Give Me Grace(34)

“You’re going to tell me because I take my job seriously,” he replied softly. “Because Jamieson is paying our firm to provide security, and I happen to think they deserve more than a half-assed job. Because I’m trained to keep you safe. Because a seemingly harmless situation can escalate in a matter of moments and you might need me.” His lips brushed my ear as he spoke, sending waves of heat through my body and setting off an ache between my thighs. I held back a moan. Why did our every interaction always result in such excessive levels of proximity? It kept throwing my composure off course. “Are those enough reasons for you, Slim…” he pulled back to meet my eyes “…or do you need more?”

I opened my mouth to reply and realised I had nothing. Casey was right, and interfering in the way he did his job would only be immature on my part. It was just … switching on my phone meant dealing with Dalton, and I couldn’t do it. Not tonight. The whole mess was too raw.

“You’re right.” Staring down at my hands, I realised they were shaking. I clenched my fists. “Dalton is my … was,” I corrected, “my boyfriend. He did something really shitty and I’m just not ready to deal with it, or him, just yet.”

“What did he do?”

I shook my head and turned my attention to the stage, indicating I wasn’t going to talk about it. Someone was halfway through singing a song on stage and I blinked with surprise. I hadn’t noticed anything outside of Casey.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him unlock the screen of my phone, bringing up the passcode prompt again. He jabbed in a sequence of numbers and my phone came to life.

My mouth fell open. “How did you …?”

“The year you were born. It was included in your security brief. You shouldn’t make it so easy.” He stood abruptly, my phone in one hand and holding out his other. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” I felt like I’d missed a few steps in the conversation. And they had a security brief on me? I was mentally trying to backtrack when he took hold of my elbow and hauled me up. I stumbled a little at his haste.

“Grace needs the restroom,” he told the table. “We’ll be back.”





Henry’s shout broke my reverie of last night, making me aware I was clutching the pillow to my chest and rubbing my legs together to ease the ache still there. Grabbing for the sheets that pooled around my bare thighs, I dragged them up and over my head. My brother sounded angry and it was far too early for confrontation of any kind. His shout was accompanied by a fist pounding on my bedroom door and ended with the ominous, “Grace! You better be decent because I’m coming in to kill you!”

The door flung open. I couldn’t see it, but I could hear the sudden whoosh, followed by a clang where it caught the doorstop. A giggle bubbled out of me.

“Grace. This isn’t funny. Where are they?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” I replied from beneath the sheets.

I squealed when they were ripped away from me. Brushing hair off my face, I watched as they sailed across the room, landing on the floor in a crumpled heap, before returning my attention to Henry.

He stood over me in his sleep shorts—chest heaving and hands on his hips. It felt just like old times. The fact that his next words mentioned the exact same thing only warmed my heart a little. “Jesus, Grace. This is just like old times. I thought having you here would be a great opportunity to get to know you again, but really, you haven’t changed at all, have you?”

Mac stumbled in behind Henry, scratching at her head and scowling. “What’s with all the noise?” She blinked a couple of times as she looked between Henry and me. Suddenly her eyes went wide, comprehension dawning that Henry wasn’t hogging the shower this morning. She shot out of my room like she was Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote was on her ass. The sound of the bathroom door slamming shut echoed down the hall.

Henry’s lips twitched.

Moments later, Mac came storming back into my room, placing her hands on her hips. “Alright. Listen up, because I’m only going to ask this once. Where are the fucking shower taps?”

I bit my lip, grinning at my victory.

Henry threw up his hands. “They could be anywhere.” Turning for the door, he grumbled, “I’m going to find some pliers.” He loved his long morning showers and was clearly prepared to do anything to get his fix.

When he disappeared out the door, Mac turned to me, her mouth open in what looked like wonder. “You stole the shower taps?”

My response was another grin. I slid out of bed, my feet hitting plush cream carpet. Crouching down, I lifted my mattress, showing her the taps that I’d wedged underneath.