“Jodi?”
“No, idiot. Grace.”
Ash looked at him, startled. “I’ve only slept with her twice.”
“Sorry. I forgot it was related to the number of times you go to bed with someone.” Nate sighed as Ash rolled his eyes. “Come on, what the hell do I know about this sort of stuff? And why are you making me talk about this? I’m a dude, for Christ’s sake. You’re emasculating me. Next thing I’ll be watching Oprah and eating chocolate-fudge-brownie ice cream once a month.”
Laughing, Ash opened his door and got out as Grace reappeared carrying a small bag. He opened the passenger door for her, smiling as she walked up. “All set?”
“Yes.” Her cheeks had a slight flush to them, and he suspected the girls had been teasing her. The curtains twitched, and he knew Freya was probably eyeing up Nate, who’d come to take Grace’s bag.
“Goodness,” she said. “Aren’t we all gentlemanly today?”
“One does one’s best.” He waited until she’d tucked her legs in—not missing the sheerness of her black stockings beneath her short black skirt—and closed the door, then went around the other side and slid in beside her.
“Oh.” She looked surprised.
Nate got in and rolled his eyes at Ash in the mirror, but didn’t say anything. Ash just smiled and put his arms around her. She sighed and snuggled up to him, and he kissed the top of her head.
They didn’t speak during the short journey to Ash’s house, and he closed his eyes for a while, enjoying the softness of her in his arms. He was dozing when Nate pulled up, and Grace had to nudge him, laughing as he blinked for a moment, forgetting where he was. They got out and, after retrieving their bags from the car, he thanked Nate for his work that evening.
“Sleep well,” Nate said, winking at him as Grace walked away from them to the front door.
“I will.” He was suddenly so tired he could have lain down on the gravel and gone to sleep. For a moment, he wondered whether he’d done the right thing inviting her back. Was she expecting a torrid sex session, a passionate all-nighter? If so, he was going to have to summon the stamina from somewhere. He felt suddenly nervous, unsure about this next stage in their relationship. Was he ready for this?
Nate drove away, and Ash walked up and unlocked the front door, letting them in. Dumping their bags on the floor, he disabled the burglar alarm as she slid off her jacket and hooked it up. Then, as he closed the front door, she turned to him.
“Hey, you,” she said, putting her arms around him.
“Hey.” He moulded her to his body, running his hands down her back, pressing her hips to his. He kissed her throat. “You smell good.”
“You too.” She threaded her hands through his hair and then kissed him, slowly and gently. After a few moments, though, she pulled away and took his hand. “Come on. I’m going to make you a sandwich.”
Surprised, he followed her through the living room into the kitchen. She pushed him into a chair at the pine table, and he sat and leaned his head on his hand, watching as she bustled about, finding bread, cheese and salad, and proceeding to make a large sandwich. She cut it in two, put it on a plate and placed it before him. “What do you want to drink? Milk? Tea? Or something stronger?”
“There’s a bottle of whisky in the end cupboard,” he said through a mouthful of sandwich. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was. She poured an inch into two tumblers and added ice, then brought them over to the table and took a seat opposite him.
“You like whisky?” he said, surprised, taking a mouthful.
“It’s not my favourite drink, but I feel the need for some strong alcohol.” She sipped the spirit, wincing as she swallowed.
He said nothing, continuing to eat the sandwich, studying her. Her eyes were warm, but he remembered the way she’d gone whiter and whiter in the auditorium before she finally crumpled. He hadn’t even thought before he leaped off the stage to pick her up, although now he realised it probably wasn’t the best thing he could have done for her. Someone was bound to have taken a picture of them with their phone. He wasn’t quite the city’s most eligible bachelor, but he
was
famous enough for it to be all across the local papers in the morning. Had she thought of that? Christ, how many ways could he screw her life up?
“Better?” she asked, indicating the sandwich.
He finished off the final bite and nodded, sighing and taking a mouthful of the whisky. He glanced up at the clock. It had only just gone ten thirty, and usually in the week, he didn’t get to bed much before midnight, but he was always tired after a show, and his limbs and mind ached.
She stood, picking up her glass, and held out her hand. “Come on.”
He picked up his own glass, took her hand and let her lead him through the dark house. She walked down the corridor to his bedroom, collecting her bag on the way, and shut the door behind them.
He felt suddenly awkward. He wasn’t sure what she expected. He was tired, and his brain was fuzzy, and he was glad she was there, but he was so out of practice with living with someone, he wasn’t sure what to do or say to make her feel comfortable.
Grace somehow seemed to pick up on that, however, because she started bossing him around. She made him finish his whisky, then brought him with her into the bathroom and stood next to him as they brushed their teeth. She hung up her clothes for the next day while he finished in the bathroom, then bossed him back out again. She helped him get undressed, because all of a sudden he was too tired even to lift up his arms, and bossed him into bed. Then she got undressed, slipping into a silky, thigh-length nightie, letting him watch her and marvel at how sexy she was, even while being bossier than his mother. Lastly, she slid the pins out of her hair and shook it, sending it tumbling around her shoulders, a movement so sensual it made desire rush through him. And
now
he had a hard-on. Great.
She slid into bed beside him and propped herself up on an elbow, looking down on him. Gently, she reached out and stroked his face. “Goodnight, sweetheart. Your eyes are open, but I swear you’re already asleep.” He heaved a sigh and she frowned. “What was that for?”
“I’m ninety-five per cent asleep.”
She blinked, and then her lips curved. Slipping a hand beneath the duvet, she brushed his erection lightly. “Doesn’t it know it’s bedtime?”
“I don’t think it got the memo.” He closed his eyes as she stroked him.
“Is that nice?”
He sighed. “Grace…”
“Ssh.” She kissed him, continuing to stroke him with her hand. “I’m betting it’s difficult for you to unwind after a show.”
“Yes, but—”
She stopped the sentence with another kiss. “Just relax.” She lifted the covers and disappeared underneath.
Ash’s eyes widened as she kissed slowly down his chest and across his stomach. “Is this supposed to send me off to sleep?”
“Eventually.” Her voice was muffled by the duvet. She kissed across his hips, then down into his pubic hair, her hand still stroking him gently.
“Grace, you don’t have to—”
“Ash?”
“Er, yeah?”
“Shut up.” He felt her reveal the tip of his erection, and then her warm mouth closed over him.
“Holy fuck.”
She chuckled and lifted her head. “Swear-out-loud sex, Mr. Rutherford?”
“Sorry.”
“I wasn’t looking for an apology.” She sounded amused. “Swear all you like. It’s kind of a turn on.” She lowered her head again.
“Ah… It’s just that nobody’s…whoa…done that for a while and…oh shit…I’d forgotten how wonderful…oh God…it feels when…oh fuck…” He gave up talking and closed his eyes. She was doing something miraculous with her tongue, stroking the tip as she sucked, and then she moved her head down and took almost the whole of him inside her mouth, making him groan out loud and thrust up his hips.
She gave a murmur of pleasure, welcoming the movement, and he slid a hand underneath the duvet and into her hair, tangling his fingers in it, liking the fact that he was the only one who ever saw her with it down. He cupped her head as she continued to worship him with her mouth, taking her time to arouse him, and gradually he relaxed, giving himself over to her, losing himself in the sensations she created.
Eventually he couldn’t bear it anymore. Heat spread from his balls up into his groin, and he groaned, “Grace!” He half expected her to lift her head, but she gave a sexy sigh, taking him so deep inside her mouth that when he came, he could feel the muscles of her throat swallow him down. By the time he’d finished and she crawled up from under the covers, flushed and breathless, he was a limp rag of a man, speechless and unable to do anything except stare at her helplessly.
She laughed and kissed his cheek, snuggling up to him. “
Now
you seem relaxed.”
“What about you?” he said sleepily, stroking her back, liking the feel of the silky material.
“I’ll still be here in the morning.”
“Yes, but—”
“Ash, for Christ’s sake, go to sleep. You can give me as many orgasms as you like tomorrow.” She leaned over him to turn off the bedside light, giving him an eyeful of silky breast as she did so, but he was too knackered to do anything about it.
“You promise?”
“I’m putting in an order. I expect delivery by ten a.m.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She said something else, but sleep threw its huge black cloak over him, and he sank into the treacly depths of oblivion.
Chapter Sixteen
He slept heavily for several hours, then tossed and turned fitfully, caught in a snarled web of awkward dreams that jerked him awake, leaving him confused and anxious, his heart still pounding.
He glanced to his left. Grace curled on her side away from him, asleep. He got up quietly and visited the bathroom, then came back into the bedroom and went over to the window, lifting a curtain to look out at the waxing moon. Its cool, white light calmed him and soothed his rapid heartbeat. The dreams were a common occurrence, especially after a show, but they never failed to unnerve him.
“Ash?” He turned to see Grace sitting up in bed, watching him.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” He let the curtain drop and walked back to the bed, climbing in and letting her snuggle up to him.
“No. I think I was rousing anyway.” She ran light fingers over his chest, raising herself onto an elbow to look down at him. “Are you okay? Your skin’s damp and your heart’s racing.”
“Bad dreams,” he said. “Always happens after a show. Don’t worry about it.”
“I do worry.” She kissed his chest. “Do you dream about the things you’ve seen?”
He held his breath. It was the first time she’d actually said anything that meant she might believe him. “Sometimes.”
“What did you dream of tonight?”
“Oh, love, you don’t want to know.” He kissed the top of her head.
“I’m a big girl, Ash. I do want to know. Tell me.”
He looked up into the darkness but he could still see the images, and it made him shiver. “The girl who drowned—the daughter of the first woman I read. I keep seeing her.”
“In what way?”
“She showed herself lying face down in the water, with her hair fanned out around her like a lily pad.”
She was quiet for a minute. Then she said, “How do you see these pictures? I don’t understand.”
He sighed. “If I tell you to think of an image, like…Winnie-the-Pooh, for example, you can see him, right? You can picture his black button nose, and round ears, and the red T-shirt, and his pot with ‘Hunny’ written on it, but he’s not standing before you—you can’t
see
him. Well, you’re using what’s called your ‘third eye’—that’s actually the pineal gland, located in the centre of your brain.” He touched her forehead lightly between her eyebrows. “And that’s where I get the pictures. I don’t
see
them with my eyes, but they’re clear, all the same.”
She kissed his chest again. “I understand. I never thought about it like that before.”
He stroked her back. The nightie she wore was silky, and his fingers slipped easily over the material. He couldn’t see her in the darkness, but he could feel the soft touch of her lips, and then, briefly, the brush of her tongue on his skin.
“Salty,” she said. “Yum.”
He pulled her up so her head was level with his, slipping his hand into her long hair. “It’s the first time I’ve had someone to distract me from my dreams for a long time.”
“Do you want distracting?” She leaned on his chest and her breasts were soft on his ribcage.
“Yes,” he whispered, and he pulled her head down to kiss her.
Her tongue played with his and he let his hands trail over her body, enjoying the softness of her curves beneath the slippery satin. “You’re great at distracting me,” he murmured, lifting up, rolling her onto her back and beginning to kiss down her neck.
“Well, I’m glad I’m being useful,” she said breathlessly, a sigh escaping her lips as his mouth closed over a nipple. He grazed it through the satin with his teeth, running a hand along her waist and hips, then down her bare thigh. He stroked the back of her knee, interested in the way she sighed louder and hooked her leg over his, arching toward him. Experimentally, he ran his fingers down to the inside of her ankle, stroking gently, then up to her arm, trailing down to the crook of her elbow and the inside of her wrist. His touch on all these sensitive areas made her moan, and she threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling his head up for a kiss.