Loving Grace (14 page)

She’d needed to get out for a few hours after
working nonstop on Noel’s case. She finished most of her clients’
work, except a few last minute tax filings, and reading some
contracts, which the client wanted her to explain in plain English.
Nevertheless, the bulk of her brainpower went toward Noel. The man
paid more in electric bills and fast food delivery, for canvases
and oils than he spent on anything lavish. So far so good, as far
as she was concerned.

She sipped a diet soda and leaned back
against the tree, and watched a couple of roller-bladers when her
cell phone vibrated in the hip pack. She unsnapped it, flipping it
up and clicked the talk button while still eyeing the scenery.

“Grace Dean.”

“It’s Noel.”

For a moment the birds, breeze, and laughter
of children faded into the background. Her heart hammered against
her ribs. She’d been dreading this phone call.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Fort Ward Park. One of those civil wards
parks, cannons and...” Her voice trailed awkwardly.

“I’m calling from a phone booth. Crumm said
we should keep contact to a minimum.”

“Yes. You told him?”

“I said I would.”

She rubbed her thumb over the frost on the
soda bottle. “Yes, you did.” She took a sip and rested the bottom
of the cold bottle on her thigh. “I thought you were under house
arrest or something, confined to the loft.”

“Except for legitimate outings. I had an
appointment with Crumm.”

Grace could hear the contrast of their
different locations. In the background near him, there was the zoom
of cars and wail of sirens; around her nature, people, and
laughter. “You going to make me ask?”

“The decision is that we’re not making one.
Crumm wants to give you a chance to complete your findings, and
then he’ll decide based on which evidence holds the most
weight.”

“Wise man. Truly, you’re lucky there. I
respect his decisions, whatever they are. He’s going to do what is
best for you, to help your case. That’s how it should be.”

“Come by the loft, later. I want to ask you
some questions I didn’t while your brother was there.”

“You’re probably being watched, Noel.”

“Shit.”

She heard the frustration in that. “You don’t
want to be making calls from phone booths too often either.”

He was silent a moment, then, “You saw them
together?”

She sighed. Back to Elisa. “Yes. I saw them
kiss. Sorry, sounds lame but I...I couldn’t tell you, without
owning up to the whole thing.”

“So you just let me stay a fool.”

“If the situation were reversed, you wouldn’t
have told me either. I’m really sorry, Noel. I’m sorry she hurt
you.”

“It’s not that, Grace. It’s the deception,
there were things I told Seth after you left, things about my
relationship with Elisa, that made the fact that she was sleeping
with Bryce a hell of a lot harder to swallow.”

“Meaning you would have slept around if you’d
known she was?”

“I sure as hell wouldn’t have den—” He
stopped, cussed again and sighed so deeply Grace imaged he was
raking his hand through his hair, and wanting to vent to
someone.

“What do you need to ask? I still don’t know
why I did it. Maybe it was the same reason you paint certain women,
fixate on them, or whatever happens that moves you to capture their
image.”

“So you lied to me, took photos I didn’t know
you were taking, and when you got me into it, turned on, you—”

“That’s not fair. That wasn’t my intention. I
was there because you invited me. Sure, I was flattered you wanted
to paint me. You know what the real me looks like now. Let’s be
real, Noel. You are handsome and charismatic, and there’s something
about people with your kind of gift that draws people. I was caught
up in some kind of attraction, I admit that. But I didn’t set out
to make you do or feel anything.”

“I don’t know what anyone’s motives are
anymore, Grace.”

“I realize that,” she said softly,
honestly.

His laugh was hollow. “All that work and
those paintings I did. I’ll never know how much Elisa manipulated
or what lies she told to sell them.”

“Many of your buyers were legitimate.”

“And I’m supposed to judge the work we did,
the paintings I did of you differently?”

“I was there, Noel. It was real, no surreal,
beyond anything I’ve known before, for me. What I gave, I thought
you inspired and vise versa. I can’t answer for you, but I don’t
question your talent, nor your innocence. I went about things in a
less than honest way. I lost perspective, and in doing that, I took
advantage of you. But that’s no reason for you to question your
gift, your genius, or anything else.”

Again he humorlessly laughed. “I’ll see you,
Grace.”

She clicked off when he hung up, and sat for
lost hours feeling helpless about the personal side of his
situation. She’d spent more than one night cursing Elisa. She
cursed herself too, for not coming clean then, and for not even
telling him about how suspicious his partners acted, aside from the
love affair. Hindsight was always twenty-twenty.

Grace stayed at the park until late evening
and stopped on the way home to pick up a few things. After parking,
she walked down the cement steps, below street level, frowning that
the outside light was not on. She always made sure it was. Noel
emerged from his spot, leaning against the brick exterior by the
dark door.

She was now aware of her nosy neighbors. She
opened the door and said, “Go in. My neighbors can look down here
and see us.”

He preceded her. Grace stepped in, flicking
on the pale gold lights before locking the door, and leaning back
against it, her arms around the shopping bags.

“Let me take that.” He lifted the bags from
her arms, walking the six steps to the kitchenette before turning
and looking at her.

Grace noted he had on dark Levis, and a black
short-sleeved button-up shirt. She told him quietly, “You’re a
large man, easy to spot.”

Instead of answering, his brown eyes held
hers in a quiet way. “Your milk will spoil.”

Grace sighed and shook her head, pushing away
from the door and kicking her shoes off. She pulled off her socks
before padding over to put the groceries away. She kept out two
bottles of water and offered him one.

He took it, opened it and looked around at
her dark wood shelves, brick walls and sparse furnishings. Grace
was aware that other than her present work for him, which was laid
out by the laptop on a side table, everything was neat and
orderly.

He seemed to fill the small room. It was
impossible not to notice that. Grace took a seat on the settee. He
perched on the arm of the sturdy leather chair, close to it, and in
front of her.

“Did you drive here?”

“Yes.”

“How? I thought you only had the driver.”

“Crumm. He loaned me a car. He knows I’m not
a flight risk.”

She looked away from the water dampening his
full bottom lip.

“This place suits Grace the accountant. Not
Jane, or the Grace I painted.”

Grace wanted to close her eyes, to savor the
sound of his voice right here in her apartment. She said, “That
woman doesn’t exist. I created her out of thin air.” She waved to
the bottom shelf. “A co-worker gave me some magazines. Not the kind
I’d normally read.” What else could she say, all the truth was out
now, there was no worse than admitting what she already had.

He leaned over, pulled the top one off the
stack, and looked at the front, apparently reading the list of
articles. Noel put it back and studied her with pensive brown eyes.
“What do you want me to do?”

Grace stilled. “What do you mean?”

“About what you’ve told me. Do you want me to
choose this Grace, or that one? ”

“Choose?” Her heart was fluttering.

“For evidence, to use at the trial.” His gaze
flickered over her top and shorts, her wind-mussed braid, and then
her bare feet, before he lifted it again.

“I want you to use the one that can help
prove you’re innocent.”

He slid down into the chair, one long
muscular leg still over the arm as he relaxed against the other
side, resting the water bottle on his other knee. Noel looked
around the room, able to see the bedroom from that angle. “Your
brother was right. You’re a private person, low key,
conservative.”

“I don’t think I lied about that.”

His gaze returned to hers. “No. The painting
does though.” He eyed her mouth, back to her eyes again. “You
didn’t see them, did you?”

“No.”

He stared at her so long, so closely, that
Grace swallowed and wanted to look away. She couldn’t. He was
pensive, yes, searching, and a part of her relished that small
familiarity compared to the cynic of the other day. However, it
also proved something that had been on her mind for months, and
that was the attraction she’d felt then was no fleeting obsession
or fixation with an artist. She felt her body hum with it, and felt
all the signs of excitement, of awareness, and a slight
embarrassment that she might somehow accidentally be showing
it.

From the inky curls hugging his strong head,
to the relaxed pose of a masculine body, to the striking
handsomeness of his face, she felt it. Nothing escaped her notice,
not even the way his denims hugged his thighs, or the shirt collar
gaping in a way that showed the sinew of his dark throat. She
noticed it. His strong artistic hand on the water bottle and the
other casually on the chair back, and the fact he wore stylish
black leather shoes, that her apartment smelled like manly soap
now, and cool cologne.

Feeling her nipples tighten, and experiencing
a flush of heat under her skin, Grace husked, “Why are you really
here, Noel?”

He slid his leg off the chair arm and sat
forward a moment as he set the water on the side table. Being long
in body, he raised, stood, and was across the foot distance between
them in no time. Bracing his hands on the settee back, just above
her shoulders, he leaned down, and gazed at her.

Grace tilted her head back to meet his
stare.

She was too stunned to move when his head
lowered until their mouths touched. All sense of time and place
vanished. She was too aware of him to avoid or think when his soft
lips parted and that seeking tongue slid inside. Then, Grace was
filled with his flavor, with the texture and heat of his mouth. Her
own tongue answered. It was unhurried, heads moving in
counterpoint, breath pushing through nostrils, tongues sliding over
under, around.

Grace moaned in the back of her throat. His
tongue rolled through her mouth explicitly. She raised her free
hand, automatically placing it on his now soft-bearded jaw, feeling
the muscle and sinew under it, the movement of the kiss even as he
gave it.

In the quiet apartment, there was a sexy, wet
sound when Noel pulled up only an inch. Their breath mingled. Grace
lifted her lashes, staring at him with desire-laden eyes. Her thumb
brushed across the wetness of his mouth, an action that curled the
tension in her stomach and fueled a hunger that was close to the
surface.

Noel reached down and took the water out of
her lax hand. She didn’t move, nor did she speak. He lowered his
hands again and lifted her up, until she was in his arms. He
carried her to the amber-lit bedroom. There was no separation when
he lay her across the bed, her legs half-dangling on the edge and
came down with her, on her.

“Noel...” Grace arched, her restless hands
sliding over his back as he kissed her again and again. Short but
thorough kisses and teeth tugs at her bottom lip led to his mouth
dragging over her chin to her neck. He suckled a spot below her
ear. The brush of his beard aroused her. His hands skimmed down her
sides, cupping her hips, the back of her thighs, eventually sliding
under, molding her buttocks before he slid them under her
shirt.

Grace tore the buttons open on his shirt to
reach his warm skin, to rake her fingers over his nipples and skim
his back and sides. Her shirt and bra were pushed up. His full lips
captured her nipple, one and then the other, suckling, flicking his
tongue over them, scraping his teeth on the tips.

Somewhere in the feverish motions, he slid
her further in the bed and stopped to remove his shoes, yank off
the T-shirt and unlatch his jeans. Grace was nearly limp when he
removed her shirt and bra, and then skimmed off her shorts and
panties at the same time, leaving her nude.

“This is…we shouldn’t. We can’t.”

“We are,” he growled near her ear.

“Noel, the trial.”

Lying beside her, his hand wedged between her
legs, he murmured against her mouth, “Grace, the hunger.” He
breathed harsh against her lips. His fingers slid up to find her
wet, hot, and then he stroked the exact place between her curls
that made her groan.

His eyes were shimmering in the lamplight.
Grace skimmed her hand down his taut chest and abdomen and into the
open flap of his button-fly. His aroused flesh was burning hot and
hard. Just touching him added fuel to her own urgency.

“We’re going to regret this. We can’t take
the chance of anything...messing up your chances.”

He raised his head from her breast, leaving
the tip quivering and wet. He kissed her, raised his head again,
and fully buried one finger inside her wet constricting heat. His
beautiful voice was intimate, soft, and hungry, “We’re not stopping
now. You don’t want to. I don’t.” He rubbed his lips against her
brow and moved against her hold on his sex. “You want me, Grace.
You’re burning hot and so am I.”

Struggling between her body and mind she
nearly sobbed, “I do. But—“

He removed his hand, pushed off his jeans,
and swiftly rolled to settle himself between her thighs. His face
taut, eyes glowing, he poised at the entrance. His velvet heat
teased her with a promise of fullness where she so ached for
it.