Chapter ten

JAMESON WILCOX

The next morning, I wake up alone in my bed. I glance at the clock on the nightstand and realize it’s not even eight.

Where the hell is Grace?

After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I slip on a pair of boxers and go out into the hall.

Our clothes are still strewn about carelessly, reminding me of our hurried first encounter. We’d eventually made it to the bedroom for rounds two, three and four.

It’d been a long night. A long, satisfying night.

The smell of coffee wafts into my nostrils as I round the corner to my kitchen, but I still see no sign of Grace.

Worry sets in until I see something sway past the kitchen window.

Walking over to the sink, I see Grace is out on my back deck swaying in the swing that overlooks my property. She’s wearing my boxers and shirt from last night, sipping coffee from my favorite mug.

She looks serene and right at home.

My eyes take in the scene and an unfamiliar feeling settles in the pit of my stomach.

Guilt follows as I fall into a thoughtful mood. She’s here under false pretenses, blindly trusting me.

Shaking off the unwelcome feelings, I walk outside to greet her.

A beaming smile welcomes me when she looks in my direction.

I speak first.

“Good morning, Grace.”

“Good morning,” she says almost shyly, her voice raspy from the screaming she’d been doing all night.

I feel my boxers tent as flashbacks ambush me.

“What are you doing up so early?”

“I’m always up this early,” she pats the space beside her and I sit down obediently.

She offers her cup and I take a sip, groaning at the richness of the flavor.

The woman makes an excellent cup of coffee.

“I would have made breakfast, but you don’t have a lot to choose from in your fridge,” she explains.

My chuckle is low and bashful.

I hadn’t exactly anticipated having company so my food rations were low. After we’d devoured our take-out from the diner around two a.m., the only thing remaining was a sad gallon of milk and a few beers.

Her stomach rumbles and my guilt is automatic.

“I’ll go into town and grab us something,” I volunteer as I stand to my feet.

“I don’t mind going with you,” she says, staring up at me.

Her amber eyes are arresting in the morning light. She looks content and well rested despite the early hour.

But as tempting as her offer sounds, I know I have to decline.

I need some alone time to contact Mendoza and see if he’s been successful with the task I gave him a few days ago.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, I excuse myself.

I dress and retrieve my keys, leaving Grace to lounge on my back deck.

*****

Unbeknownst to Grace, I’ve been tailing her all week since discovering Brick was in town.

Each day, she travels the same route between home, work and the gym completely oblivious to the black SUV I was driving three cars behind her at all times.

My surveillance doesn’t end until I knew she was home for the night, confirming this information with carefully worded texts.

I don’t plan to let up until I know that bastard has skipped town and hasn’t sent any other hounds sniffing for her.

Last weekend, after my first date with Grace I’d called Brick and asked for an extension on my previous deadline. He had reluctantly agreed, happy that I was at least tracking her closely at all times.

I was relieved to have bought myself more time. My initial thought was to end our business relationship altogether but Mendoza had warned that it would raise too many red flags on Brick’s end.

As I call him now to check in, I’m thankful for his foresight.

“Wilcox,” he answers on the first ring.

“What you got for me, Mendoza?”

“I’m about twenty minutes away, can you meet up with me real quick? I don’t want to do this over the phone.”

We agree on a place and I disconnect the call, before backing down my driveway. On my way out, I stop to check my box and the only item inside is an envelope containing an invitation to the American Veterans Ball.

I have received the same invitation every year since my discharge and each year I don’t show my face.

This year won’t be any different. Balls and fancy outings just aren’t my thing. I’ll simply buy a ticket in support and stay home.

*****

An hour and a half later, I’m parking in my paved driveway.

The meeting with Mendoza took longer than I expected. I learned that Brick had left town last night, arriving back in Ravenwood early this morning according to one of Mendoza’s men.

But that doesn’t mean Grace is in the clear. There’s always the chance that he’ll return or send someone else to check up on her.

I’d left our meeting in a hurry to go retrieve breakfast from my favorite mom and pop spot up the road.

The appetizing smells coming from the bag remind me of how hungry I am.

As I enter my home, I hope Grace isn’t too suspicious about my long absence.

However, when I reach the living room, I know the odds are slim as she is knocked out on my couch. Her body is in a tight ball in the corner.

Placing the food on the coffee table, I study her quietly.

Her hair is damp when I ease my fingers through the thick strands, evidence that she took a shower in my absence.

Envy surges through me when I realize I missed it.

She’s still wearing a pair of my boxers and a clean T-shirt she found in my room.

I kneel beside the couch, running my hand over the smooth skin of her jaw.

“Grace,” I call, attempting to rouse her with my voice.

She’s awake instantly, amber eyes wide and searching the room frantically.

My heart stops as the utter fear registers on her once peaceful face.

At once, I’m seized by the desire to comfort her and ask her what she’s so afraid of.

My gut tells me it has everything to do with Brick but how can I ask those questions without revealing myself?

Grace sits up, wrapping her arms around herself in defense.

“Oh, hi,” she whispers. “I must have been a lot more tired than I thought.”

Her eyes land on the bag of food and she lights up, the dark mood lifted immediately.

Before us, I spread out breakfast sandwiches loaded with bacon, eggs and cheese. I also retrieve ample orders of hash browns from the bag.

From our previous outings, I know Grace isn’t a modest eater and it’s a complete turn on.

“What would you like to do for the rest of the day?”

Tilting her head, she observes me as she continues to eat her food.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, growing uneasy.

“You want me to stay?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Are you free for the rest of the weekend?” I ask, shoving food into my mouth greedily.

I want her to stay for a very, very long time. It feels right to have her here, no matter how devious my initial intent.

If she’s here, I can keep an eye on her. And fuck her around the clock.

Last night’s activities had only been a small taste of what I plan to do to her.

“The rest of the weekend?” she echoes in lieu of an answer.

“Yea, are you free? I want you here with me.”

A rapid blush settles over her cheeks.

“Okay,” she agrees with a small nod. “I’ll just have to get some clothes from my place. You ripped my only underwear and I don’t think I’ll survive in your boxers all weekend,” she adds cheekily.

I definitely wouldn’t mind her in my boxers all weekend.