Shaking her head, Selena watched while he turned down yet another offer from an attractive redhead. The man was a serious estrogen magnet.
She finished the reading.
Julian waited a few minutes before heading back to her table. "Take me to Grace."
It wasn't a request. He said it in a tone of voice she was sure he'd once used to order his troops into battle formation. "She said-"
"I don't care what she said. I need to see her."
Selena wrapped her cards in her black silk scarf. What the hell? She didn't need a best friend anyway. "It's your funeral."
"I wish," he said in a tone so low she wasn't sure she heard it correctly.
He helped her close up her stand and wheel her cart to the small shed she rented to house it.
In no time, they were headed to Grace's.
They pulled into the drive at the same time Grace was packing her car.
"Hey, Grade," Selena called. "Where you going?"
Grace glared at Julian. "Away for a few days."
"Where?" Selena asked.
She didn't answer.
Julian left the car and headed straight for Grace. He was going to set this right, no matter What it took.
She tossed a bag in the trunk of the car and started away from him.
Julian grabbed her arm. "You didn't answer her question."
Grace shrugged his hand off. "What are you going to do, manhandle me if I don't answer?" Her eyes narrowed on him.
He winced at her rancor. "And you wonder why I want to leave?"
Then he saw it, the tears she was trying so hard to hide. Her eyes were bright and shiny.
Pain cut him deeply. "I'm sorry, Grace," he whispered, cupping her cheek in his hand. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
Grace watched the regret and longing war on his face. His touch was so warm and gentle. For a moment, she could almost believe he did care for her.
"I'm sorry, too," she whispered. "I know it's not your fault."
He gave a bitter half-laugh. "Actually, everything about this is my fault."
"Hey? Are you two kosher?" Selena asked.
Julian's gaze burned into Grace's, making her tremble from its intensity.
"Do you want me to leave?" he asked.
No, she didn't. That was the whole problem. She never wanted him to leave her again. Ever.
She took his hands into hers, then lowered them from her face. "It's okay, Selena."
"In that case, I'll be heading home. Later."
Grace barely heard her drive away. Julian commanded all her attention.
"Now, where were you going?" he asked.
For the first time since the police had left, she actually felt as if she could breathe again. With Julian's presence, all her fear had evaporated like mist under sunlight.
She truly felt safe. "Remember I told you about Rodney Carmichael?"
He nodded.
"He came by a little while ago. He… he worries me."
The hard, cold rage on his face stunned her. "Where is he now?"
"I don't know. The police came and he vanished. That's why I was leaving. I was going to stay in a hotel."
"Do you still want to leave?"
She shook her head. With him here, she felt completely protected.
"I'll get your bag," he said.
He pulled it out of her car, then closed the trunk.
Grace led the way back into the house.
They spent the rest of the day in quiet solitude. That evening, they were lying on the floor in front of the couch, supported by cushions.
Grace lay with her head on Julian's hard stomach as she read him the rest of Peter Pan, and did her best not to notice just how wonderful he smelled. And how wonderful he felt.
It took all her willpower not to roll over and explore his taut, muscled chest with her mouth.
He brushed his hand slowly through her hair as he watched her. Oh, how his touch burned her. How it made her wish she could strip those clothes off his body and taste every single inch of him.
"The end," she said, closing the book. The heated look on his face took her breath. Grace stretched, arching her back ever so slightly against him. "Want me to read something else?" "Please. Your voice soothes me." She stared at him for a long minute, then smiled. She couldn't remember the last compliment that touched her as profoundly as that one.
"I keep most of my books in my room," she said, getting up. "Come on, and I'll show you my special treasure trove and we'll find something else."
He followed her upstairs. Grace didn't miss the hot, longing gaze he gave the bed, then her.
Choosing to ignore it, Grace opened the door to her large walk-in closet. She turned on the light and brushed her hand lovingly over the homemade shelves her father had built years ago.
He'd been so funny when he and his best friend assembled the bookshelves. Both of them scholars, they'd made a terrible mess and ended up blackening two of her father's fingernails before the project was completed. Her mother had teased her father endlessly by calling him a Keystone Carpenter. But her father hadn't minded, and the look on his face when he had proudly finished and placed her books on the shelves was indelibly imprinted in her heart.