CHAPTER FIVE
Grace
Grace pounded on the man’s door. An hour ago, she hadn’t believed she could be more furious.
Boy was I wrong.
The door swung open, and she filled her lungs with enough air to propel vicious words across his threshold. Only to have them blasted away by Dorian’s bare chest.
Chiseled was one word that came to her mind. Washboard was another. Dark ink wrapped around his bicep, contrasting his tanned skin. A name written in the middle of a rose in mid-blossom, wrapped in thorns ended just at the top of his shoulder.
Hot-as-fudge.
The plaid pajama pants didn’t have any right looking that good on a man. His hair glistened in the dim interior lighting, fresh from a shower. All he was missing was a damn hand towel around his waist, and he was the complete eighties-movie-cliché come-to-life.
“I honestly didn’t expect you to come up.” His low voice sanded away the rough edges of her temper. “I’m damn glad to be wrong.”
“I have a bone to pick with you.” The words were out of her mouth before she had a chance to stop them.
He looked down at his crotch, and then smiled up at her. “So do I.”
Grace groaned. “Do you have to be such a guy?”
“Well, I’ve never really tried to be anything else. Not sure how I’d look in heels.”
Someone hissed from down the hall.
Dorian grimaced. “If you’re going to yell at me, better do it inside. Some of my neighbors are a bit grouchy at one a.m.” He opened the door wider.
She tossed him a glare as she strode through. “Must put a damper on your business.”
“I don’t bring clients to my place.”
When she glanced around his living room, it was almost a disappointment that he didn’t bring business home.
She wasn’t sure what to expect of an escort’s personal décor style, but it certainly wasn’t this.
A dark leather reading chair sat poised in the corner, with a matching loveseat next to it, complemented with cream-colored pillows. Two walls contained built-in, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A few picture frames and knick-knacks littered the shelves, but most of it was full of books. A fluffy wheat-colored rug covered the wood floors, with a large leather ottoman sitting off to the side.
The flat-screen on the other end of the room was small, hung on the wall between colorful, abstract paintings. Like an afterthought.
Through the half-wall, the kitchen’s pearl granite and light wood cabinets matched her apartment below, though his counters were fuller than hers. She only had a single-serve coffeemaker in the kitchen.
No need for more than that.
When her gaze settled on the gourmet knife-set sitting next to the stove, she almost grew envious.
He likes to cook.
So did she.
I used to.
Dorian’s movements caught her attention. He’d managed to put on a plain white t-shirt, but it didn’t hide much. The outline of his sculpted abs was still visible. “What’s your poison?” he asked.
“I’m not here for a nightcap.”
“Coffee then?” He moved toward the kitchen.
“Do you have any idea what I’ve been dealing with for the last hour?”
Dorian pulled down two cobalt, glass mugs from a cabinet. “Given the hour, I would’ve assumed dreaming.”
“I’ve been on the phone with a donor, who gave a last minute, major donation to the charity, because he was so happy for me.”
He paused and gawked at her. “That’s awesome!”
“No! It’s not awesome. This is wrong.”
“I’m confused. You’re mad about a donation?” He held a mug in midair, and blinked.
“Obviously.”
“Sugar?”
A flare burst in her mind. Grace cocked her head at him. “What?”
“Sugar?” He held up a mug. “For your coffee.”
Oh. The flare snuffed out. “It’s one in the morning.”
Dorian laughed. “And you’re here. I’m not going to sleep anytime soon.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She shook her head. “Never mind. The point is that it’s wrong to accept a donation under false pretenses.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“Madelyn called a former associate, told him I was in a new relationship and paraded you around the fundraiser tonight. He was so thrilled to hear the news, he wire-transferred a huge donation an hour ago.”
Dorian walked around the counter, and stood in front of her with his arms crossed. “Wait a second. Some rich stiff donated to your charity because we’re in a relationship?”
“We are not in a relationship!” she growled.
He waved her protest off. “Whatever. What kind of guy donates money only because you have a boyfriend? Why is this such a news-worthy event?”
“It’s not,” Grace barked. “That’s the point. I don’t want this to be about me.”
He tilted his head, genuine concern covering his face. “Why are you so upset?”
She shook her head. “Why aren’t you?”
“Why would I be? I’d be thrilled to date you.” His eyes widened.
His phone danced across the counter, and he glanced at the caller ID. He scowled. When he answered, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Luis, I know. I apologize.”
Luis? The building manager?
She inwardly cringed.
“It won’t happen again. Sorry.” Dorian hung up and slid the phone across the counter. “Miss Kettleman across the hall wants us to know she had the option of calling the police for this disturbance, but we should be grateful she called the super instead.”
Grace forced a deep breath to calm her nerves, and dragged her hands down her face. She went to the bookcase, more to give her eyes a chance to rest on something other than a visual feast for the feminine wiles.
The sofa looked way too comfortable, but she refused to sit. The books on the shelves were mostly mystery and suspense authors, as well as a bunch of biographies. A few comic books caught her eye.
Comic books? Really?
Then her gaze stopped on a framed box containing three awards. A bronze star, and two medals, one gold the other bronze. The plaque at the bottom had been polished to a respected shine.
Sgt. First Class Dorian West. United States Marine Corps.
Bronze Star, Humanitarian Service Medal, Marine Commendation Medal
“You were in the military?” She’d intended to only think the question to herself, but the words came out of her mouth anyway.
“That surprises you?” Dorian slowly moved to her side, a safe distance away, but his muscular physique was just as distracting. That, and his fresh shampoo or soap permeated the air around her.
“I didn’t peg you for a Marine.”
“Something you would’ve known, had you agreed to that coffee date.” His gaze was playful, but he didn’t smile.
She traced the edge of box. “What were these for?”
He took a deep breath. “The Humanitarian Service Medal and Marine Commendation were for the efforts in West Africa assisting medical teams with an outbreak. The bronze star…” He stared at it, his expression tense. “Heroic achievement in combat.” Dorian sat on the loveseat. With a swipe of his dark hair, the intense look was gone.
The weight of those accolades pressed in on Grace’s chest. A folded flag in the signature triangle encased in a frame sat on another shelf, higher up and squeezed between two bronze eagle bookends. “I assume those events had something to do with that folded flag.”
He didn’t look at the memento. Just continued staring at her with a thoughtful expression.
One that chipped at the ice around her heart.
“I always knew you were a smart cookie.”
She wanted to roll her eyes at the comment, but the phrase was cute. She hadn’t heard cute in a long time.
His sleeves pulled up when he rested his arm on the back of the couch, revealing the ink on his arm.
It was all she could focus on. The rose petals, brilliantly shaded, overpowered the tiny thorns on the stems. Color didn’t detract from the name etched in the center. Evelyn.
Another shaving chipped off her heart. “Who’s Evelyn?”
Please don’t say a client on a drunken date.
Dorian glanced at his shoulder. “My mother.”
Something tugged at the corner of her mouth. A mama’s boy. Sweet. “So, what happened? With the medals?”
His smile disappeared, and he shook his head. “That’s a much longer…graphic conversation. One I’d rather not discuss.”
Fair enough.
“So, what happened?” he countered. “With the whole story of why it’s a big deal for you to be dating?”
Grace swallowed, instantly defensive, and a new layer of ice refroze in her chest. “That’s a much longer conversation…I’d rather not discuss.”
He smirked. “Touché.”
Burying away her heart and emotions had taken years to perfect. She wasn’t about to dig them up tonight.
“You need to have more fun.” His words caught her off guard. But he didn’t give her time to reply. “You work so much. What do you do to de-stress?”
Instinct made her spine stiffen, but that layer of ice thawed again. It’s a simple question. Why can’t I answer it? “You clearly read for enjoyment.” She gestured to the bookshelf. “But comic books?”
Dorian scowled. “Graphic novels. And you didn’t answer my question.”
She huffed. “Work is my stress relief.”
“Uh-uh.” He shook his head and crossed his arms. “Work doesn’t count. What’s your hobby? Quilting, yoga, fashion design?”
I don’t deserve to have a hobby. “Good night.” Grace headed for the door.
“Why’d you come here?”
She stopped, holding the door handle. “What do you mean?”
“You came up here at one in the morning to yell at me for a donation from someone else? That could’ve waited until morning, for our ritual at the elevators.” He stood from the couch, and approached.
“I was angry. Wanted it off my chest now.”
“What did you expect me to do about it?”
Grace blinked, opening her mouth to answer, but he was right. She was supposed to have a purpose in coming here. “In the future, if you run across me or anyone else I know, please don’t joke around that we’re in a relationship. To you, it’s playful banter and flirting. But for me, it’s distracting and potentially damaging to my career.”
All humor erased from his face. “Damaging. To be seen with someone like me?”
She cringed and pressed her lips together. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Dorian shrugged.
Which threw her off guard. She’d expected anger, or at least severe testiness after the unintended backhand to his ego.
“There’s nothing wrong with a little less luster in your halo.” He shoved his hands in his pajama pockets, the image of a casual, dark man as enticing.
Dorian was too tempting.
Heat rushed her face, and her mouth went dry. He thinks I have a halo. She opened the door.
“Having fun is not a crime,” he called after her. “It’s called being human.”
Her heart raced as she bypassed the elevators and escaped to the stairwell. No time to wait when a panther was on her heels, ready for the taking.
The only problem was, a little red-horned devil inside her wanted to see how much fun the panther could show her.