Grace grimaced at her untouched dinner where it sat on a tray just inside the bedroom door and went back to staring at her distorted image in the window. Her hair hung down on either side of her head in waves that were still slightly damp. When her mother had arrived with the staff hair stylist earlier to wash and detangle her hair, she’d allowed it, even though it had been painful. She didn’t regret stealing the money, but hurting her father hadn’t sat well. Maybe it never would, no matter their dynamic. But she’d taken the hair washing as penance for her deed. Looking presentable should she happen to draw any media attention would have to be enough.
The trees blew back and forth outside, giving the impression of her face changing shape, again and again. Like one of those haunted house pictures that changes from serene to scary, depending on the angle.
If she were a piece of fabric, she would have been torn straight down the middle. Not because she’d been defeated. Nope. Indecision, rather, had kept her rooted to the same spot for an hour. A drumbeat continued to plod along in her stomach, urging her to complete the mission she’d organized for herself. The other side of the ripped fabric, however, was held together by words her father had spoken. Not just tonight, but throughout her life. With one act, she could repair some of the damage she’d inflicted on their relationship. But would she feel disloyal to herself afterward? Wasn’t that what she’d been fighting against?
A knocking sound coming from the front entrance jerked Grace backward where she sat perched on the windowsill. Who could that be? No one in her family knocked. Her father’s security team thinned out in the evening, usually leaving only a nighttime patrol on duty. So who was at her door so late in the day?
Fingers curling and uncurling in the hem of her sleep shirt, Grace prowled out of the bedroom, across the pitch-black living room, to peer through the peephole. When Grace saw the identity of her visitor, she rocked back on her heels, mouth agape. “You shouldn’t be here,” she gasped. “Not even a little bit.”
“You don’t think I know that?” Aaron’s growl reached her through the barrier. “Okay, look. Are you all right, Grace?”
“Yes,” she called, leaning her cheek against the door. “You can go now.”
So much silence passed, Grace assumed he’d left and wished—wished so hard—she didn’t feel crestfallen over it. Not after what he’d said that morning. But she couldn’t help wanting to chase after him. If for no other reason than to stare into his golden brown eyes and demand he stare back. Shove his broad shoulders until he complied. Another problem demanded her attention, but the movie star politician kept breezing into the picture and dominating, even though she clearly irritated him. What sense did that make?
Aaron’s voice found Grace through the door again and her eyes popped open. When had she closed them? “Can you open the door?” A thud against the hardwood made her face vibrate. “Your answer wasn’t very convincing.”
Slowly, she went up on her toes to watch him through the peephole again. “Did you bring Old Man with you?”
“Grace, are you being kept in there, or what?” He sounded angry now. “Why didn’t you tell me you were the senator’s daughter?”
With that, the picture started to clear. Truthfully, she hadn’t had to work as hard to keep her identity from Aaron. The times they’d been together, she’d thought there were more interesting things to talk about. “What would you have done differently, if you’d known?”
A beat passed. “I don’t want to think about it. I don’t like what I come up with when I consider that.”
Grace’s brow furrowed, her breath catching when he seemed to make eye contact with her through the peephole. Without a command from her brain, Grace’s hand reached over and unlocked both deadbolts, watching as Aaron’s back straightened, his surprise obvious. She stepped back and allowed the door open a few feet, marveling over the living room’s transformation, courtesy of having Aaron walk inside. It went from quiet and empty to rife with life, energy.
Aaron’s throat muscles shifted when he saw her, his progress halting just inside the door, that gaze she wanted to hold so badly dipping to her legs and heating. “You have a robe or something you can put on?”
A shiver passed through the lowest region of her belly, warmed and chilled simultaneously by the drop in his tone, but she managed a headshake.
“Of course you don’t,” Aaron said, whipping off his suit jacket and closing the distance between them in two brisk strides. He seemed so full of plans and purpose until he got close and appeared to realize he’d have to put his arms around her in order to get the jacket on. She couldn’t stop staring at his jaw, bunched so tight, as his arms surrounded her without touching—not so much as a brush of arms against shoulders—and dropped the jacket around Grace in a plop of warmth. Then he eased back a few steps, looking like the survivor of a tornado. “Better.”
“Is it?”
Lines formed between his brows. “What happened to your hair?”
Grace experienced a wave of appreciation, just having someone to talk to about her day—even someone who thought her off. Even someone who was kind of responsible for some of the bad parts. “The hair stylist cut out the ribbons and threw them in the trash. The rest just kind of washed away.”
The atmosphere around them went still. Like maybe it was holding its breath. “Are you going to put it back the way it was?”
“I don’t know.” Discomfort, maybe even grief over having the symbol of her freedom taken away, slid down the walls of her throat, making her speech sound unnatural. “It seems like a lot of work just now.”
A handful of seconds passed. “You’re supposed to be smiling and talking about bears and asking me existential questions.” He seemed confused by whatever thoughts were moving through his head. “I don’t like it when you don’t.”
“Oh.” He’d been very aware of her, hadn’t he? Of her words. Something compelled her to let Aaron know she’d noticed his qualities, too. Because she had. Way too much. “Why don’t you smile very often? You have lovely teeth.”
The corner of his mouth jumped, as if his body wanted to prove her wrong, but his brain shut the idea down. “I do smile. When it can make some sort of difference.”
She nodded, relieved that he’d answered at all after the teeth remark. “When you’re politicizing.”
“Yes.”
“Or charming a woman.”
Grooves formed between his eyebrows. “I haven’t smiled at you, have I?”
“No.” Her knees turned gooey. “But you’re not trying to charm me.”
“If I was, I’d be doing a pretty shitty job.” He gave her a hot, thoughtful once-over as he raked a hand through his hair. “Smiling is meant to invite people and often mislead them. Make them like you, trust you, want more of you. Those are goals I only have in my professional life.”
How could such an astute man not hear the ache in his own voice? “Why?”
“Because it’s only a matter of time before they see…” He shook his head. “The smile is a decoy. It’s not real. And then they’re sorry they ever looked beneath it.”
Watching him return to himself, realizing he’d shown a dent in his armor and was horrified by that fact, had Grace holding her breath, lest she release the whimper trying to get loose. With a muttered curse, Aaron marched off, leaving Grace staring after him. When she found him again in the kitchen, it took her a minute to figure out what he was doing. In his hands, he held a pair of scissors, which he’d apparently found in the still-open junk drawer. Concentration evident in his handsome face, he cut strips of his tie, laying them side by side down on the counter. Long, red streaks stark against the white marble like blood. Blood he was shedding in an attempt to fix something he couldn’t possibly understand, but maybe sensed was important to her?
Time as Grace knew it suspended itself as Aaron dismantled the entire expensive-looking tie, willing her pulse to quiet down so it wouldn’t distract him from restoring a little piece of herself that really wasn’t little at all, but huge and personal. She couldn’t really keep track of things like minutes over her floundering heartbeat.
When he was finished, he tossed the scissors down on the counter and stepped back, crossing his arms. He nodded at his handiwork, but wouldn’t look at Grace. “There. I can get Peggy to string them up…however you had them.”
“Would you do it?” Grace whispered, knowing she shouldn’t. It would have been glorious to feel her new friend’s fingers moving through her hair, sifting the strands, but Aaron’s fingers? Oh man. It was shameful how much she needed to experience it. To imagine them doing something else, such as unclasping her bra or slowly tugging her panties down to her knees. His index finger pushing all the way into her mouth.
His sharp gaze pinned her in place, the planes of his face catching shadows, owning them with his intensity. “I shouldn’t be here, Grace.” Despite his statement, he reached out, wrapping his grip around her bicep, and positioned her in front of his much larger frame, wedging her belly up against the counter. “I shouldn’t be here. I don’t fuck around with girls’ hairstyles. Or ribbons, for Christ’s sake. You hear me?”
With her palms flat on the counter, chest heaving, Grace was grateful Aaron couldn’t see her face, positive her mouth was wide open, her eyelids fluttering like a silent movie heroine. “I hear you,” she murmured. “Okay.”
The kitchen’s air stilled, turned expectant, and then, oh God, his fingers were dragging through the crown of her hair. Dividing the thickness. There was no skill to his maneuvers, and Grace gasped mentally at the beauty of it. Had this man ever been out of his depth for a single second in his life? Had she just dragged him into the deep end? How intoxicating…and how good it felt. So good. So good. Her scalp tugged as he secured the first slashed remains of his tie. “How many were there before?”
“Four,” she breathed. “Like the seasons.”
Another tug on the right side of her head, a tight knot being tied. “Speaking of seasons, Grace...” His voice sounded like spikes dragging over concrete. “How many summers have you seen?”
Where before she’d been losing herself to his touch, the right and wrongness of it, now she shot into hyperawareness, his question signaling a crack in the foundation they were standing on. “Twenty-three.”
His rough exhale bathed her neck. Relief?
“How many summers for you?”
Another knot was made, this one less gentle than the first two. “Twenty-six.”
The grim way he answered made Grace wonder if a three-year age gap was a big problem for him. Sure sounded like it. But that would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? That would suggest he was interested at all. And she kind of thought they’d established he wasn’t. He viewed the way she acted, the way she spoke as not normal. Then again, Aaron wouldn’t be the first man who’d been baffled by Grace, but pursued her anyway, right? One of those guys who shook their heads, clearly recording her comments to laugh about with their buddies later on, but still hoping to hook up.
None of them had ever asked for more bear talk, though. Or mutilated their clothing to avenge her ribbons. What if he wants me because of how I think and not in spite of it? That would be really, really…amazingly nice. She’d been turned on before, but in a purely down low, physical way. Nothing like the clammy-handed, thick-tongued tingling situation she was in the midst of now.
She became very conscious of her thighs. Her bottom, only inches from Aaron’s lap. His chest throwing heat onto her back. How would it feel be horizontal, to have that big chest flush with her spine, sliding up and back? If it felt half as good as the fingers in her hair, the answer was: extraordinary.
“I’m not a virgin,” she murmured, looking back at him over her shoulder. “I went to art school.”
Aaron froze in the act of tying the final ribbon into her hair. With a hasty pull, he finished the job, before taking Grace by the elbow and turning her around. Bringing their faces a breath apart. “Did I ask if you were a virgin?”
“No.” His mouth would be so easy to reach. Would he recoil or welcome her? “I volunteered the information.”
Her pulse nearly jumped through her skin as Aaron gathered the hem of her nightshirt, turning it slowly in his fist. “What else are you volunteering for?” Before she could deliver an unknown answer, Aaron’s head dropped forward, the hand in her shirt releasing the bunched material, lifting to cover her mouth. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
“Are you sure?” Grace asked, his hand muffling her question.
For too long, he only stared at her. “I can’t know these things about you. I can’t…” His lids fell. “I can’t walk out of here smelling like you.”
Grace’s lips parted against his palm, probably leaving condensation in the curved creases. Such a…primal thing for a man like him to say. A man without a hair out of place, without a wrinkle in his clothing or demeanor. Most of the time. Right now, in the abbreviated light of her kitchen, her hair freshly mussed from his touch, Aaron had gone back to being the man in the woods. The one who’d treated her words like they carried weight. And maybe, just maybe, kind of liked her.
When his hand fell away from her mouth, Grace realized she’d liked having it there. The kick in his breathing made her wonder exactly how much he’d enjoyed it, too. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I didn’t.” Was that an agonized note in his voice? She would never know because he cleared it away. “I didn’t. Your father is the man I needed to meet with this morning. He invited me to dinner and I…saw your photograph on the wall.”
“Oh.” He’d had dinner with her father. Likely her mother and sister, too. The image sparked discomfort somewhere in her subconscious, but she chalked it up to jealousy. Aaron had been her secret and now her family was in on it. They were experiencing him now, too. “Was it the picture in the hallway or dining room?”
“Dining room. Why?”
“My mother made us dress in all white for the dining room photo.” Pushing aside the unsettled feeling wrought by Aaron dining with her parents, then coming to her door unexpectedly, she lifted her arm to sniff his jacket sleeve. Expensive cologne greeted her—and a hint of dog food. “I spilled grape juice down the front of my dress on the ride to the photography studio, so I had to wear it backwards. Did you notice?”
Aaron huffed. “No, Grace, I was a little busy figuring out what would happen when you walked into the room.” His eyes cut to the side. “But you didn’t come and…”
She went up on tiptoe. “And?”
“And…” He pulled the jacket more securely around her with an abrupt, no-nonsense jerk. “I started wishing you would. I thought maybe you eating dinner alone somewhere was worse than—”
“My dad finding out we know each other?” she whispered, positive she’d just elevated a foot off the ground.
“Something like that.” He visibly withdrew into himself. “What are you going to do with the stolen money?”
Grace dropped back down to earth. “Is that why you’re really here? To find out where I hid it…for my father?”
An eyebrow rose. “You hid it?”
Dammit. “I didn’t say that.”
“Oh, yes. You did.”
Grace eased out of Aaron’s jacket and held it out for him to take, but he only frowned at the offering. She refused to let her hand drop, though. This man confused her. Confused her body. She’d never been attracted to someone like Aaron before. Someone her mind told her she shouldn’t like, while every other vital part of her went heart-shaped with him nearby. He gave her one inch, then dragged her back two. With a past like Grace’s, confusion was the enemy, especially when it came to judging a person’s character. So this was it. The decision she’d been agonizing over before he knocked on the door would be his to make.
And hope willing, his actions would finally give her a solid read on Aaron.
“Here.” Grace tossed the jacket at Aaron, who caught it. “I’ll take you to the money. You can bring it back to my father. Or you can help me finish my job. It’s your choice.”
Motors spun inside his head, practically visible behind his intelligent eyes. “What’s your game?”
“I don’t have one. I’m trying to figure out yours.”
“Who says I have one?”
Grace leaned back against the counter, propped on her elbows, realizing too late how her position elevated the hem of her nightshirt to the tops of her thighs. “Um…” Gaze falling to her revealed flesh, Aaron made a gruff noise, rolling his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “I can’t figure out why you’re here, when it could mean losing your chance to work for my father.”
Their eyes locked and held as Aaron stepped within an inch of her body, his rigid posture suggesting he didn’t have a choice. “If you can’t figure out why I’m here, hippie,” he breathed against her ear, “we’ve got something bigger to worry about than the games we’re playing.”
God, she hated puzzles, wished everyone would just speak their minds. Life would be so much easier. It only took a slight turn of her head to bring their cheeks together. Rough against smooth. “If you want me, could you just say it?”
Aaron’s laughter was devoid of humor, his hands brushing the hem of her shirt, whispering along the tops of her thighs. “I already knew I was a fucking bastard, but at least I was in control of it.” His swallow was audible. “I want to ask you questions, Grace. About yourself. You understand? But answering them the way I hope you will might give me permission.” A breeze met her belly, telling Grace he’d drawn up the garment. “But the things I’ve done would make it wrong of me to take that permission. And normally I wouldn’t care if I was bad for someone. That alone is reason enough to tell me to back off. So even though I want to…” He twisted the shirt tighter and tighter, his breath growing choppy. “Want to watch your eyes go wide, want to watch you catch my thrusts with your hands-off body…I’d buy myself a ticket to hell for it.”
Be careful what you wish for. She’d wanted him to be honest, hadn’t she? Now there was so much to process. Not an easy task when she was exposed below the waist, Aaron’s erection lying against her thigh. He’s heavy. “Ask me the questions. The ones that’ll give you permission.” To get closer. To touch me.
His exhale was deafening in her ear. “No.”
Grace squeezed her eyes shut and searched her mind, remembering his outburst in the morning while she hid in the closet and landing on the likeliest possibility. “I’m not crazy.” He stilled, that grip on her shirt intensifying. “You know that when you look at me, don’t you?”
Aaron’s frown collided with what she hoped was a level look, despite her thundering pulse and his mouth was still right there. Kiss me. Just do it. “I see a thousand things when I look at you,” he said. “I don’t know if I’m landing on the right one.”
Her bones turned to liquid, but thankfully the counter and Aaron’s body kept her standing upright. “It’s so much better when you say your thoughts out loud,” she whispered. “Keep doing that, okay?”
As if her mental compelling had finally worked, his mouth came closer. Closer. She could feel his breath on her tongue, didn’t care if her parted lips made her seem overeager. She’d thought their kiss that morning would be the first and last, so the possibility of another made her blood dance. Breathe. Don’t take the lead. Let him. That was how it was done, right? That’s what her past love interests had told her when she attempted to explore. But she never got the chance to try the right way, because Aaron stopped. He stopped with only a smidge left to travel, his golden brown eyes—so alive and maybe sort of baffled, in that moment—boarded up like an abandoned house as he pulled back.
“Enough, Grace.” He let go of her shirt, the material floating down around her legs. “Take me to the money.”
An axe fell in her midsection, cutting down the hoard of fluttering butterflies. It happened so swiftly and in tandem with his body being taken away, she reeled, catching herself on the counter. From the corner of her eye, she thought Aaron might have reached out, but she didn’t have the energy to confirm.
With doom riding on her shoulders, Grace went to go change.