

  Was he disgusted by my deformity? Or was it something else?

  “We did the best we could, Adam, to make right the things that weren’t either of our faults. We have to find a way to live with and maybe one day stop hiding our scars.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not there yet. The only thing I know right now is if there’s anyone to blame for Rebecca’s death,” I pointed to the area of my scar, “for this, it was the woman on the bridge that night. That’s the person I’ll never have an opportunity to face…the one I’ll never forgive.”

  Chapter Ten

  Adam

  I woke up alone on the couch the next morning feeling more relaxed than I had in years. And I had Grayson to thank for that. Though we both dozed on and off, we’d spent most of the night making love, sprinkling in talks about the silly, the serious, and the mundane long after the power went out. As I lay there, listening to the crackling sounds of a warm fire, it occurred to me how I might’ve spent the night with the woman who could easily become the love of my life. But now I’d never know because my once suicidal mother had inadvertently killed her sister.

  If I’d had any doubts about whether my mother had been the woman Rebecca had stopped for on the bridge, seeing Grayson’s scar last night confirmed it. So I wasn’t going to think about all the reasons there were for me to fall for her. The kindness she’d shown, patching me up after she realized I was no threat. Her loyalty to her sister’s memory. Her commitment in seeing through the promise she’d made. The fact that I’d put money on her in any fight she waged. Her sense of humor. Her quick wit. Or the fact that scars and all, I wanted her body like I’d never wanted anyone before.

  Her face that had originally struck me as girl-next-door attractive was mind-blowingly beautiful. And the way she looked at me, the way she felt beneath me, and the way she said my name as if she were on the edge of a moan completely slayed me. Just thinking abo
ut her mouth on my cock, swallowing me whole, had me in a perpetual state of hard.

  And that’s what had the guilt setting in.

  I shouldn’t have touched her again, especially after she’d shown me her scar. I should’ve told her the truth—that we had more in common than my name being number four on Rebecca’s bucket list.

  Peeling back the blanket, I threw a few more logs on the fire then went to find her.

  I didn’t have to go far. The smell of burning eggs greeted me the closer I came to the kitchen.

  The vision of Grayson standing at the stove wearing my t-shirt from the night before hit me like a gut punch. Her blond hair was tousled, hanging halfway down her back. Her socks pulled to her knees. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen woman look more sexy or alive.

  “You’re awake,” she said, looking up from her task of plating a hefty spoonful of ham, eggs, and cheese. “Come here and let me check your bandage.”

  It had been such a whirlwind twenty-four hours I’d forgotten all about the cut on my temple. And after the couple of ibuprofen I’d taken last night in the bar, the wound hadn’t bothered me the rest of the evening.

  Grayson rose on her toes and touched the butterfly bandage gingerly as she looked me over. Satisfied, she said, “I know it’s about six hours past five thirty, but I thought I was supposed to…”

  I couldn’t help myself. With one hand wrapped around the back of her neck and the other against the small of her back, I pulled her to me, kissing her in a way that made us both forget whatever the hell she’d been about to say.

  “You’re cold,” Grayson said, running her hands over my arms and shoulders. “Should I give you your shirt back?”

  “How ‘bout we throw it on the floor?” I nuzzled her neck, working the t-shirt up until her hardened nipples pressed against my skin.

  “Then we’ll both be cold. Like these eggs are about to be.” Grayson moved from my arms. She began plating an overcooked breakfast that somehow managed to look worse than it smelled. Then she dropped the skillet in the sink and looked at me. “You hungry?”