My already shot nerves skyrocketed. I was sure the damage was easily fixed. I’d simply offer to pay for it if I ever saw the man again, which wasn’t likely. The thought calmed me as I took in the exterior of the duplex. What hit me first was its inviting charm. In a tree-lined street, the duplex sat harmless and unobtrusive. A shared timber porch between both front doors ran along the front. The weatherboard was painted a deep, rich stone colour with white trim, and lush, bright green hedges lined the front gardens. It was obvious that warmth and happiness resided within, and it beckoned me like a thickly frosted cupcake with chocolate sprinkles.
I hesitated.
“You going to move or are you waiting for me to carry you in?”
Turning to Casey, I delivered my menacing threat with a sweet voice. “You even think about carrying me, or touching me, or even breathing in the same airspace as me, I’ll punch you so hard you’ll be spitting teeth for a week.”
As though I’d just issued a challenge, Casey’s lips curved suggestively, causing my pulse to spike. The smile was delivered casually, but the sex appeal hit like a tsunami obliterating everything in its path. He obviously assumed my threat carried no substance, which was unfortunately true. I’d never punched anyone in my life, but if there was ever an opportunity to rectify my non-violent status, this would be it.
His hand started moving towards my hip. My eyes narrowed. “Don’t even.”
He did.
With an insolent grin, Casey splayed his big palm over my hip. Not stopping there, it travelled around to the small of my back. I froze at the audacity, my skin tracking his touch as his hand slid further down, covering my ass. My heart felt ready to thump from my chest at the intimate caress.
“Get your hand off me,” I hissed.
But he didn’t heed my warning. Standing at the front driveway of Henry’s duplex, Casey brazenly squeezed my ass.
“What would you do if I squeezed your ass?”
“You already did,” I ground out, standing stiffly as the warmth of his palm burned right through to my skin.
I held my breath when he leaned in and bit my earlobe before trailing his tongue over it to soothe the sharp sting.
“Oops,” he replied with a throaty whisper in my ear. “My bad.”
Heat throbbed deliciously between my thighs, leaving no doubt it was Casey’s intention to humiliate me by getting me hot for him. It worked, and I hated that it worked. My situation had left me emotionally vulnerable, I reminded myself. Casey could possibly be a sexy distraction, but right now I needed someone who cared, and he was definitely not that person.
When I went stiff and silent, he pulled back, his brows drawn together as he looked at me.
“Slim?” he questioned, his fierce blue eyes softening slightly.
Damn. The sudden concern he showed was too much. It made my eyes burn. Now I’d done the unthinkable in warfare and exposed my weak link.
Retreat, Grace, retreat!
“Oh God,” I mumbled hoarsely, averting my eyes and blinking rapidly. “I need to go. I have to—”
“Grace?” Henry appeared at the front door, a grin lighting up his face.
I shoved Casey away with superhuman strength. You know the kind you got when your adrenaline hit hyperdrive like you were facing down a bear? That was how desperately I wanted Casey out of my space. My eyes must have communicated a trapped wild animal, because he actually backed up a step.
Feeling emboldened, I muttered harshly, “Don’t ever do that again or I’ll … I’ll …” You’ll what? I glanced at Marjorie, Casey’s obvious Achilles heel. “I’ll scratch your car.”
Henry wrapped me in a hug before Casey could reply. I buried my head in his neck as he squeezed me tight.
“Gracie Bean,” he whispered.
My eyes filled at being held by my big brother. “Henry Bear.”
He pulled back, looking me over. Henry hadn’t changed at all. His eyes were still as blue as the sky and his white blond hair was still thick with a slight curl, but more styled now than I remembered. The faint scar on his chin was still there from when we were little. I was seven and Henry nine when we decided that jumping out his two-storey bedroom window and onto the trampoline would increase our bounce ratio. That had been during my aspirations of being a professional trampolinist and competing in the Olympics. Being the eldest, Henry had insisted on going first. Hitting the mat feet first, he bounced up in the air, flailed wildly, and flew off the other side, landing on the gravelled pathway that lined our fence. Dad had been out at the time, and by that stage mum’s health had been on the decline. With blood pouring down Henry’s chin, she bundled me, Henry, and the twins in the car and raced off to Emergency. They simply cleaned it out, glued his chin back together, and sent us home. Dad dismantled the trampoline the next day. I watched on, my dream of Olympic glory crushed.