Chapter 18

“Ready?”

Agent Shankle was not what she expected. He was not the cookie-cutter, blue-suit-wearing, side-part-combing FBI agent that years of watching television and movies had prepared her for. He looked more like a bouncer for a seedy bar. Shankle was a big guy, with a barrel chest and acne-scarred skin. Although he didn’t have any official facial hair, his five-o’clock shadow would have made a pirate proud. There was a suit, but it was rumpled, as if he kept it wadded up in a drawer when he wasn’t forced to wear it. He looked like he’d be more at home wearing BDUs and a T-shirt as he constructed bombs in the basement of his bunker than he was wearing a wrinkled suit jacket in a police-station interview room. She would’ve assumed that Shankle was a criminal way before she’d have suspected innocuous-looking Agent Barrett was Truman.

Shankle cleared his throat, and Grace jumped a little. She realized that, while she’d been mentally redressing him—and giving him a few illegal hobbies—he’d been waiting for an answer. “Oh! Sorry. It’s been a long day. Yes, I’m ready.”

It was a lie. She wasn’t ready. She’d never been so un-ready in her life. Even when she’d called Corban Dabbs in eighth grade to ask him to a dance, her hands hadn’t shaken this hard.

Shankle clicked a few times on his laptop touch pad and then looked at her expectantly. She dialed the old-school landline phone that they’d hooked up to the laptop. If everything worked as it was supposed to, it would record her conversation with Noah and keep anyone on the other end from tracing it, while at the same time tracking Noah’s location.

Slowly, Grace dialed his number, a number she’d memorized right after he’d first given it to her. She’d had such a huge crush on him initially that she’d been illogically worried she was going to lose his number by dropping her phone in a puddle or something. Thinking back on him, though, he seemed like a pale shadow, just as inconsequential as the cartoon prince he resembled. Hugh filled her mind now with his teasing and stupid heroics and muscles, so there was no room for Noah anymore.

That’s probably a good thing, she thought semi-hysterically, listening to the phone ring on the other end. Family reunions would’ve been awkward. As she turned a nervous heave of laughter into a cough, the ringing stopped, and so did her breathing.

“Noah Jovanovic,” he said coolly. Instead of a rush of nostalgia, all she felt was fear. His voice brought back that terrible night in vivid detail—the blood, her terrified escape, Martin dragging her toward the front door. Her throat closed, and she couldn’t speak.

As Noah said his name again, this time impatiently, Shankle made impatient “talk!” gestures. With panic gripping her voice box, the words wouldn’t come. Why hadn’t she taken Hugh up on his offer to sit in on the interview? He gave her courage, and this wouldn’t have happened if he were there, holding her hand.

Shankle kicked her in the shin. It hurt. More than that, the kick was so juvenile, so Hugh-like, that it startled her out of her frozen fear, and she blurted out, “Noah?” Only then did she glare across the table at Shankle’s smug face.

“Kaylee?” Noah sounded startled. “Is that really you? Where are you? Are you okay?”

“Yes, it’s me.” Her voice shook a little. Now that her indignation had faded, reality had returned and so had the tremor in her voice. Maybe she should ask the FBI agent to give her a wet willy or something so she could be startled into regaining her composure again. Rather than helping, the thought just made inappropriate giggles start to build in her lungs.

“Are you okay?” he asked again. “Where have you been? We all thought you were d— that something bad had happened to you. The cops have been here a bunch of times, asking about you. Why didn’t you call? Forget that, why didn’t you tell me you were leaving that night? Did I say something wrong? Did something happen?”

“I’m okay.” Noah’s babble eased a few of Grace’s nerves. He was normally so self-confident, so composed, and his flood of anxious questions made her hopeful that he wasn’t a bad guy—or at least not as bad as his uncle. “Something did happen that night.”

“What was it?”

Grace took a deep breath and flicked an unsure glance at Shankle, who gave her an encouraging nod. “How much do you know about Martin’s business?”

“What?” Noah sounded completely confused. “Uncle Martin’s business? What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’ll explain. I just need to know if you’re part of…” Grace attempted to think of a noninflammatory way to say torture, but quickly gave up and rephrased the question. “Do you work for Martin?”

“No.” His answer was immediate. “You know that. I’m a mortgage broker.”

She did know that. He’d told her on their first date. What she didn’t know was if she believed him or not. “Do you know what Martin’s business involves?”

“Not really.” Noah sounded as if he was getting frustrated. “I know the basics, but his business is pretty diverse. He owns a couple of restaurants, some laundromats, a few apartment buildings. That’s all I can think of right now.” He made an impatient sound. “Why are we talking about Uncle Martin right now? Where have you been? I’ve been worried about you! And poor Penny…”

Grace stopped breathing. “What about Penny?”

“What?”

“You said ‘poor Penny.’ What did you mean? What’s happened to her?” As she spoke, her voice rose higher and higher until it broke on the last word.

“Nothing!” Noah said harshly, and then dragged in an audible breath. When he continued, he sounded more subdued. “Nothing happened to Penny, except that you disappeared and scared us both out of our minds. Penny’s fine. Worried, but fine. Where are you? Do you need me to come and get you?”

Despite the fact that his tone was filled with concern, his last question made Grace physically recoil. “No! I mean, no. I’m safe for now.” She gave Shankle a questioning look. He frowned and then held out his hand, turning it side to side. What does that mean? Grace wondered, staring at him. Widening her eyes, she made a what-do-I-do face, and he lifted one shoulder in a shrug. Nice. It looked like it was up to her whether she spilled the beans to Noah. The more she talked to him, the more she thought he was telling the truth. He was too concerned about her, and his worry—even his frustration—seemed honest.

“Kaylee? Are you still there?”

“Yes.” Her fingers tapped on the table as she tried to think, to decide. For the hundredth time, she wished Hugh was there for moral support. She shook off the thought. With or without Hugh, she needed to get this done. If Noah really wasn’t connected with Martin’s business, he could help the FBI, give them information that might help convict the senior Jovanovic. If Noah was playing her, though, he already knew what she’d witnessed. Martin would’ve told him that she let those men out of that terrible room. She wouldn’t be giving away anything that he didn’t know.

There was a pause before Noah spoke again. “Talk to me, Kaylee. I’ve been so worried about you. I haven’t slept since you disappeared.”

The concern in his voice confirmed her decision. “I got lost on the way to the bathroom,” she blurted.

“O-kay,” he said slowly.

“I just started opening doors, trying to find the right one. One led down some stairs, and I was just about to shut the door when I heard someone call for help. I went down there, and… It was awful, Noah. There were three guys, tied to chairs, and they’d been tortured.” Her voice caught. Somehow, it was worse telling the story to the nephew of the torturer than it had been to share it with Hugh or Agent Shankle. “One was unconscious, and there was another who’d been beaten so badly that he didn’t even look human. Then there was one whose eye…” She couldn’t finish the thought. “It was awful. I cut them free, and they went one direction, and I left out a back door.”

“Kaylee.” There was so much horror and disbelief in that one word that tears sprang to her eyes. Was this going to be when he told her he didn’t believe her? That she was crazy? After all, the only witnesses were the men who’d escaped, and she didn’t even know their names. She’d asked Shankle about them, but he’d said the FBI didn’t have any information about their identity. “You think that Uncle Martin was involved in something like that? He’s a good man, Kaylee. I can’t believe you’d think that.”

“He grabbed me. When I was trying to leave, he grabbed me and dragged me back toward the house.” She didn’t need to see Shankle’s frown to know that she was telling the story all wrong. It was hard to stay reasonable and orderly when Noah sounded as if his uncle would never do anything wrong.

“I’m sure he was just trying to talk to you.” Noah’s soothing, patronizing tone put Grace’s teeth on edge. Oddly enough, though, the shot of irritation helped calm her slightly. Taking a breath, she let it out slowly and silently, using the pause to get her thoughts in order.

“No, Noah.” Her voice wasn’t even shaking anymore. In the back of her mind, she was proud about that. “He wasn’t. He isn’t a good guy. Do you know that he’s being investigated by the FBI?” Belatedly, she checked in with Shankle, unsure if she should’ve shared that information with Noah. The agent rolled his eyes, and she made an apologetic face, but he just made a “keep going” gesture. Grace hoped that meant she hadn’t just ruined years of the FBI’s work.

Noah was sputtering on the other end of the line. “What are you talking about? Uncle Martin? What kind of investigation? Is it because of those guys you saw? Because I’m sure you were mistaken. I can’t even conceive of my uncle torturing people.”

It was Grace’s turn to roll her eyes as she wondered what she’d ever found so entrancing about Noah Jovanovic. If he was telling the truth, then he had to be the most unobservant, naive person ever to walk the earth. If he was lying, if he was perfectly aware of all the bad things that Martin Jovanovic had done, and Noah had just accepted them, helped hide them… Grace’s stomach turned. It was hard to believe that she’d dated a monster. She hoped that Noah just had a huge blind spot when it came to his family.

“Noah, I saw it. I saw them.” She tried to keep her tone even, but the tremor was back in her voice. The image of the men’s injuries, of the bloody, empty spot where the one’s eye had been, rose as vivid and clear as if she was back there, seeing them for the first time. Shankle reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze before retreating to his side of the table. That contact, as short as it was, returned her to the present. “There’s no way to innocently explain this away. Martin is not a good guy. He’s never been a good guy. That FBI investigation started a long time before the dinner party. I tried to report what I saw, but Martin sent Logan Jovanovic after me at the police station.”

“Logan?” Disbelief was still thick in Noah’s voice, but she took slight comfort in the fact that he hadn’t hung up on her yet. After all, if he truly didn’t believe her, didn’t think in his heart of hearts that his uncle could do those terrible things, then he would’ve ended the call by now. “My weird cousin Logan? Are you sure? He’s kind of…awkward socially. He might have been trying to ask you out, and you just misunderstood.”

“He wasn’t trying to ask me out, Noah.” Shankle’s silent presence was the only thing that kept her from thumping her forehead against the table in frustration. Grace had expected some disbelief, probably some yelling, but she hadn’t predicted this obtuse refusal to see the truth. How could he have grown up with Logan and not know that the guy wasn’t just “awkward,” but actually capable of killing on Martin’s orders?

“This is all so crazy,” Noah exclaimed after a long moment of silence on both ends of the call. “After you disappear for weeks, I get a call out of the blue, and you tell me that you ran because Uncle Martin—my uncle Martin, who’s like a dad to me—is torturing guys during a dinner party. Not only that, but he sent Logan to kill you. Sorry, but this is a little tough for me to wrap my brain around.”

“I know it’s hard.” She felt a tiny spark of sympathy. After all, she had a tough time believing everything that had happened, and she’d lived it. “It’s true, though. Why would I make this up?”

“I have no idea.”

Grace wasn’t sure how to take that. She grabbed a pen and notepad lying next to Shankle’s computer and scribbled “meet?” on the paper before turning it toward the agent. He studied her for a second before nodding in a sideways motion that Grace interpreted as “yes, as long as you’re okay with it.” She wasn’t okay with meeting Noah, a guy who was either criminally naive or just…criminal. Before she could decide, Noah spoke again.

“Why are we having this conversation over the phone?” he asked, sounding calmer. Grace wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “You never told me where you are. Give me your address, and I’ll pick you up. I want to be able to see with my own eyes that you’re okay.”

Her brain raced. This was it. She could turn him down and hope that Shankle’s program worked and that Noah wasn’t able to track her. If so, she could hide in Monroe for the rest of her life, spooking at shadows.

Even as the thought passed through her mind, she rejected it. How could she endanger her new friends, her new…Hugh, whatever he was to her, by keeping that target on her back? Martin Jovanovic had contacts everywhere. He’d find her eventually. Even if the meeting was a mistake, if Noah was lying through his teeth and couldn’t be convinced to help them find evidence of Martin’s crimes, at least she was doing something, trying something to fight her way out of the fake life she was living.

She took a deep breath and blew it out, meeting Shankle’s serious gaze.

“Okay,” she said, proud that her voice didn’t shake at all. “Let’s meet.”

* * *

“You’re doing what?”

Grace winced, more for Hugh’s concussed, newly released-from-the-hospital head’s sake than for her own ears. “I’m meeting Martin Jovanovic’s nephew in Denver tomorrow to try to convince him to help us find evidence against his uncle.”

Hugh glared at her, and she gave a tiny shrug in response. She knew it had been a rhetorical question, but her answer was the truth, and no amount of bellowing was going to change anything.

“I need to do this, Hugh.” Grace met his gaze evenly. “You know exactly what it’s like when someone’s gunning for you, putting other people in danger. I can’t just hide and do nothing.”

He paced his living room, and she watched him. It had only been a day since she’d been trapped beneath him, terrified that he was dead, and she couldn’t get enough of just looking at him. He’d caught her staring several times and teased her about checking him out. Instead of rising to the bait, she’d just smiled. Hearing him joke and laugh was a gift, and she was going to enjoy every second.

Listening to him bellow wasn’t quite as enjoyable, but he was alive, and that’s all that mattered. Hugh stomped across the floor and then pivoted around. When he saw her smile, he stopped and demanded, “What’s funny about you meeting up with some ex-boyfriend who just happens to be related to the guy who wants to kill you?”

“Nothing.” The reminder sobered her somewhat, although she couldn’t help but smirk a little. “You reminded me of Theo just now, with the pacing and the frowning.”

She walked over and grabbed his hand, pulling him down with her as she sat on the couch. “Sit. Your Theo pacing is making even me tired, and I’m not the one who just got out of the hospital.”

He allowed her to tug him down. When they landed, he immediately reached over and hauled her into his lap. Startled by the quick movement, and by how easily he manhandled her with only one fully functioning arm, she stiffened for a moment. Soon she relaxed, leaning against his chest. It was much more comfortable to sit that way on a couch than in a car. Her head fit nicely between his shoulder and neck, and his hand stroked her back, releasing tension she’d held on to fiercely for the past stressful weeks.

“It’s kind of weird being here after the deck…incident.” She stared across the open lower level at the sliding glass doors that had opened to the now-destroyed deck. The doors were still strung with police tape.

He tensed. “Yeah.” After a short pause, he asked carefully, “Are you okay being here? We could go to Otto’s instead. Or Jules’s. Or Theo’s clown car of a house.”

“No.” Her reply was immediate and honest. “I feel safe here. It’s just odd to see empty space where your deck used to be. Will you rebuild it?”

“Yeah. I’ll use concrete and rebar this time instead of wood. Make it harder on any bastard who wants to kill me.” She flinched, and Hugh’s arms tightened around her.

“You smell good,” she said, snuggling more tightly against him. “I think I’ll stay here forever. You’re like aromatherapy in a strong, warm, mouthy package.”

He did his usual post-explosion laughter that was quickly capped, and Grace frowned, reaching up to stroke the side of his head. “Still hurts?”

“I’m fine,” he said, and she rolled her eyes and pinched his belly, making him yelp.

“Liar.”

“Sadist.”

“Please,” she scoffed, although her hand was stroking instead of pinching now. She couldn’t help herself. He was just so…washboard-y. “You love my sadist tendencies. Weren’t you begging me to tie you up?”

He pulled back a little, tucking his chin so he could glare down at her. “I didn’t beg.”

“Sorry,” she mock apologized, using her nails instead of her fingertips to scratch lightly against his abs. Although he tried to keep his pretend offended expression in place, his eyes went to half-mast, making his pleasure obvious. If he were a cat, he’d be purring. “So you don’t want me to tie you up.”

He shifted beneath her and cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice remained husky. “I’m not saying that.”

Laughing low in her throat, she slipped a hand under his T-shirt. Although he’d just been at the hospital for twenty-four hours, it felt like longer. It was nice to have the freedom to pet him without being interrupted by a nurse or a doctor or a crabby lieutenant—or an even crabbier Theo. “Yeah? So what are you saying?”

“I don’t want you to go to that meeting tomorrow.”

With a groan, she turned her head so her forehead was resting against his collarbone and then rocked it from side to side. “Hugh. Hugh. Hugh. Hugh. I have to go. I’ll be careful, and a bunch of FBI agents will be watching out for me, and we’re going to be in a busy mall filled with people. Even if Noah is involved in Martin’s business, he’s very concerned with his reputation and things like, you know, staying out of prison. He won’t do anything to me with all those shoppers around, ready to be witnesses. If he isn’t willing to work with us to nail Martin to the wall, then we part ways, and I go back into hiding. We’re not going to lose anything by giving this plan a shot.”

Lifting her head, she saw his frown hadn’t eased. If anything, it was even deeper than before. What worried her more was his silence. Hugh was a talker, she’d learned. The only time he went quiet was when he was either in pain or very serious about something. She had a feeling that, right now, he was both.

Changing tactics, she leaned in to kiss his neck. When she pulled back to check his reaction, she saw he was still scowling. Grace took this as a personal challenge. Returning to a spot right under his jaw, she kissed him again, a light peck, and then licked the bristly skin. He shivered, and she couldn’t hold back a devilish grin as she met his gaze.

“Did you just lick me?” he asked. Although she could tell he was attempting to sound grossed out, laughter underlay his words.

“Yes.” Just for fun, and because he tasted good, she did it again. “It’s like when you’re with a group of people, and there’s only one cookie left, so you grab it and lick it in order to claim it.”

“You’re”—he paused, his breath catching as she ran her teeth lightly over his jawbone—“claiming me?”

“Yes.” Her answer surprised her, and she went still, thinking about it. It hadn’t been very long since she’d first met Hugh and dismissed him as an ass, but it had been an intense few weeks. When she thought he’d been hurt, even killed, by the explosion, she’d been terrified, even more so than she had been in Martin Jovanovic’s house. She wasn’t exactly sure what her feelings were, since they were roiling around inside her like a whole nest of agitated snakes, but Grace knew she’d never felt this strongly before about anyone. She had a strong suspicion—a very strong suspicion—that she was in love with this man. It was enough to make her consider trading her wonderful, hard-won life in California for the tiny, often-cold town of Monroe, just so she could stay close to Hugh. “If that’s okay?”

Hugh cleared his throat. “So you’re basically slapping an I-belong-to-Grace sticker on me.” His good hand stroked from her shoulder to her wrist and then back up again.

“Basically.”

“Okay. Sounds good.” He ducked his head so he could reach the side of her neck and give it a long lick. Giggling, she attempted to twist away, although she didn’t try too hard to avoid his tongue. “And now you belong to me, too.”

Hearing it out loud made her go still, her ticklish laughter dying in her throat. It sounded so nice. “I like that.”

“Yeah. I do, too.” They smiled at each other for a second before Hugh grew serious again. “I’m going with you tomorrow to the meeting.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He sounded surprised. “That was easy.”

With a snort, she responded, “Of course it was. I’m glad you’ll be there. I wish you were there when I called him. You make me brave.”

His face softened. “You’re already brave. I just remind you of that fact.”

That was just too much. She had to kiss him. Shifting to straddle him so her knees pressed into the couch cushions on either side of his legs, she cradled his face in her hands. His un-casted hand stroked up her side, from her hip up to her arm and back down again.

His mouth turned up in that devilish way that both exasperated and amused her. “This reminds me of a couple of days ago. Weren’t we in this very position?”

“Hmm…” She pretended to think, even as her thumbs slid over his cheeks. It was wonderful being able to touch him like that. If this was the reward for claiming him, she wished she’d licked him days ago. “I vaguely remember something similar to this, although I recall a cold, wet dog nose more vividly than anything. I nearly jumped out of my shorts.”

He started laughing, and Grace was immediately fascinated by how that made his face move under her fingers. “Good thing the owner of that cold, wet, interrupting nose is spending another night at Jules’s house.”

Grace smirked at him. “Because Dee looked at you with big, hopeful, pleading eyes, begged you for one more day with Lexi, and you totally caved.”

“What can I say?” He shrugged, not looking at all bothered about being a total softie. “When a lady begs, I give her what she wants.”

Her eyes immediately narrowed in challenge. “Oh really?”

His gaze grew wide in response, and he immediately defaulted to his adorable puppy look. “It would be rude of me not to.”

This time, Grace didn’t cave. “Oh, Hugh,” she said breathily in her best phone-sex-operator voice. His eyes got even rounder before lowering to half-mast. “Please, please, give me what I want. I’m begging you.” What started out as teasing turned into something completely different as his gaze, intent and hot, met hers. The barely banked fire inside her roared to full, flaming life, and her brain turned off. She couldn’t remember what she’d just been saying. All she knew was that she had to kiss Hugh…right now.

She didn’t know who moved first. It felt like there was an invisible signal, a silent starting-gun blast that sent them lunging toward each other. Their lips met with an almost painful force, but she barely noticed, too intent on getting as close as she could to Hugh. Her hands slid over his head and clutched the back of his neck, pulling him even tighter in to her. It wasn’t enough. She needed to touch him, to feel his muscles moving under his heated skin.

Her hands dove under his T-shirt, finding that bare flesh she craved as they kissed hungrily. She forgot to breathe until dark crowded the edges of her vision, and then, struck by what she was doing, Grace pulled back, ripping her mouth away from his. They stared at each other, panting.

“What’s wrong?” Hugh asked, his voice little more than a growl. His pupils were dilated, and his mouth was already swollen. She stared at it, mesmerized by his full lips, desperately wanting to kiss him again.

“Your head,” she said, tearing her gaze off his mouth with a huge effort of will. “And your arm. You’re hurt. I shouldn’t be taking advantage.”

He laughed—a short, sharp sound—as he slid his unbroken arm behind her back to pull her impossibly closer. “I’m not feeling any pain when I’m kissing you,” he said. He seemed as fascinated by her mouth as she was by his, if his staring was any indication. “So, please, take advantage of me.” Tipping his head down, he paused with his mouth less than an inch away from hers. “I’m begging you.”

Grace stopped breathing again for a second before she grabbed his head and closed that tiny gap between them. Her lips, already tender from their previous kiss, throbbed at the pressure, but she didn’t mind. Everything—that tiny ache, the heat rushing through her like lava, the feel of his chest in front of her and his iron-hard arm behind her—came together in a rushing flood of need. If she could’ve managed to say a word, she really would have begged Hugh to keep kissing her, to touch her, to undress her and complete her and never leave her alone again.

The magnitude of her feelings overwhelmed her, and she fell deeper into his kiss. Now wasn’t the time to think, she told herself, yanking up his shirt. Now was a time for kissing and touching and stripping down to bare skin.

Hugh pulled back just far enough for her to work his shirt up over his chest, breaking the kiss to yank the fabric over his head and pull one arm free. The other sleeve caught on his cast, and Hugh let it go, leaving the fabric to drape over his casted arm. Grace was fine with that. In fact, with the wide, gorgeous, wonderfully naked male chest in front of her, she was fine with pretty much anything, as long as she got to keep Hugh.

She touched him, stroking across his pecs and strumming her fingers over his abs. It was like touching a work of art come to life, an almost-too-perfect sculpture made from warm, moving marble. The best part was the way he sucked in a breath when she brushed his side beneath his ribs, or when he groaned with pleasure as she lightly scored his nipple with her thumbnail. It was even better when she used her mouth to map his favorite places.

As she explored, discovering all of his secrets with her fingers and lips, he leaned back, watching her with hooded eyes. His hand wrapped around her side at her waist, his grip tightening whenever she found a sweet spot. The bottom hem of her shirt had worked its way up to her ribs, bunching right under her bra. Even his casted arm was in play, his fingertips tracing an invisible pattern on her lower back.

Her clothes felt hot and restrictive, and she abruptly slid off his lap to stand in front of him. His eyebrows bunched in concern in the moment before she yanked her shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor. Then his worried look dropped away, replaced by one filled with raw desire.

As she fumbled to unbutton her jeans, her hands shook. It wasn’t fear that caused the tremor this time, though—it was excitement. Reaching for her, Hugh gently brushed aside her unsteady hands and finished unfastening her pants. He looked at her, as if to check whether she wanted him to continue. Instead of answering out loud, she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans, stripped them down her legs, and stepped out of them, taking off her socks at the same time.

She straightened, standing in just her panties and bra, wishing that she had one of her cute, matching sets from home instead of her desperate purchase at Grady’s General Store. Then she saw Hugh’s expression, and all of her insecurities dropped away. His gaze moved ever so slowly up her legs and over her body before meeting hers. She’d never seen anyone look as hungry as he did right then, and her entire body flushed as she realized that it was all for her. It was obvious that he wanted her…badly.

The fascinated, heated look in his eyes gave her the courage to reach for the back fastener of her bra, but he placed a hand on her hip, stopping her.

“Wait right here,” he ordered, standing up so quickly that she took a step back to catch her balance. “Don’t move. Don’t go anywhere. Don’t put on any clothes. Please. I’ll be right back.” He hurried up the stairs with an odd gait, a sort of run-and-hop favoring his injured leg.

Grace watched him go, completely confused. Why was he running off in the middle of everything? He’d told her not to get dressed again, which sounded like it meant they were going to start up where they’d left off as soon as Hugh finished his mysterious errand, but it was weird standing there in just her underwear—weird, and a little cold.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she debated whether to ignore his request and get dressed or not. Without his hands and hungry gaze keeping her warm, her skin prickled with goose bumps. She rubbed her arms briskly. This is dumb, she thought. Why am I just standing here?

Bending down, she reached for her shirt.

“No!” he cried from the bottom of the stairs with such intensity that she straightened abruptly, yanking her hand away from the shirt as if it were radioactive.

“What?” she asked, holding up her hands, palms out, as if to prove she wasn’t touching any article of clothing.

Without slowing, he jog-hopped the rest of the way to her, returning to his spot on the couch. He hooked her with an arm as he passed, pulling her onto his lap after he sat. Startled, she tumbled down on top of him. It took a few seconds to orient herself, and then she moved into her earlier position straddling his waist. It felt different in fewer clothes, more…naked. Shoving her hair out of her face, she smoothed it over her shoulder. She must have missed some strands, because Hugh imitated her action—only his hand lingered, his fingers rubbing in the best way against her scalp.

“Where’d you go?” she asked, more curious than offended.

In response, he pulled a wrapped condom out of his pocket. Giving her a sideways glance, he promptly started babbling. “Not that we have to actually do anything, or go any further, unless you want to, of course. I just thought, well, you were almost naked, so it seemed like a good idea to be prepared.” He paused, sending her another quick glance. “Just in case.”

That last look did it. She broke into uncontrollable giggles.

“What?” he asked, appearing baffled and offended and more than a little adorable. “I didn’t think it was that unlikely. I mean, is the idea of having sex with me that funny?”

“No, no,” she choked out, trying to get her laughter under control. After a couple of deep, hiccupping breaths, she finally managed to talk. “That’s not it. I mean, it was kind of cute how you got all flustered, but I was mostly laughing because you went into the bedroom to get a condom.”

He paused, as if waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t, he threw up his hands in an exasperated gesture that made her want to start laughing again. “So? What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” she said, pressing back fresh giggles. “It’s just that you left me here, mostly naked, in the living room, while you went to the bedroom to get a condom. And then you came back here.” He still looked confused. “To the living room. Most people would have just, you know, both gone to the bedroom at that point.”

“Oh.” His expression lightened as he appeared to consider that, and then he shrugged and pulled her close with his operable arm. “True. Since we’re here now, though, we might as well make the most of it.”

That made her laugh again. Who would’ve thought that she’d be laughing just weeks after fleeing from a vindictive mob boss? She ran her hands over his biceps and onto his shoulders, shocked by her happiness. Despite the residual shock and horror, and her worry about the meeting with Noah tomorrow, she really was surprisingly content, all thanks to the man she was currently straddling. Grace smiled at him. “True.”

“So…” His eyebrows wagged teasingly. “Wanna make out?”

“With you?” she purred, using her phone-sex-operator voice again. “Anytime.” She started leaning toward him, but then she looked over her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just making sure a dog isn’t going to stick her cold nose in my ear this time.”

Despite the bullet hole in his leg, the broken arm, the concussion, and God knew how many bruises, Hugh tilted back his head and laughed out loud. Unable to resist that happy sound, Grace grabbed the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss.