Knock Me for a Loop (12 page)

It was the first time either of them had mentioned the big W-word since before their breakup, and she found herself tensing, waiting for his reaction. Would he be hurt? Sad? Angry? Upset?

She was a little of everything, she realized, uncomfortable even talking about it. It brought up too many memories, both pleasant and painful, and reopened a wound she would prefer to keep tightly closed.

But instead of responding in any way she might have anticipated, Zack simply said, “He just wants the chance to be one of your bridesmaids so he can prance around in a frilly pink dress.”

For a minute, Grace sat perfectly still, struck dumb by his statement. Then her imagination took over, creating a picture of her manager wearing a Pepto-Bismol-colored gown with a thousand obnoxious ruffles and matching hat, strutting down the aisle dropping rose petals. And later, at the reception, cutting a rug at the very center of the dance floor.

It was too much, too goofy, too over-the-top. And too darn funny.

She started laughing and laughing and laughing until tears rolled down her face and she was holding her stomach, gasping for breath. Zack was laughing with her, enjoying the heck out of his little joke.

“I really shouldn’t laugh,” Grace said after a few moments, wiping the corner of her eye. “That’s not nice at all.”

“Oh, come on, you know I have nothing against Quentin. He’s an okay kinda guy. But I have to rag on him once in a while at least—it’s part of the Man Handbook. Besides, pink really isn’t his color anyway.”

They both chuckled again, but seemed to keep themselves more in check this time around. Still, sitting here, laughing with Zack, was the most fun she could remember having in ages. It was relaxing, and comfortable, and for once not underscored by the tension of anger and betrayal.

Before she could second-guess herself, she reached out, covering his hand with her own, and gave it a small squeeze. His skin was warm beneath hers, his fingers large and rough and familiar.

“Thank you, Zack,” she said softly, meaning it with every fiber of her being. “Thank you for this.”

He stared at their hands, then swallowed, causing his Adam’s apple to move up and down the center of his throat. Keeping his eyes down, he nodded.

“So when do we get started?” he asked a moment later, his voice rougher than she suspected he would have liked.

Slowly, reluctantly, she pulled her hand away from his and sat back in her chair. “I don’t know. Quentin is working out the details, but since they wanted us for this last year, I assume they’ll want to get started on the campaign as soon as the contracts are signed. Is that all right with you?”

Leaning back in his own chair, adopting a negligent posture, he checked his watch. “Sure,” he drawled. “In the meantime, though, we should probably get ready for my physical therapy session.”

She glanced at the clock on the far wall and realized he was right. With a nod, she stood and pushed in her chair, then grabbed his crutches and handed them to him.

“I’d better take Muffin out for a quick walk before we leave. Meet you back here in ten?”

“Sounds good,” he agreed.

Good, yes, great. So why wasn’t she moving? Why did her feet feel glued in place?

She licked her lips as her mouth suddenly went dry. Yet her palms were sweating.

Maybe she was coming down with something. A cold or the flu.

Or raging hormones
, a tiny voice at the back of her head offered. An evil voice. One dressed in a fuck-me red vinyl catsuit and platform stiletto thigh-high boots. With horns growing out of the sides of her head, a tail twitching at her rear, and a sharp, three-pronged pitchfork in her fist.

It was Devil Grace. She had Angel Grace gagged and hog-tied, and wanted Grace-Grace to do very bad things. Things like forgiving Zack, forgetting what he’d done and how much pain he’d caused her, and then jump his sexy bones like Muffin on a dropped Cheerio.

Standing there, being pulled in two different directions, she felt Zack’s heated gaze sizzling over her.

DO IT.

No.

GO AHEAD, DO IT.

No.

YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO.

Well, yes, but—No!

A struggling Angel Grace got one hand free, then the other, then released her feet. Without bothering to remove the gag from her mouth, she lowered her shoulders, got a running start, and tackled Devil Grace. Devil Grace went down, the air being driven from her lungs as Angel Grace hit her point-blank in the sternum.

The hold Devil Grace had on Grace seemed to snap, and she took a big, indrawn breath, shaking off whatever brain-freeze anomaly had kept her immobile.

“Right,” she said, as though her bizarre behavior required explanation. “Walk Bruiser. Muffin. Walk the dog.”

Aack!
She mentally whacked herself in the head.
Dumb, dumb, dumb. Stop acting like the biggest idiot in the village and start moving.

“Okay, well…” She actually did start moving, and inside her head, Angel Grace gave a little cheer. “See you in a bit.”

Crossing the room, she grabbed Muffin’s collar and leash, called the Saint Bernard’s name, and hustled out of the apartment before Devil Grace could regain consciousness and convince her to be wicked and do what she most wanted to do—throw her arms around Zack and kiss him till they both turned blue.

Row 11

It took the better part of a week to get the particulars ironed out with I.O.U., and another week after that for the contracts to arrive at Zack’s apartment by messenger.

Not that Zack just sat around twiddling his thumbs while they waited. Oh, no.

Somewhere around the breakfast when Grace called Quentin to accept the endorsement deal, he’d realized that Grace was no longer furious at or apathetic toward him. That she might even still be…
attracted to? Interested in?
him.

How else could she explain the light touch she’d laid on his hand, and the heavy, heated glance she’d raked him with before taking Bruiser out for a walk?

There was no mistaking the look she’d given him. Uh-uh, no way. He’d seen it a million times before.

It was the same sultry, sexy look she used to flash at him from across the table at dinner, or from across the room at fund-raisers when neither of them could wait to get away from the same old boring people telling the same old boring stories and rip each other’s clothes off. It was a look that promised hours and hours of white-hot passion between cool black sheets.

And it gave him hope that things between them might not be as dead and buried as he’d believed.

He certainly hadn’t been thinking along those lines when she’d first showed up to shoehorn him off the couch and back into some so-called quality of life.

For a while, he’d considered using Bruiser as a food taster for fear she was going to poison his meals or drinks. If he didn’t love the damn dog so much, he probably would have.

And for longer than that, he’d seriously considered wearing a cup inside his jeans, never quite sure she wasn’t planning a sneak attack that would leave him with either one giant, swollen, ruptured scrotal sac or no sac at all.

When she hadn’t tried to kill him or cripple him even worse than he already was, he’d begun to relax and think that if they weren’t going to be a couple, maybe they could at least be friends. They were getting along well enough, after all, and it would be nice if they could go back to running in the same circles, having civil conversations that didn’t turn into knock-down-drag-out fights, and sitting down for a beer at The Penalty Box with Gage and Jenna, Dylan and Ronnie.

But now …

He whistled as he
tu-thump-tu-thumped
his way to the kitchen for a bag of Sun Chips and a Diet Coke. He’d rather have a real Coke and a bag of deep-fried, fully salted Any Brand potato chips, but Grace had gone grocery shopping without him this last time, so he was stuck with her idea of snack foods.

Not that he minded all that much. Not now that he realized there was a chance he could get her back, that they could work things out.

There was still that pesky infidelity issue to get past, but since Grace was no longer bringing it up or calling him a “cheating bastard” every five seconds
and
he knew she was still attracted to him…hell, she was hot for him, no doubt about it, he thought with a grin…he truly believed they could get past it. That he could convince her of his complete and total innocence.

The
how
part was a little more up in the air, but he’d come up with something.

He never thought he’d see the day, but Quentin was turning out to be Zack’s fairy godfairy. Maybe he’d buy the guy a nice paisley tie or two to go with his pastel suits as a thank-you.

“Hey, Zack?”

Grace called to him from the other side of the apartment, bringing his head out of the refrigerator. He smiled, both because he’d forgotten what a sweet voice she had—when she wasn’t screaming epithets at him or cursing him to the bowels of hell—and because he was confident in the knowledge that she was going to be his again very, very soon.

“In the kitchen,” he called back. “You want a soda?” he asked, setting a can for himself on the counter while he used his crutches for balance and scrounged in one of the overhead cupboards for the chips.

“No, thanks,” she said, coming up behind him.

He hadn’t heard her, but he’d sensed her, so her sudden appearance didn’t startle him. Finding the chips, he turned, leaning against the counter while he opened the bag and popped a flat yellow crisp in his mouth.

Oh, yeah. This was going to be fun.

He’d forgotten how much he enjoyed the thrill of the chase. Grace hadn’t exactly been easy, but they’d met in such a peculiar way that they’d never gone through the normal dating rituals.

From the time he’d concussed and flattened her, then asked her out to dinner in an effort to make amends, they’d just sort of meshed and ended up hanging out together as much as possible. Having a mutual group of friends had helped, and before either of them realized what was happening, they’d fallen into bed, then love—or maybe it had happened the other way around, to be honest—then being engaged.

It had been easy and comfortable, but also scorching enough to singe him to the bone.

He hadn’t had to chase Grace, though. She hadn’t played hard to get.

Now, there would definitely be a chase. No way would Grace fall back into a relationship with him without a fight. And she wouldn’t just
be playing
hard to get, she would
be
hard to get.

Given the deck stacked so very high against him, it might be darn near impossible, but there was nothing Zack liked more than a challenge. And in this case, at least, the prize was definitely worth fighting for.

From his spot beside the refrigerator, he studied her where she stood just inside the kitchen entry. She hadn’t come closer and was worrying one side of her bottom lip, so he knew there was something on her mind.

The only thing on
his
mind, though, was her tall, lithe, well-stacked body. She was still wearing the khaki-green sweatpants and camouflage top she’d been in when they walked Bruiser first thing this morning. Both garments hugged her shapely figure like a second skin, and the top—with flat silver grommets in the shape of a winking, feminine skull and crossbones—was so short, it bared a good two inches of her flat midriff every time she moved.

Reaching up to tighten her ponytail—which was also sexy as hell—he got a glimpse of much more than just two inches, as well as another flash of silver.

His throat went dry, despite the waterfall of Diet Coke he’d been pouring into it, and his mouth fell open, causing the fizzy brown liquid to trickle down his chin and onto his T-shirt.

“Shit!” he swore, righting the can, closing his mouth, and swiping embarrassingly at his damp chest.

Grace lowered her arms and studied him with concern, brows furrowed.

His own lips dipped in a frown as his eyes zeroed back in on the region of her belly button.

“When did you get that?” he grated.

“Get what?”

“That.” He pointed at the center of her stomach, even though the camo material was now lowered and covering what had captured his attention and was making him drool. “The piercing.”

Tipping her head to follow the direction of his gaze and index finger, she lifted the hem of her shirt to reveal a sterling silver navel ring with a sparkling diamond on one end and a couple of tiny butterflies dangling from the other.

“Oh.” She shrugged a shoulder and let the top drop.

It was all he could do not to stalk across the kitchen, hike up the shirt again, and look his fill. He couldn’t remember ever getting turned on at the sight of a butterfly before, but there was a first time for everything, judging by the sudden semi stirring to life between his legs.

“A few months ago. The girls and I decided to go out for a tattoo-and-piercing night.”

The brow over his right eye shot up while his left eye narrowed. “Tattoos
and
piercings?” he croaked.

If his throat had been dry before, it was now in stiff competition with the Gobi Desert, and his dick was quickly making progress in its quest to point due north.

Oblivious to the level of his suffering and arousal, she nodded. “Jenna wanted to get a tattoo to surprise Gage, so Ronnie and I offered to go along and get something done, too. I decided on a belly button ring. I’ve always wanted one.”

He didn’t know that. If he had, he’d have taken her himself—and spent an inordinate amount of time playing with it while they made love.

“So what kind of tattoo did Jenna get?” he asked. Not really caring, but feigning interest while his attention remained riveted on her abdomen.

Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t know if she’d appreciate my saying anything, but if you asked Gage, I’m betting he’d tell you, so …” She blew out a breath and said, “She got a badge similar to the Cleveland Police Department’s on her butt that says ‘Property of Gage Marshall.’ “

Zack’s mouth twisted in appreciation. “I’ll bet Gage liked that.”

“According to Jenna the next morning—yes,” she replied cheekily, shooting him a quick grin.

“And Ronnie?”

Uh-oh. Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth again. A sure sign that she had something juicy to reveal.

“I’m not sure she’d want me sharing that.”

“Must be good if you’ll tell me about your belly button ring and Jenna’s tattoo, but not Ronnie’s …” He trailed off, thinking for a minute, then blurted out, “Nipple ring.”

It was a wild guess, but he didn’t think Grace would hesitate to tell him about a nose, brow, or tongue piercing. And if she was willing to talk about Jenna getting a tattoo on her ass…well, where else could Ronnie have gotten one of those that would be so hush-hush?

An amused, I-know-something-you-don’t-know smile tugged at the corners of Grace’s mouth, and then she said softly, “Lower.”

He thought about that a minute, silently stripping
Grace
, not Ronnie, and taking a mental inventory of her fever-inducing body parts from the breasts down. Well, okay, he got stuck on her breasts for a good thirty seconds.

Not nipples, although that was kind of a sexy thought. Nothing between those and the belly button to pierce, and it couldn’t be the belly button or Grace would have simply told him.

A little lower, and …

His eyes widened and he jerked his gaze up to hers.

“
No,”
he said, truly and thoroughly shocked.

She chuckled, her lips spreading into a full-fledged grin. “Uh-huh. I couldn’t believe it, either. She said it hurt like a son of a bitch, but Dylan had once teased her about being too chicken to do something like that, and you
know
how she is about his dares. Even now that they’re an item, they can’t seem to break the habit of goading each other.”

Zack’s attention trailed back down the line of Grace’s body, getting stuck in a fantasy that Dylan apparently got to live every freaking night. Lucky bastard.

“So did you …” Zack half asked, half suggested.

Two long-fingered, pink-tipped hands shot down to cover the area he was trying damn hard to burn the clothes away from with the heat of his gaze.

He now knew what power he would want if he ever got the opportunity to be a superhero, even for only a day—X-ray vision. Definitely, one hundred percent, without a doubt—X-ray vision.

“No!” she yelped, then jerked sideways when his concentration never wavered. “And stop staring at me like that. Geez!”

The view of her rear was almost as good, so it was hard to peel his gaze away, but he managed…barely.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen it before,” he remarked, surprised at how normal his voice sounded when his heart was thudding inside his chest like a heavy-duty subwoofer amplifier, and every drop of blood in his veins had descended to fill his aching cock.

“Yeah, well, you aren’t going to see it again,” she shot back, “so stop trying to visualize it.”

Too late. He’d done just that any number of times since their broken engagement.

And I wouldn’t be so sure of that
, he thought, in response to the first part of her statement. He wouldn’t say it aloud, of course, because that might tip his hand and alert her to his nefarious plans—as well as earn him a kick to the nads.

No, he’d wait, and bide his time, and visualize her naked as much as he darn well pleased. She didn’t have a say over his brain cell activity, thank goodness, and as long as he didn’t start drooling like a horny teenager, she wouldn’t even know that he was mentally filming
Inspect Her Gadget
with her playing the lead.

“Sorry,” he apologized, even though he
sooo
was not. All part of his master plot to get her to lower her guard. Then he would pounce.

In an effort to appear blasé, he grabbed a handful of chips, shoved them into his mouth all at once, and washed them down with a swig of cola. His cock still throbbed in sync with his heartbeat, but she didn’t need to know that—not when the chip bag made such a great shield.

“I didn’t come in here to talk about tattoos and body piercings, you know.”

He raised an eyebrow, continuing to chew while he waited for her to tell him why she had come in here.

“I just got off the phone with Quentin,” she murmured reluctantly.

“Problem?” he asked.

“Not a …problem,” she said slowly, making him think that’s exactly what it was. “More like a special request from Insides Out that I’m not sure you’ll be willing to go along with.”

He lifted one shoulder in a careless gesture and let it drop again. “So spell it out for me, and I’ll let you know.”

“All right.” Taking a deep breath, she said, “Instead of sending a photographer and film crew here to shoot the ad campaign and commercial, I.O.U. wants us to fly to New York and spend a few days there to get everything done.”

He bit into another chip, waiting for her to get to the part he wasn’t going to like. When she didn’t, he prompted, “And?”

“I told them no.”

Though he didn’t let it show, he was surprised. This entire thing was a huge opportunity for her; he would have thought she’d be bending over backward to do whatever Insides Out asked of her.

“What’s the big deal?” he asked. New York wasn’t that far away. “Can’t you get enough time away from the show?”