Give Me Grace (17 page)

Yeah,
said the voice
. Keep telling yourself that.

I will, thanks very much.

Whatever,
the voice muttered.

“You there?”

“Yes,” I replied, realising I’d gone silent while I had a conversation with myself.

“Have you even had sex with him?”

“No. It’s been a whole week since the surfing incident and I haven’t even seen him. We’ve talked on the phone every night though. For hours,” I added.

If I had a female best f
riend, she’d be squealing right now and subjecting me to a detailed inquisition on what Casey and I talked about. I knew because I’d seen it happen in movies.

“That’s nice,” John
replied.

I sighed and rolled ov
er. Mitsy snarled at the move and retreated to my pillow, curling himself into a little white ball of fluff on top of it. “So back to my original question, what the hell am I doing?”

“We’re back to this again? If you don’t know that by now, then I agree, this proposal
is
stupid and so are you.”

“Nice, John
,” I muttered. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

“I’m a guy.
We base pep talks on reality and logic.”

“And what do women base pep talks on?” I dared to ask.

“Fantasy.” John paused and I heard the flick of a lighter. “It’s all about what you want to see, not what’s right in front of you.”

“This conversation is
getting ridiculous,” I told him.

“Agreed.”

We finished up the phone call with shop talk, and then I hung up no better off than what I was before.

I stretched with a loud squeal and rolled back over, careful not to jostle
a dozing Mitsy. It was Friday afternoon and with no live show for Jamieson happening until Sunday, I promptly fell asleep, the phone still clutched in my hand.

Minutes later I woke to something tickling my face. I swatted it away, murmuring irritably. When the tickling began the second ti
me around, I was more alert. My eyes flew open. Henry hovered above me, a black permanent marker sitting ominously in his right hand. My eyes flared wide. “You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t, Henry.”

He grinned and I wanted to smack it off his face. Repeatedly.
Really, really hard. Preferably until he was unconscious. “Black’s your colour, Gracie Bean.”

I shoved him away as I leaped from the bed. Racing for the mirror on the back of the wardrobe door, I grabbed the handle and flung it open.

“Oh my God,” I declared as I stared at my reflection in horror. A moustache and three quarters of a goatee had been drawn on my face. Henry obviously hadn’t had time to finish before I woke up. It made me look like a serial killer.

“You ass!” I hissed and pegged the only thing at him I had handy—the new phone Casey
gave me when we left the hospital on Saturday. It was supposed to bean Henry in the head, but he ducked and it sailed past, smacking into the wall behind him. The screen cracked on impact before falling harmlessly to the floor. “Oh great. Thanks, Henry,” I said, my voice biting with sarcasm. “Now you broke my new bloody phone.”

“
I broke it?” he said, incredulous. “
You
threw it!”

“
Arrrghhh!” I screamed wildly. Recognising my best battle cry, Henry spun around and ran for the door. I leaped on his back. I hoped my momentum would take him down, but he stayed steady on his feet. Grabbing fistfuls of hair, I yanked hard.

“
Owww!” he howled and tried to loosen my grip with his hands. “Get … off …” he panted. When that didn’t work, he took two steps back, slamming me into wall.

“
Ooomphf.” My head bounced off with a crack and we both slid to the floor.

Henry started crawling away
, but I wasn’t done so I grabbed at the back of his shirt. It ripped when he kept moving, the fabric tearing away from the ribbed neckline.

“My shirt
!” he gasped and did some weird kind of tuck and roll.

I leaped on him again like a Terminator programmed to destroy or die trying. This time I grabbed the front of his shirt in my left hand. “You know what drawing on someone’s face get’s you, Henry?” I cocked
back my right fist and glared. “Punched. Repeatedly.”

The sound of someone clearing
their throat was heard above the harsh sound of our breathing. We both froze and looked towards the door.

Casey stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe. He looked good enough to eat in a pair of expensive navy pants and a grey pinstripe shirt. The top two buttons were undone and the shirtsleeves rolled up, revealing tanned, muscular forearms. Dragging my gaze upwards, I saw eyes full of laughter.

“Casey,” I breathed. Pushing away from Henry, I brushed the hair off my face in a casual gesture. “You uh, been there long?”

“Awhile,” he told us, his eyes raking over me in a way that set a flush
to my skin, “Everyone’s downstairs and dinner’s ready.”

“Dinner?” I repeated stupidly. I tugged my tank top down where it had ridden up near my armpit, revealing the hot pink lace of my bra beneath.

“Yeah, everyone’s here for Friday dinner. Didn’t Mac tell you we were all coming?” he asked for Henry’s benefit, because of course I knew. I’d only messaged Casey about it that morning but I didn’t want to give us away. “Henry was sent upstairs to wake you.”

I narrowed my eyes at Henry and his definition of ‘waking’ someone, silently informing him that this wasn’t over. Aloud, I said, “Dinner’s not until seven.”

“It
is
seven,” Henry told me. “You’ve been asleep for four hours.”

“Oh.” I blinked. “I guess I was tired
.”

All those late nights staying up talking with Casey.
His lips pressed together in a smirk and I knew he was thinking the same thing.

I returned to the mirror before the two of us gave anything away to Henry, hoping my face
didn’t look as bad as it did when I first saw it.

It looked worse.

Between that and the stitches in my scalp, my head could officially be declared a warzone. It was lucky I was on a moratorium from modelling or I’d get fired.

“Rubbing alcohol,” Mac declared, taking in my appearance at a glance as she walked
the room. “That’ll get it off.”

“Really?” Casey raised his brows as the three of them stared at the half-assed goatee on my chin. “Let’s fill in the rest first. See how it looks.”

Henry weighed in. “Maybe we should we put it to a vote?”

Feeling the flush of embarrassment climb my cheeks, I replied, “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you all disappear so I can get changed and get this crap off my face.”

Walking inside the wardrobe, I slammed the door shut behind me for good measure and flicked on the light. I didn’t have any rubbing alcohol—I wasn’t even sure what that was—but I had nail polish remover. Surely that was the same thing.

Rifling through my beauty case, I took out the little pink bottle and a cotton ball. Stepping up to the mirror, I wiped at the black scribble
. The acetate in the remover left behind a slight burning sensation on my skin and made my eyes water, but I was relieved to see it coming away with some heavy duty pressure.

The wardrobe door opened suddenly and I stumbled back in surprise, the cotton ball hovering somewhere near my chin. “Casey.”

I set the polish and cotton ball down when he shoved his way inside the little space, pushing me in farther with his bulk. He shut the door behind him and my pulse ramped up a notch.

“I told them I had to use the bathroom.”
His hands clamped hold of my hips and he yanked me against his body. “I thought about you all day.”

I licked my lips. “All day?”

His eyes fell to my mouth and they burned. “All fucking day.”

“Me too,” I admitted.

There was a pause where I thought he was about to kiss me and didn’t. “Grace,” he began, his tone suddenly serious. “If we’re going through with whatever this is we’re doing, then I’m telling Henry that you and I are seeing each other.”

“
What?” Henry would have a stroke. “It’s none of his business.”

“It
is
his business,” Casey argued. “You’re his little sister.”

“I’m also someone who’s quite capable of making
my own decisions. Henry’s not. He thinks my life is going to turn into some Liam Neeson movie.” That was no joke. Casey told me that his business partner and friend, Jared, had been involved in a case that got his sister, Mac, kidnapped and Evie shot. Then Travis got called in by the Federal Police to work a case that involved Jamieson’s assistant manager, Quinn. She had a stepfather involved with the Sydney Zampetti crime ring, owing them money. They came after her and not for the money her stepfather owed like they all thought, but because Quinn’s father was working undercover inside the crime ring. The Zampettis found out and she almost died. “I can take care of myself,” I added stubbornly.

Casey didn’t look reassured at my words. In fact, he
drew back, creating a small amount of distance between us. I felt the loss like a physical ache. “You’re asking me to lie to your brother, Slim. I don’t like it. He’s a good guy and a friend. I respect him.”

“
I’m not asking you to lie. I’m just saying we should keep this on the down low. Look, if you don’t want to do this…” I folded my arms and tipped my chin in the direction of the wardrobe door, my internal voice screaming at me not to say the next words “…then just leave.”

Casey’s eyes locked on mine
with enough intensity that I couldn’t look away if I tried. “Is that what you want? For me to leave?”

Absolutely
not. Hell to the no.

“B
ecause I’m not leaving, Grace.”

Oh thank God.

His hands clamped on my hips once again. They slid around to my ass, his fingers digging in as he pulled me against him. I flailed, forced to unfold my arms and grab on or lose my balance. “You’re mine for however long we have left.” He ducked his head and swiped his tongue along my lips. “We’ll work it out, okay?”

Then his mouth was on mine, soft at first, until I part
ed my lips and let his tongue sweep inside. His mouth was hot and wet, his kiss hard and controlling. I whimpered at the force, at being shoved back against wall. My arms wound around his neck, my fingers sliding into his hair as he grabbed at my leg, lifting it up and wrapping it around his hip.

My breath hitched
when his palm scraped along my outer thigh, sliding down until he was rubbing between my legs. I broke the kiss, throwing my head back and hitting the wall as I gasped in a lungful of air.

Casey groaned, his
mouth and tongue biting and licking at my exposed neck. He ran his finger along the seam of my panties, and my clit pulsed desperately, urging him to touch me. Instead, he drew back and I wanted to cry.

“Grace,” he panted and licked his lips
as I regained both my feet. “You taste like … like … ethanol.”

I laughed, reaching up to touch my chin where the permanent marker had been.
“I guess I better have a quick shower.”

Ten minutes late
r, clean and dressed in a short, stretchy black dress that showed off a mile of leg, I made my way down the stairs and onto the back deck. Everyone was already seated and eating. Indoor chairs had been dragged outside to cater for the numbers. I wedged myself into the only available space between Mac and Cooper and sat down.

“Here.” Evie leaned over the table, thrusting a glass of wine at me from two places down.

“Thanks,” I replied, a little breathless when I spotted Casey across the table from me, his eyes on my lips. I downed half the glass in record time, feeling the warmth of alcohol flood my system instantly.

Henry placed a plate of food
in front of me before returning to his seat beside Casey. It was piled high with roasted chicken and hot chips. A drizzle of gravy was added as the final flourish. My stomach almost wept at the vision. I looked over at Henry with a furrowed brow as I set my glass down. “Where’s the salad?”