Chapter Seven
It wasn’t the best premiere he’d had. Sitting in the Opera House’s dark auditorium, surrounded by those in the industry, and those aching to be in the industry, he saw what he hadn’t before when locked up in the editing room with Raph, his numero uno editor.
Samantha and Dave had…issues.
Pacing, for one. Plus, the narrative was all over the shop.
The soundtrack by Levi Levistan was soul-moving, and Chris Huntley was incredible—but then, he always was, that’s why Sebastian demanded he be cast as Dave. But the script just wasn’t giving him anything to really do. And his chemistry with the up-and-coming actress cast as Samantha was…MIA.
Well, fuck.
The credits finally rolled, and as they did, the Opera House’s main hall burst into applause. People rose to their feet.
Sebastian clenched his teeth. He’d been in the industry long enough to expect the adulation at the end of a premiere. He’d also been in it long enough to know it would come regardless of it being deserved.
Right now, it wasn’t deserved.
Samantha and Dave may not be the unmitigated mess some of the earlier reviews proclaimed it to be, but it wasn’t great. It wasn’t amazing.
Ignoring those around him, he turned to Grace. “What did you think?”
Frowning at the last of the credits scrolling up the screen to a haunting ballad recorded by Josh Blackthorne, she nibbled on her thumb.
He ground his teeth again. “Well?”
“I’ve seen better.” She gave him a sideways look. “You’ve made better.”
Fuck.
Swiping at his mouth, he nodded. Trust Grace to tell the truth.
“But, it’s all subjective, right? I mean, I love the movie Hansel and Gretel, and if I remember correctly, it was universally panned.”
“You like Hansel and Gretel?”
She nodded.
“Me, too. An unrecognized masterpiece, in my opinion.”
Her laugh stroked at some of the dark tension brewing within him. Calmed it a little. “Look at that,” she said. “After all these years, we finally have something in common.”
“Finally,” he murmured. “Guess I better stand up and take a bow,” he muttered, cutting the disquieting thought dead. “As unwarranted as it may be.”
“Guess you better.”
He stood, bowed, waved a congratulatory hand at Chris sitting on his left, and encouraged more applause.
Someone handed him a microphone. He gripped it, head roaring. Words came out of his mouth. Words of praise for his cast, his crew. Words of gratitude to the studio CEO who allowed him to make such a passion project. Words of affection for Sydney and Australia for being his home, regardless of how far and wide he traveled and worked.
All the words. The familiar script spoken so often at so many events.
And yet right here, right now, they were just sounds. They weren’t the words he really wanted to say. Deep down, in a place he’d never been before, never knew existed before, he knew they weren’t the words he wanted to say.
He really wanted to say sorry.
He really wanted to say he’d do better next time.
He really wanted to say…he really wanted to say…
I think I love you, Grace. I think I always have.
Shit.
He shoved the mic at Chris. “I gotta…I gotta go.”
Chris blinked, taking the mic. “You okay, dude?”
Sebastian nodded, forced a grin, and then clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve just been hit with a thought I can’t ignore. The muse at work, eh. Gotta go get it down. Everyone’s here to see you anyway, not me. No one wants to see the director.”
Chris opened his mouth, stopped, threw a look at Liev behind him, and then nodded at Sebastian. “Sure, dude. Go do what you have to do. You coming to the party?”
Sebastian drew in a slow breath, turned to Grace, who was now frowning at him, and then back to Chris. “I don’t know.”
And with that, he waved some more at the still-clapping crowd, bowed once, and threaded his fingers through Grace’s. “I need to get out of here.”
“Okay.” Just like that. Nothing about wanting to meet more famous people, or how she’d gotten all dressed up and hadn’t even gotten to the party yet. Just a simple okay and a subtle increase of pressure from her fingers around his.
He walked out of the Opera House’s main hall holding her hand. A lifeline likely to rebel if she knew what was in his head.
Hell, what was in his head? A notion so absurd, so ridiculous, it struck him dumb? It made no sense. She was the one person in his life who never made it easy for him, who refused to let him have his way, when he wanted it. Being in love with her? Absurd.
And yet…
The media and paparazzi were there waiting like slathering animals when they emerged from the iconic building. Police and security kept them at bay, with the help of a thick velvet rope meters from the main doors.
He still held Grace’s hand. Couldn’t let it go. Which was weird, and yet it felt so right and scared the shit out of him all at once. This was Grace Ford. She’d loathed him when they were kids, and as far as he could tell, he was still pretty low on her list of favorite people. He was in her life only because he’d been self-absorbed—the Sebastian Hart she despised.
Any thought of Grace actually liking him was beyond ludicrous.
And his whole reason for the romantic treatment he’d given her so far was to spur generically good-looking Justin into asking her out.
That’s bullshit. Bull. Shit.
“Seb?”
Grace’s soft voice scraped at his sanity. He gritted his teeth and kept walking, silent until he reached the valet’s podium. “Aston Martin,” he damn near snarled, handing the valet the ticket stub. “SEB number plates.”
“You going to talk to me?” Confusion laced Grace’s words. “Or is this what I get because I told you Samantha and Dave isn’t that good?”
Jesus, he should be furious over the film, over how he’d fucked it up. The internet was going to tear it apart, tear him apart. His detractors would swoop in and call him a burnout. He’d be labeled a pretentious poser brought down by his own hubris. Passion projects had a way of biting their creator in the arse, but he’d refused to even entertain the possibility his arse was the next on the menu. He was Sebastian freaking Hart. He didn’t fail. He didn’t make flops. He—
He didn’t fall for a woman who’d once called him an egomaniacal narcissistic bastard.
Releasing her hand, he shoved his into his pockets. “This is what you get for not seeing the brilliance that is my film.”
Grace’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay. The leopard’s spots are back. Y’know what, Seb? I’m going to get an Uber home.”
He tried to grind out the word good. Tried. But again, like back in the Opera House, it wasn’t the word he wanted. Not even close.
“I’m sorry.” Now, those were the right words. The words he wanted. “Grace, I’m sorry. Don’t go. I’m being a dick.” A dick who may or may not be in love with you.
She frowned, eyes unreadable as she studied him.
“Please?”
His Aston Martin arrived before she could answer.
He stood. Waited. What could he do to make this better? It was so far out of his field of expertise, his normal behavior.
Around them, as close as the security and velvet ropes would allow, people and paparazzi photographed them. Grace’s response to his apology—which was no response at all—was captured in digital HD on smartphones and SLRs.
Fuck.
“Please?” he repeated, his gut and chest a thunderstorm of turbulence.
Camera flashes fired. People shouted his name.
“Don’t do that again, Sebastian.” She drew a slow breath, expression as impossible to decipher as the emotion in her eyes. “Don’t remind me of the boy I grew up living beside, not when I’m halfway to liking the man he’s become.”
The sun burst through the storm, filling him with warmth, a delight he’d never experienced before. “Gotcha.” He smiled and opened the passenger door for her. “I won’t. Promise.”
Her lips twisted, part exasperation, part skepticism. But she lowered herself into his car all the same. He caught a glimpse of creamy thigh, and for a split second, the happy warmth flowing through him erupted into an inferno of carnal, male want, a desire that sheared through him, sank into his groin, and stole his breath.
Jesus.
Looking up at him, Grace frowned. “Going to let me close the door?”
“Your wish…”
You have to stop saying that.
He released the door and, with a glance at the hordes watching them, hurried around to the driver’s side and climbed in.
“Did you want to go to the after-party?” He buckled himself in and put the Aston Martin into gear. “There’s one being thrown by the studio on Cockatoo Island.”
It had cost a fortune to get UNESCO to approve the World Heritage-listed small island in the middle of Sydney Harbor as the location of the party, plus a sizeable donation he’d personally offered to the organization. The party was going to be huge. The entertainment reporter, Dickie, had already laid down challenges Sebastian had fully planned to accept. Chris and Liev had hinted at sharing some exciting news with Sebastian he suspected had something to do with adoption papers.
A prickling weight told him Grace was studying his profile. “Do you want to?”
Heart thumping fast, he met her gaze. “Honestly? I think I’d like to find a quiet café somewhere and share a slice of chocolate cake with you. What do you think?”
“I think”—she paused, expression hidden by the Aston Martin’s dim interior—“I know the very café.”
A tangled rush of emotions flowed through him—relief, desire, guilt, hope.
She gave him directions, her voice calm, her instructions simple. It was their only conversation, as if they’d both accepted they were on the cusp of something neither could process.
“Here.”
He pulled into the closest parking space to the café she’d brought them to and killed the engine.
Silence stretched.
He tried not to fidget in his seat, but he did. God, since when did he feel nerves?
“This is not a date.”
Her short statement made him suck in a sharp breath. “What?”
Shaking her head, she opened the door, not looking at him. “I mean, I know you don’t think it is. Someone like you doesn’t date someone like me, especially with our history, but I just needed to put it out there. For my own sake. And please don’t read anything into it. I just…needed to vocalize it.”
And with that, she climbed out of the Aston Martin and closed the door.
She was at the café’s door by the time he alighted from the car, elbows cupped in her palms, her eyes closed.
Damn it, she was beautiful. Defiant. Real. And yet, at the same time, somehow lost. Haunted.
He strode over to her, fighting the need to take her hand in his and pull her to his body. She’d denied him his last request for a kiss, had said he could ask her later, but something told him now was not the time.
“I don’t think you’ve got any worry about being swarmed by fans and paparazzi here.” A small smile played with her lips. “If you are, I’m sure Mr. Padalecki will deal with it.”
She pushed the door open without any further explanation and entered the café. He followed, curiosity joining the storm of other emotions building in him.
The interior was muted and earthy. Small, intimate tables suitable for couples and small groups sat in a rambling order on the unpolished wooden floor. Almost all the tables were occupied save a few. On the paint-stripped walls were an eclectic collection of classic 1960s movie posters, photos of dogs, and paintings of iconic Sydney locations. The soft sounds of piano music wafted from unseen speakers.
Sebastian cocked his head. “Is that a lounge-music version of AC/DC’s ‘Highway to Hell’ playing?”
Grace smiled, the multitude of candles on all the tables somehow flickering in her eyes. “It is. Mr. Padalecki’s daughter is a classically trained pianist who loves hard rock music more than Beethoven and Mozart.”
“Wow.” He closed his eyes, absorbing what should be a discordant combination but wasn’t. “I like it.”
“Me, too.”
“Grace?”
The warm, surprised male voice opened Sebastian’s eyes. An elderly gentleman no taller than his shoulder strode across the floor toward them, wiping his hands on the white apron tied around his lean waist.
“Hello, Mr. Padalecki.” She gave him a hug when he reached them. “Long time no see.”
“Are you coming back to work for me?” A thick Polish accent filled each word. “I’ve missed you.”
She smiled. “Maybe. You need a waitress?”
Mr. Padalecki sighed and then beamed at her. “I do not. But for you, I will make a position.”
Grace laughed, awakening a fresh wave of disarming, unsettling emotions in Sebastian. “Perhaps for tonight, we might just start with coffee and a slice of your famous Death by Chocolate?”
Padalecki shot Sebastian a quick glance, the inspection turning into a frown. “Table for two? Not three?”
“Unfortunately, Gary isn’t with me, Mr. Padalecki. He passed away two years ago.”
A soft sound escaped Padalecki, and he embraced Grace again. “Przeprazam, kochanie.”
She touched his cheek. “Thank you.”
He smiled and then looked at Sebastian again. “She is dear to me, sir. That is a warning.”
“Coffee and chocolate cake, Mr. Padalecki.” Grace squeezed his hand. “No warnings needed.”
“If you insist. This way.” Padalecki turned and made his way to a small table in the far-right corner of the café beneath a framed Citizen Kane movie poster.
Leaving them with a bottle of chilled water, two fat handblown glasses, and another narrow-eyed inspection of Sebastian, Padalecki promised to return soon with their coffee and cake.
“So this is a familiar place for you?” Sebastian poured them both a glass of water. The fact she’d brought him here, to somewhere clearly from her life with her deceased husband, said something to him. He just couldn’t put his finger on what yet.
“I worked here to pay my way through uni. Gary would come in for lunch on his days off with Cody and help Mr. Padalecki prepare for his Australian citizenship test.”
So he was not only a firefighter and an amazing dad, he was also a selfless human. And now she’s having coffee with you and making sure you know it’s not a date.
A cold finger traced up his spine and drilled into the back of his neck.
“Is that why you brought me here? To show me a part of your life?”
She shook her head, her smile stretching. “I brought you here because the chocolate cake is incredible and we won’t be disturbed.”
From what? You telling me to get out of your life?
He raised his water glass and held it above the middle of the table. “To not being disturbed then.”
She chinked her glass to his with a soft chuckle. “To not being disturbed. And to Death by Chocolate.”
They both took sips from their glasses. Sebastian couldn’t stop watching her. When she licked the moisture from her lips, he almost groaned.
“So,” he croaked instead, “why a paramedic? I thought you’d become a scientist or a doctor, or something like that. Why an ambo?”
“A call to help people and a lack of funds to study medicine. Plus, a little baby boy I had extreme difficulty dragging myself away from.” She traced her finger around the rim of her glass, gaze tracking its path. “All of those, but mainly the baby boy. And the fact my dad was getting sicker every day and the thought of not being able to see him because I was studying so much tore me apart.” She lifted her head, her smile warm. “He got to see me graduate, took a photo of me in my paramedic’s uniform on my first day on the job. It was his last post he ever made on Facebook.”
Jesus, she’d had so much loss in her life. So much at such a young age.
“I’m sorry, Grace.” The word didn’t seem enough. Not even close.
She shrugged. “Dad is better off not being in pain, and Mum is now traveling with her sister. Going to all the places her and Dad promised each other they would go.”
“And you are a paramedic, going it alone.” He let out a slow breath. “Don’t you ever accuse yourself of being a failure again, do you hear me?”
Her eyelids fluttered closed.
He’d never wanted to kiss anyone so much in his life.
“Death by Chocolate.” Padalecki returned, placing a slice of what looked like the most decadent chocolate cake on the table between them. Chocolate syrup and fudge sauce oozed down the sides of the triple-chocolate layer cake, pooling around its base and the chocolate-dipped strawberries adorning the plate along with it. “Two forks. And two coffees.” He placed two forks next to the plate, and then two wide mugs of steaming cappuccinos.
Grace smiled up at him. “Thank you, Mr. Padalecki. As usual, it looks incredible.”
“That’s because I am.” He narrowed another inspection at Sebastian. “Remember my warning, Mr. Hart.”
“You know who I am?”
Padalecki laughed. “Of course I know. But that does not mean I will not break your jaw if you hurt my Grace here.” He smiled. “Now, enjoy.”
…
It’s not a date. It’s not a date.
But it sure as hell felt like one.
By the time they’d finished sharing the cake, they’d done everything a couple did while on a date. They talked about themselves, about their lives, about their food, about their work.
If it wasn’t for the fact she knew the man opposite her, Grace would be patting herself on the back for a first date done well.
But it’s not a date.
So why the hell was her body behaving the way it was? Her stomach fluttered with nervous anticipation as he turned his car into her driveway, her palms were hot and itchy, and the junction of her thighs…
Stop it.
Silence wrapped around them as he killed the engine. The powerful Aston Martin motor ticked away, its fading rhythm mocking Grace’s crazy heartbeat.
Say something.
“I had—”
“Thank you for—” Sebastian began at the same time.
They both laughed. His smile was far more self-deprecating than any she’d seen on his face before. “If this isn’t a clichéd moment from a rom-com I don’t know what is,” he said.
Rom-com. Romance.
Heat flooded her cheeks.
“I mean,” he blurted out, his stare jumping all over the interior of his car, “not that this is a romantic… Shit.”
“A romantic shit?” She lifted an eyebrow, incapable of suppressing the chuckle in her voice. “That’s different.”
He shook his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Once again, you put me in my place, Grace. Where were you when I was making Samantha and Dave? I could have used your unique ability to ground me and point out when I’m being wrong.”
“Samantha and Dave isn’t that bad.”
“Yes, it is.”
She sighed, letting him see her smile. “Yes, it is.”
Silence descended. Again.
“Would you like to come in for a cuppa?” Holy crap, did she really just ask that?
This is not a date, woman. Not. A. Date.
A calm stillness fell over him, and he nodded. “I would. I’ve grown partial to Earl Grey.”
Stomach doing its best granny knot impersonation, she opened her door and climbed out. Sebastian met her on the driveway, the half moon’s silver light draping over him, picking out the broadness of his shoulders, the natural blond highlights of his hair, but hiding his eyes from her.
He offered her his elbow. “M’lady.”
Rolling her eyes, pulse pounding, mouth dry, she took it. Once again, her brain did its best to scream at her just how amazing his arm felt beneath her palm, under her fingers. Just how close his biceps were, how their sculpted curve brushed the backs of her knuckles.
They walked in silence to her front door.
“Is that you, Gracie?” an elderly woman’s voice called behind them.
Catching her breath, Grace turned and waved at Mrs. Hill, who stood in the front door of her house across the street. “It is, Mrs. Hill. Everything’s okay.”
Mrs. Hill waved. “Hello, Gary,” she called. “I haven’t seen you for a while. Is the fire still burning?”
“The fire is indeed burning, Mrs. Hill,” Sebastian called back. “Taking me by surprise, to be honest.”
“Okay.” Mrs. Hill waved. “Have fun then.”
Mrs. Hill shuffled back inside and closed the door.
Grace looked up at Sebastian, her throat thick. There was significance to his response to Mrs. Hill, but she didn’t know what it was. Or was he just playing along, treating the elderly woman kindly? It was very un-Sebastian to do so, but maybe…
Everything about Sebastian you’ve seen since he returned to your life is very un-Sebastian. And it’s messing with your head.
“Sorry about that.” She pretended to search her small purse for her keys, even though she hadn’t taken any. Shelli would let her in when she got home. “Mrs. Hill has mild dementia and constantly forgets Gary was killed.”
“I can handle being Gary, for one night. If it helps.”
Oh God, why did her brain take the statement to a place it had no right going? A place with sheets and pillows and sweat-slicked limbs sliding against one another, and—
The front porch light came on.
A shaky laugh burst from Sebastian. “Mum?”
Heart thumping, Grace shook her head. “Sensor lights.”
“Ahh, so Shelli’s not peeking at us through a crack in the curtain then?”
They both checked out the front window.
“Doesn’t look like it.” Damn, her mouth was dry.
Why aren’t we inside yet? We should be inside. Why have we both suddenly slowed down to a crawl?
“Grace?” His low murmur made her turn to him.
“Thank you for coming tonight.” The sincerity in his voice made her stomach clench. “I-I enjoyed you being there with me.”
“I enjoyed being there.” It wasn’t a lie.
“You handled yourself very well on the red carpet.” He grinned, stepping a little closer to her. “I enjoyed your response to the incredibly clichéd and superficial what-are-you-wearing question.”
Chuckling, she leaned her back against the wall beside the front door. “I suspect ‘a hand-me-down’ isn’t the normal response to that question. I think I was meant to tell them what designer.”
Damn, even in this harsh, glaring light, he looked good. So good. It shouldn’t be legal for a guy so annoying to look so good.
How much longer can you cling to that? The Sebastian in front of you now is far from annoying.
“It’s the usual protocol.” He stepped closer again, laughter in his eyes, his lips curling. “That and a pirouette. Which, I couldn’t help but notice, you refused to do.”
She rolled her eyes even as her nerve endings began to fire. “Do you know, I’ve been called out to at least ten triple-zero calls at school dances and gala balls because some girl or woman has either sprained or broken her ankle twirling around to show off her dress. You want to see what my dress looks like from the back, check me out as I walk away from you.”
He laughed, resting his hand on the wall beside her head.
She frowned up at him. “What are you laughing at?”
“Play that last little bit back in your head again.”
“Why? What did I say?”
He replaced his hand on the wall with his elbow, drawing ever closer to her. Mirth twinkled in his eyes. Once upon a time, she would have been infuriated by it.
Now, not so much.
“You just,” he said, lips curling, “invited everyone to check out your arse.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
She swallowed, mouth dry again. He was so close. And he smelled so good.
“Confession,” he murmured. “I’ve been checking out your arse for a while now. It’s a nice arse. Amazing, in fact.”
She closed her eyes and turned her head away, a strangled groan catching in her throat. “Seb, there’s no need. You don’t have to…”
“Grace.” Gentle fingers touched her chin. “Shut up and kiss me.”
She opened her eyes. Her blood roared in her ears.
“Please?”
She rose onto her tiptoes and captured his lips with hers.
He growled, a carnal and hungry sound, and then his hand was on her hip, smoothing around to the small of her back, yanking her body to his.
Liquid need pooled through her. Heat and urgency rippled over her skin. She moaned, the undeniable ridge of his arousal pressed to the curve of her sex unleashing a primal desire in her.
She tangled her fingers in his hair, deepening the kiss as she strained to feel more of his body against hers. Her knees wobbled, her ankles doing the same.
With another growl, he pressed her back to the wall, moving his hand to her backside, slanting his mouth over hers with increasing intensity.
Holy crap, she’d never been kissed like this. Her head spun. She whimpered, demanding more even as she surrendered to it all.
She was kissing Sebastian Hart.
And it was so fucking good.
She rolled her hips, craving the pressure of his trapped erection against her body.
He groaned, grabbing her hips with two strong hands and hauling her harder to him. His tongue battled with hers, mated with it. He nipped at her lips, explored them, took possession of them.
Her knees trembled again, and she tightened her fists in his hair, starved for the taste and feel of him.
He gave it to her, his tongue and teeth and lips igniting a fire inside her, a need beyond her. Dragging his hands back down to her bottom, he squeezed her butt cheeks, kneaded them through her dress before raking one up her back, over her rib cage, to her breast. His thumb brushed the under swell before returning to her rib cage again.
Grace moaned. No. Why didn’t he…
Tearing her mouth from his, she panted, desperate for air. Desperate for his hand, his touch.
Nostrils flaring, he stared down at her, his hands growing still on her body. “Grace,” he whispered. “I…”
Without a word, she took his hand and slid it ever so slowly over her breast.
His eyes fluttered closed for a heartbeat, the only movement he made, and then he captured her mouth again, his kiss almost brutal as he cupped and massaged her breast.
Wave after wave of pleasure rolled through her. So many nights, so many months, so many years without another person’s hands on her, without another living soul bringing her sexual pleasure. Awakened by the touch of the most unlikely man…
Sebastian brushed the pad of his thumb over the taut tip of her nipple, and she whimpered into his mouth, arched into his touch.
He dragged his lips from hers, over her chin, down to the side of her neck. She rolled her head, granting him greater access to her throat. He took it, his thumb teasing her nipple through her clothes as he nibbled a path down to her shoulder. “Oh God, Sebastian. That’s so good.”
Had she said that aloud? Or did she moan it in her head?
“So good.” Exquisite tension ribboned through her. Her breath caught in her throat. “I want…”
You to make love to me. Now.
She did. God help her, she did. So freaking much. Which was insane. And yet it was totally true. She wanted Sebastian to make love to her. She wanted him on every single level.
Sebastian.
Cupping her face in his palms, he feathered his thumbs over her bottom lip. “Grace, I think I’m—”
A dog barked. A bellicose woof directly behind them.
Grace jumped. So did Sebastian.
“Baxter,” Justin called. “Baxter, where are… Oh.”
Jaw clenching, Sebastian straightened and turned away from Grace. “Your timing sucks, Fitzpatrick.”
Justin glared.
Her cheeks turned hot. A bullet of something cold and dark buried into her chest. Guilt? Or something else? Something like…anger?
Oh God.
Justin made his way up Grace’s path, his attention fixed on Sebastian. How much had he seen? “Sorry. Baxter took off when I let him out for a leak.”
“Of course he did.” Sebastian chuckled, the noise short and blunt and more like a contemptuous grunt. “That’s what dogs do, right? Well, dogs that don’t have a strong alpha, that is.”
Justin bared his teeth in a smile, the action not even close to reaching his eyes. “Well, this big fella’s got an inbuilt instinct to protect those in an uncomfortable situation. Maybe he didn’t need to go to take a piss after all?”
That cold, dark sensation drilled deeper into Grace’s chest, mocking the warm memory of Sebastian’s kisses still on her lips. She shook her head. This is ridiculous.
She touched his wrist. “I’m going in. Thank you for tonight, Seb. It was…”
Amazing. Illuminating. Confusing.
“Fun,” she finished.
His jaw bunched. His stare searched hers, and he parted his lips, as if to say something, and then he gave a single nod. “It was. See you Sunday.”
He strode from her porch, pausing to pat Justin’s dog. Baxter panted and whipped his long tail side to side, completely ignoring Justin who called his name twice.
“Like your dog, Fitzsanders,” Sebastian threw over his shoulder as he strode past Justin. “He’s got character.”
Throat thick, Grace waited until he climbed into his car and pulled away before turning to Justin. Thankfully, he still stood on her path. She didn’t have it in her to deal with what would happen if he climbed the steps. He’d been talking to her and coming around to her house more since Sebastian turned up at her door. It was unsettling. Even if she had considered him a possible future fixture in her life, the way he was carrying on was…off-putting.
“You look lovely tonight, Grace,” he said, struggling to keep his grip on Baxter’s collar.
Before she could reply, her front door opened. “Grace?” Shelli frowned. “Where’d Hart go?”
Thank the Lord for Shelli Holt.
Pulse pounding, Grace gave Justin a small smile. “Good night, Justin.”
She stepped inside, the distant sound of Sebastian’s Aston Martin roaring through the night flaying at her sanity.