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“I saw it!”
“No, you didn’t.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he was stomping away. Delighted with herself for finding out Mr. Stuffy had a wild side, Grace scurried into the house, determined to find him before he could put his shirt back on.
Kyle had a tattoo. The very thought made her giggle. She bounded down the stairs, hoping that the design was something hugely embarrassing. A butterfly. Fairy wings. A unicorn. Oh, the possibilities of her imagination were endless.
All the crap he’d given her about her tattoo and he had one. It was too great. She laughed again, unable to stop herself.
She managed to get to the bottom of the stairs just as he stepped into the house. The shirt was still draped over his shoulder.
“You have a tattoo,” she repeated, poking a finger at him. “I saw it.” She tried to reach for the T-shirt to pull it off his shoulder, but he was too fast and stepped away. “Come on. Let me see it. After all the crap you’ve given me about mine, I deserve to see what yours is.”
“The difference is I don’t flaunt mine.” He turned his back to her, tried to exit on that line, but she grabbed his shirt in the nick of time, starting a tug-of-war with him. He won, but had to turn in order to do so. When he faced her, his eyes were blazing angry, his scowl wedged so deep, grooves appeared around his mouth.
A smart woman would back off. He was livid. It was the principle of the thing as much as it was fascination in making Mr. Reserved and Stoic lose his cool. “Don’t be such a baby about it.” She tried to snatch the shirt again.
His hands clamped around her wrists. “Knock it off,” he growled through clenched teeth.
It probably said something wrong about her that his authoritative directive and his big hands around her wrists caused a slow, tingling sensation of awareness to flow over her skin.
“I just want to see it.” She blinked up at him as he stepped close enough to her that their knees were touching. She could smell the lemonade on him, feel the sticky sugar of it on his hands. If she leaned just a few centimeters forward, her breasts would brush his wet, sticky chest. The tingling of awareness went deeper now, became more of a longing.
“It was a stupid mistake I made a long time ago. Forget it.” His voice was low and strained, as if it was with great effort he spoke at all.
His eyes, that dark, intense blue, held her gaze. She was tempted, so damn tempted, to close the little distance between them. The weirdest thing though was, from the way his eyes held hers, the way his jaw clenched tight as if he was holding back, she had a feeling he was just as tempted.
It was hard to catch a full breath with her heart beating so damn fast, and when she spoke it came out breathless. “Are you thinking about making another stupid mistake?”
He didn’t speak or move for a full thirty seconds. She knew, because she was counting. It was the only thing that kept her from imagining what it might be like to let him touch her, press his mouth to hers.
His hands gentled on her wrists, and then he let them go. He exhaled loudly. “I don’t make stupid mistakes anymore,” he said flatly.
Grace swallowed, all too afraid regret was the feeling washing through her instead of relief. She took a deep breath, determined her parting comment would be flippant. He didn’t need to know she would have been more than willing to go at it on the floor with him.
“Too bad.” She flashed him a saucy smile and then flounced out of the kitchen. But when she made it to her room, she collapsed onto her bed and let the oh, crap chorus take over.
Except, even as the oh, craps rattled around in her mind, she found herself smiling. It might be kind of fun to poke at this weird attraction. It would be downright fascinating to see how Kyle responded.
When her phone buzzed, she didn’t even care that it was Mom.
* * *
KYLE KEPT HIS entire body tense as he walked through the house and up the front staircase. He had to focus on the anger, the fury, or he might be all too tempted to follow Grace up the back staircase.
And then...
Well, he didn’t want to think about “and then.” He wanted to think about what kind of idiot made two buckets of lemonade and doused some unsuspecting victim with it. He wanted to think about why his best friend’s sister was such a royal pain in the ass and why that was suddenly his problem.
He managed to think all of that. At least until he stepped into the shower and the warm spray began to soothe the tense muscles. The smell of lemonade dissipated, but the smell of Grace did not.
Damn it, he didn’t want to know what she smelled like. Something sweet and light and intoxicating. Kyle rested his hands on the cool tile of the shower wall, let his head hang. The anger washed away with the lemonade, leaving something that might have been pleasant if it weren’t so unnerving.
Calmed and relaxed by the warm water pounding into his back, the moment played over for him. When they’d stood there, so close his breath had fluttered the hair around her face, she’d looked at him as if...as if she felt some inkling of that same jolt. As if he wasn’t her brother’s stuffy, boring roommate.
He liked that look way too much. Kyle wrenched the water to cold for a few minutes, then stepped frigid and shivering into the bathroom. Grace was off-limits for a lot of reasons. She was his best friend’s sister. She was the antithesis of everything he looked for and respected in a woman. And no matter how often he forgot it when she was poking at him, there was a very serious reason she was here.
A reason he was all too familiar with. How many times had his father been released from jail, leaving Kyle with the sick fear he might show up and ruin this amazing life he’d worked his ass off for? How many times had Dad gotten close to doing just that?
Too many. When a man was constantly getting locked up for petty drug charges, releases were quick and inevitable. The only reassuring part was that dear old Dad always wound up back in jail. It was the one thing Kyle could depend on. It just sucked to be dragged into a knock-down, drag-out fight every damn time.
Kyle stepped out of the bathroom, realizing with a sigh that he’d tracked a mess through the house. So intent on distancing himself from Grace and her melted-chocolate eyes he’d completely forgotten he’d been covered in sugary liquid.
Well, good. It would give him something to concentrate on that wasn’t his father or Grace or the strange way life gave him an insight into what she might be feeling.
Kyle began to clean the drips, following a trail from his bathroom, down the hall and stairs. When he reached the kitchen, he stumbled a bit. Grace was already there, mopping up where he’d dripped by the door.
Kyle cleared his throat. “I was going to do that.”
She bobbled the mop. “Oh.” She turned around, blinked a few times. “Well, I did kind of make the mess.”
They stood in awkward silence on opposite sides of the kitchen. Kyle wished he could muster up some of the anger he’d felt earlier. Mainly he just felt tired and confused.
“I’ll help.”
He washed off the rag he’d been using. Crouched on his heels, he began to wipe the splotches of lemonade off the tile. Somehow, they managed to meet in the middle where there was a rather big puddle. Because that was where they’d stood way too close and talked about mistakes.
Which he wasn’t making anymore. Had to remember that.
Grace rested her head on clasped hands at the top of the mop, studying him. “Can’t you at least tell me what it is?”
She had a knack for taking a completely benign moment and making it either infuriating or the other thing. The other thing he didn’t want to think about. “No.”
“Is it that bad? I mean, I’d think if it was something really stupid you could have gotten it removed by now.”
“It’s not bad. It’s just none of your business.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t be so interested if you weren’t being so weird about it.”
“I’m not being—” Kyle stopped himself. She wasn’t going to let this go, and what did it matter? What did it really matter if Grace knew? Kyle studied the woman in front of him. She represented everything he didn’t want. Chaos. Letting her in on his own chaos drew her closer, and the closer she got, the harder she’d be to push away. The harder the chaos would be to control.
But she would be a thorn in his side either way, because she wasn’t going to give up on this until she knew. Grace didn’t give up on anything, even when she should.
She tapped an index finger against her elbow. Her nails were painted a bright, blinding orange.
“I imagine you got your tattoo to stand out?”
She frowned at his assessment. “If I wanted to stand out I’d get one on my neck or get a sleeve of them. I got mine because— Nope. No way, you’re not turning this around on me. You’re going to tell me one way or another.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re pushy and obnoxious?”
She grinned, her pretty face brightening with humor. “I live for those kind of compliments.”
Kyle let out a breath. “It’s a compass.”
Grace furrowed her brow. “A compass? Like north, east, west, south?”
“Yes.”
“Why a compass?”
He wasn’t going into this. Not with her. “I don’t know. I was sixteen with a fake ID. I didn’t put a lot of thought into it.” Liar.
“Of course you did.” She shook her head so the tips of her rainbow-colored hair bounced out from under the layer of brown. “If you didn’t care what it was, you would have gotten something stupid like barbed wire around your arm or Bugs Bunny on your calf. But you got a compass on your shoulder. It means something.”
Kyle leaned back against the countertop, gripped it with his hands. He should walk away. He sure as hell shouldn’t tell her why he’d gotten it. Why he kept it. It was none of her business and he was all too afraid it would be another notch in the already too-long “things we have in common” list.
“Let me see it,” she demanded, pushing the bucket of water and mop to the edge of the kitchen. She leaned the mop against the wall, ignoring the little puddle she’d made when water sloshed over the side.
When she started walking toward him, he held out a hand. “Stop right there.”
“Just let me see it.” She batted her eyes. “Pretty please.”
It took every ounce of effort not to smile at her. “Go to hell.”
She snorted. “I’m beginning to think you’re not as stuffy as you pretend.”
Any threat of a smile vanished. “Yes, I am.”
She cocked her head. “If you don’t show it to me, it’s going to be my mission to see it. Which means I might have to jump in on you when you’re in the shower.” She waggled her eyebrows and grinned as though she might even enjoy it.
Either he was going to have to show her or things were going to get strange, and at the moment showing her a small piece of himself seemed much better than delving into that strange.
Doing his best to scowl, Kyle pulled the collar of his shirt over his shoulder so the tattoo was visible. “There. Happy? Can you leave me alone now?”
She most certainly didn’t leave him alone. Instead, she touched the tattoo lightly, with just the tip of her index finger, but he felt the force of that touch everywhere. A punch of awareness that had no business being associated with someone like Grace.
“I like it.”
“Fantastic.” His voice lacked the biting edge of sarcasm he was going for.
She traced the outline of the intersecting lines and he was painfully aware the simplest, most innocent touch from Grace was giving him an erection. Since he was no longer sixteen, it pissed him off. “Do you mind?”
“So why the compass?” She finally withdrew her hand, and his heated skin managed to cool enough that he could think rationally.
“What do you care, Grace?”
Her eyes met his, soulful and honest. “I don’t know. I think there’s more to you than you let on. You were nice to me last night. I think...” She tilted her head. “I think there might actually be someone I’d like to get to know under all that surface stuff.”
He swallowed down the jolt of emotion. It was because she was curious, because it was a mystery, things Grace never let go. It had nothing to do with him. Surface or under the surface. People didn’t care about him enough to get to know him. That was how he preferred it. Life wasn’t messy that way.
“Just give me one reason why you chose a compass and I’ll stop annoying you.” She poked him in the stomach, a friendly jab. Certainly not a lover’s caress. His dick didn’t seem to know the difference.
If he told her, she’d go away, and right now he wanted that more than his next breath. “To remind me to follow true north.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You asked for one reason. That was it. Good night, Grace.” He turned and walked out of the kitchen, using every ounce of control not to break into a run. Grace was requiring a lot of self-control on his part.
CHAPTER FOUR
GRACE STOOD IN front of her easel, frowning. Somehow the idea of painting the river below on a sunny day had morphed into something dark and violent.
She’d had another nightmare last night. Was it a nightmare when you were replaying an actual moment in your life? When it was just reliving a night that was supposed to be a simple third date but had turned into the culminating moment of the next seven years?
Grace squeezed her eyes shut. Seven years. This wasn’t supposed to keep happening. At this rate, she’d have to go back to therapy, and she really didn’t want to do that. Therapy had been great for her. It had helped her leave the house again and trust people again. Well, mostly. It had worked.
If she went back, it would be admitting defeat. Barry would win. If she had to have someone help her out of this pit of fear again, seven years were wasted.
She didn’t want to remember, but the dream, the actual memory, crept back into her mind, infiltrated all those defenses she worked so hard at. Even the paintbrush in her hand and desperate pleas of her mind couldn’t shake it away.
You think you can break up with me?
She could still remember, dream or no dream, the exact sound of Barry’s voice when he’d said those words. Cold. Detached. Creepy because he’d been so absolutely incredulous. As if it were so unheard of. He was in disbelief.
And then he’d gotten angry. Quickly. His expression had gone from wide-eyed incredulity to squinty-eyed fury.
You don’t get to break up with me, Grace. I’m in charge here.
The first blow had hit her face before she could even brace for it. It had been so unexpected, so out of the realm of her expectations she couldn’t even flinch away. His fist had just plowed into her face.
Pain and shock and fear. So much damn fear. Maybe she’d held up her arms trying to protect herself. Maybe she’d tried to fight back. The rest was really a blur. His fists. Pain. Crying. Yes, she’d definitely started crying because she didn’t know what to do, or how to stop it.
Then blackness descended. She couldn’t see, she could barely breathe. Every inch of her body was on fire with a sharp, blinding pain. Something connected with her rib cage, sending another shock wave of agony through her body.
Nausea coated her stomach and she could feel the sickness rising, but she couldn’t move her head, couldn’t speak, couldn’t cry. Both in the memory and in the present, she was paralyzed with the fear and pain.
Suddenly the pain left, replaced by a shocking cold nothing. You’re dead, her mind said matter-of-factly, and for a moment she was glad. So glad the pain was over. What did it matter if she was dead?
But other people’s voices began to silence her own. Don’t leave us, Gracie. Mom’s voice. We love you, Gracie. Dad’s voice. Fight. Fight for it. We need you. Jacob’s voice.
The pain rushed back, so quickly she couldn’t breathe, but when she did manage a strangled breath the pain was soothed by their words of love. It was what had brought her back, those words. She knew that for sure. And there was a slight comfort in that, but it was a kind of comfort that had her sobbing in the here and now.
She could hear the fear in their voices, and she hated being part of the reason they’d been afraid. Hated that Barry had given them this kind of gut clenching pain that seven years hadn’t erased.
Those years between then and now had not dulled the intensity of the dream/memory, only its frequency. It made sense she’d have it again knowing Barry was free. Free to do whatever he liked. But she hated that they were all living with this again.
She wiped at the tears on her cheeks, looking at the painting, now dark and dreary. She wouldn’t let him have this, too. He had her dreams, her memories, her fear. But not this.
“Leak into my art all you want,” she muttered. “You will not win.” Grace carefully cleaned her brushes and put everything away. She’d break for lunch, call Mom for the daily check-in and come back ready to paint something different. Jacob’s interior decorator and administrative assistant were adopting a baby soon. She’d paint them something bright and cheerful as a gift.
