Finding Grace Read online

  But it wasn’t until the kiss deepened and one of Jack’s hands trailed slowly down her jaw and around her neck to cup her head—the other slid to the small of her back to pull her hard against him and she felt his tongue pressing between her lips, opening them and exploring her mouth—that she truly understood the power of a kiss. She panicked for moment, wondering why her legs no longer seemed to function. She only knew that if he hadn’t been holding her up, she would have crumbled into a heap at his feet.

  Abruptly, he stopped, leaving her breathless and wobbly.

  “Shit. I’m pushing too hard, too fast, aren’t I? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just came in on the red-eye out of L.A., and I thought…I wasn’t even sure you’d be home. Or alone, or with Farley…Christ, I’m making a mess of this.” Those powerful hands of his tightened on her arms.

  “Farley? Why the hell would I be with Farley?”

  Jack’s grip loosened. He said, “Paul made me look like an asshole.”

  “I’m not sure you needed his help, but I’m still not following you. Why did you stop, um…”

  “You froze up, I just—”

  “Oh, that. My body felt all weird and it scared me.”

  “Weird bad, or weird good?” Jack’s low voice lowered another notch, tickling her in strange places.

  “Weird good.” Her own voice wasn’t much higher.

  “Does that mean you’ll let me do it again?” he whispered. “But Grace, if I do, I’m not gonna be able to stop.” His grip tensed again and she understood what he was asking.

  Thorne swallowed hard, her brain still in a fog, not really able to process thought. This was a new state of being and it was unbelievably wonderful, even better than when she was totally into her workout. Hell yes, she wanted more. “Only if…only if you don’t stop.”

  She hadn’t known Jack had been holding back before until he kissed her again. One roaming hand slipped under her sweatshirt, its thick callouses rasping over the ultra-sensitive skin of her marred breasts. An unexpected moan of pleasure escaped from her mouth into his.

  Jack’s kiss instantly deepened. Both hands moved down to her ass and strong arms lifted her up and against him, against all of that hard muscle. She felt a wave of heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment or fear. Just like when he’d had her against the wall in the studio. Only now there was no one to interrupt them.

  His tongue began a slow rhythmic thrusting into her mouth that echoed the way he was holding and rubbing her against him. Another wave of heat engulfed her, bringing with it a throbbing ache.

  She might have complained when he set her back down if his mouth hadn’t still been on hers. She certainly would have when one of his hands slipped below the elastic of her sweatpants and dove right down and touched her bare—

  But just then, he pulled back from the kiss and hissed. She froze. Had he felt her scars? Was he going to leave?

  To her surprise, Thorne felt him stripping her instead, felt the cool air glide over her skin—such a contrast to the incredible heat building inside her. She was completely out of her mind and that would have been great, except she couldn’t identify the delicious ache that increased with his every touch. It wasn’t just her bones that had melted. Now her brain was gone too and her whole body felt both languid and tense, like it was waiting for whatever was building inside her to be released.

  “Please, Jack, oh God, please, I…” She couldn’t even have told him what she was begging for.

  He laid her down and kissed her again, spreading her legs, doing things with his hands and mouth that made her body arch toward him. She shuddered and he increased the pressure of his touches. Then her whole world seemed to shatter, each splinter and fragment of pleasure driving her to a higher peak. She heard someone’s desperate scream. Then warm lips and a salty tongue pressed into hers and the scream stopped, but her body continued to buck and tremble.

  He moved away and she felt cold all of a sudden, forsaken. Somewhere in the darkness, she heard the tearing of a foil wrapper and then she felt Jack—all the hard strength of him—covering her, sheltering her. She felt his teeth nip her throat and her legs wrapped around him of their own accord, as though they knew what they were doing, had done it before. When he plunged into her, she shattered again. But this time the ache was filled, filled almost beyond her capacity to receive it, and the waves of pleasure seemed unending.

  * * * *

  Dagger had never thought of himself as much of a lover. From his first time on, his partners had always been experienced—for years now, professionals who made him pay extra because of the way he looked, because of the danger they thought they were in.

  He’d known he wanted Grace, but he wasn’t prepared for the way his body reacted to her, how much desire her responsiveness would create in him, or the way giving her pleasure would ignite his own.

  On the way to her door, he’d told himself that if she let him in, he would take it slow, maybe even just talk.

  But then he’d kissed her. And touched her. She had skin that made silk seem rough. His heavily calloused fingertips had never felt anything like it.

  And when his fingers had slipped beneath the waistband of her sweatpants for further exploration, he’d realized that not only wasn’t she wearing any panties, but—God help him—she was bare. From the way she kissed, he’d thought she was inexperienced. But a woman who kept herself bare, well, had to be expecting company, and not likely for the first time. He had felt both relief and jealousy along with the intensified arousal his discovery had triggered.

  He really had tried to go slow, to relish the heat building between them; to hoard the sounds she was making, the way her body opened to his touch. But when a hopeful probe told him how prepared she was for him, it had fueled his impatience to be inside her beyond his ability to restrain it.

  Then, she’d screamed and arched up against him, shredding the remains of his control. Only a lifetime of habit had stopped him in time to get that condom on. He’d only just softened his bite at her throat, the vein he’d seen throbbing in the hall in the dance studio a lifetime ago that had told him she’d wanted him too. Then he’d driven in, hard and fast, too far gone to be as gentle as he’d intended. She was so goddamn tight that for a minute he worried again that she might be a virgin after all.

  Feeling her all around him, going off again now was too much. He gathered her in his arms, needing to get as far inside her as he possibly could, again and again and again. When he felt his body tense and burst, he muffled his cry against her mouth, crushing her lips, the intensity setting off fireworks behind his eyes in the blackness of the room.

  He pulled her onto his chest, still joined with him. He could feel her breath coming out in pants across his nipple, threatening to harden him again. He rolled gently to his side with his arm around her, tucking her into him as he wrapped his thigh around hers. When she snuggled against him and let out a soft, contented sigh, he felt a tightness in his chest that would have bothered him if he’d managed to stay awake another minute.

  * * * *

  Grace was already dressed, her short purple hair still damp from the shower when Dagger opened his eyes to the soft gray light of morning. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, knitting and watching him. She smiled when he met her eyes before looking down shyly through those long, silver lashes.

  He sat up. “Come ’ere,” he commanded softly and opened his arms. She put down her knitting and he saw her breath quicken even as she hesitated.

  “It’s not dark, Jack. Not dark enough.”

  “What the fuck, Grace, is it with the dark? Just come here.” He winced—it had come out more harshly than he’d meant it to. He just wanted to touch her, to pull her into his arms, to know that she was real, that last night wasn’t another one of the dreams he’d been having since he’d seen her at the studio.

  He’d never actually slept with a woman before. He should have been long gone by now. But here he was, lying in Grace’s
bed and wanting her even more than when he’d knocked on her door last night. Shit. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

  She shook her head and bit her lower lip. He could almost see her retreating into her Thorne shell. Damn it.

  “I don’t think you should call me Grace. You might slip up and say it when we’re at work.” She started talking fast, “You must be hungry. I’m, uh, not much of a cook, but I’ve got some granola and kefir. It’s really good, um, organic—”

  “Goddamn it, Grace. Do not get all fucking weird on me.” He was reminded of the first time he’d been in Thorne’s apartment and he’d watched Paul coax her like a wild doe. But he wasn’t Paul. “I don’t eat tree bark and you’ve only got one chair in the kitchen. We’ll go out for breakfast. Now come here, before I come and get you.”

  “About last night, Jack…” She’d risen and was standing close enough that he could have grabbed her and he really wanted to, but something told him not to. She was biting her lip again, clearly having an argument with herself.

  He mustered his most reasonable tone. “Listen, Grace, I’m sorry about last night, but I’m not taking all the blame. You’ve been teasing me since the first time we met. Then I find out you’re not just a crazy little faggot but a goddamn beautiful woman. I didn’t hear any complaints last night and I don’t want to hear some guilty song and dance to soothe your conscience now.”

  He folded his arms. As apologies went, it sucked and he knew it.

  Those pretty silver brows frowned and she said, “I just…I just wanted to tell you that it was amazing, that I never thought it could feel so wonderful, that I’m sorry I didn’t really know what was happening and couldn’t make it better for you, that’s all.” Her voice cracked.

  Dagger sputtered in confusion. “Better for me? If it had been any better for me, you wouldn’t be able to stand up right now. Oh God, Grace, tell me you weren’t a virgin. I mean, you’re bare, what was I supposed to think? But you were so tight, too tight.” Shit-shit-shit.

  Grace looked down at her knitting and said it so softly he almost couldn’t hear. “No Jack, not a virgin. I just never…”

  It was his turn to frown at the mix of emotions running through him: relief, followed by an odd sense of disappointment; gratification that he’d been the first one to give her that pleasure; and some anger on her behalf that it hadn’t happened before.

  “You must have been with some real assholes, Grace. Jesus, you are so fucking hot. You went off like a firecracker last night. A woman like you, so sensitive, so responsive to every touch…”

  Her pale skin blushed a deep red and he wondered if he’d caught the need to babble from her.

  Still avoiding his eyes, she said, “Not every touch, Jack. I…I don’t understand what you mean about the significance of being bare and I’m sorry I was too tight.”

  The woman actually had the nerve to look confused when that was his every right. What the hell was going on here?

  “Tight is good, Grace. Really good.” His heart started to race at the memory. “And bare is, well, an invitation that’s pretty damn hard to refuse.” He sat up straighter and rubbed the blanket across his lap.

  “Really? So it’s not sick?” She was practically strangling her knitting.

  Dagger shook his head, more mystified by the minute. “I don’t get it, Grace. Why would you do it if you thought it was sick? Now, I admit, I’m a lot of things and I’ve done a lot of things, but I’m not fucking sick. Why don’t you come a little closer and let me take off those jeans so I can take a nice long look and show you just how healthy I am.”

  Thorne jumped back and screamed, “No!”

  She grabbed her glasses and said, “I gotta go. Just close the door behind you when you leave—it’ll lock, fucking thing. I learned that the hard way.”

  * * * *

  Thorne hit the snowy sidewalk at a jog. She could hardly tell Jack that she didn’t have any pubic hair because of what had been done to her, that the doctors had told her the skin was too damaged, hair would never grow there again. Jack had seemed to enjoy how it felt and she had too—last night. But to let him see her scars? That could never happen. Not ever. She wondered what the hell she thought she was doing. This thing with Jack could never work.

  Chapter Eleven

  Before Dagger had been able to say another word, Thorne was gone.

  He should have felt relieved, an easy out of a situation he couldn’t control. But even before the door shut, he knew he didn’t want out.

  “Hey, come back!” His voice sounded fucking pitiful to his own ears.

  Just where had he gone wrong here? He was frantically trying to pull at least some of his blood back to his brain. He jumped out of bed, got dressed, and shot out the door with the speed and skill born of years of practice. Except this time he wasn’t getting the hell away from a woman, he was going after her.

  Dagger thanked his dumb luck for the early hour, the freshly fallen snow and the distinctive, though worn, pattern of Grace’s sneakers in it. He could see that she was walking fast, but not running. It took him about ten minutes of following her tracks, though, before he turned the corner to find her standing there, her arms folded. Her mouth was screwed a little funny but her voice was calm when she said, “What do you want from me, Jack?”

  He grabbed her fast, afraid she’d slip away from him again. Her lips parted and she inhaled sharply. Forcing back the strange sense of desperation he felt, he tightened his grip on her shoulders and whispered, “Breakfast, Grace. I want to have breakfast with you.”

  She relaxed. It had been the right thing to say.

  “Um, breakfast. Yeah. I can do breakfast, Jack.”

  * * * *

  The diner was busy and they ate to the sound of clanking dishes, scraping silverware, and murmured conversations. Grace mostly just pushed her food around her plate, but she was smiling at him.

  Dagger told her how much he’d hated L.A., without telling her how much he’d missed her. She told him about the search for Sarah and how upset Lieutenant Rigby had been, how reluctant Paul had been to call Katherine. She seemed a whole lot more impressed by that than what she’d accomplished. He wondered if he’d ever understand her.

  He couldn’t remember a meal that tasted as good as this breakfast with Grace, but he’d finished three of the specials and had run out of conversation. His mind raced to find a way to keep her with him. He’d have taken her to a fucking museum if that had been his only option, but what he really wanted was to go back to her apartment.

  He was going to have to man up and try again. “So, uh, Grace…”

  She looked at him sharply.

  “Shit. Fine, Thorne then. Got any plans for today?”

  His hopes weren’t the only thing her thoughtful smile raised.

  Then she rubbed her hands together and said, “I need some more yarn. I was going to check out that shop on Madison. I haven’t been in there yet,” and kept on smiling.

  His mind, having been elsewhere, was consequently somewhat short on blood; he struggled to make sense of what she’d just said.

  What? She needed more yarn? He thought of her tiny apartment, practically packed to the rafters with the stuff, and wondered how the hell she could possibly need more yarn. But as crazy went, it probably wasn’t the most dangerous thing to have too much of. Dagger gritted his teeth, yarn shop being lower on his list of choices than museum. “Sounds fun. Want some company?” He refused to consider that he might be pathetic. But if he hung in there and braved the shopping, even the possibility of a payoff would definitely be worth it.

  * * * *

  The shop was cozy and welcoming, a larger and more organized version of Grace’s apartment, to Dagger’s way of thinking. She was moving around the place, squeezing balls of yarn, oohing and aahing and sighing. Whether the shopkeepers were inclined to just let her fondle the merchandise because of his presence or because that’s the way it was done, he had no idea.

  But he had
n’t expected to participate until she said, “Jack, close your eyes and hold out your hands.” She thrust something soft into his hands. “Isn’t it fantastic? It’s quiviet.”

  “Qui—what?” He was trying to imagine what it would feel like to hold an armful of Grace wrapped in the stuff.

  “It’s musk ox underwear.”

  “Huh. I bet they harvest that pretty carefully.”

  She laughed. God, she had a beautiful laugh. “It’s better with your eyes closed, isn’t it? It makes your sense of touch more acute.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. Why?” Dagger sensed from the tone of her voice that she was going somewhere with this he might want to go.

  “I think I found a workaround.”

  “‘Workaround’?”

  “A method for overcoming a problem or limitation in a system.”

  A light went off in Dagger’s mind. “This have something to do with this whole darkness thing of yours?”

  “You remind me of a dog one of my foster families had, Jack. They thought all he was good for was hunting because he wasn’t very obedient. They never saw that he figured out anything and everything that had to do with getting what he wanted. Dog was smarter than they were.” She softened the comment with a smile.

  “That is one hell of a back-handed compliment, Grace.” But he grinned. Oh yeah, it surely did sound like she heading in the right direction.

  When Grace paid for her purchases, he sucked serious wind. He’d had no idea yarn was that expensive. She informed him that you could spend as much as you wanted on the stuff. He eyed her “new” jacket—the well-worn parka—and questioned her spending priorities once again, but this time he had the sense to keep his judgments to himself.

  * * * *

  “Why can’t I just close my eyes?” Dagger wasn’t totally comfortable with the idea of being blindfolded. Grace was standing behind him in the middle of the room and he couldn’t see her.