Finding Grace (16 page)

He’d known he wanted Grace, but he wasn’t prepared
for the way his body reacted to her, how much desire her
responsiveness would create in him, or the way giving her pleasure
would ignite his own.

On the way to her door, he’d told himself that if
she let him in, he would take it slow, maybe even just talk.

But then he’d kissed her. And touched her. She had
skin that made silk seem rough. His heavily calloused fingertips
had never felt anything like it.

And when his fingers had slipped beneath the
waistband of her sweatpants for further exploration, he’d realized
that not only wasn’t she wearing any panties, but—God help him—she
was bare. From the way she kissed, he’d thought she was
inexperienced. But a woman who kept herself bare, well, had to be
expecting company, and not likely for the first time. He had felt
both relief and jealousy along with the intensified arousal his
discovery had triggered.

He really had tried to go slow, to relish the heat
building between them; to hoard the sounds she was making, the way
her body opened to his touch. But when a hopeful probe told him how
prepared she was for him, it had fueled his impatience to be inside
her beyond his ability to restrain it.

Then, she’d screamed and arched up against him,
shredding the remains of his control. Only a lifetime of habit had
stopped him in time to get that condom on. He’d only just softened
his bite at her throat, the vein he’d seen throbbing in the hall in
the dance studio a lifetime ago that had told him she’d wanted him
too. Then he’d driven in, hard and fast, too far gone to be as
gentle as he’d intended. She was so goddamn tight that for a minute
he worried again that she might be a virgin after all.

Feeling her all around him, going off again now was
too much. He gathered her in his arms, needing to get as far inside
her as he possibly could, again and again and again. When he felt
his body tense and burst, he muffled his cry against her mouth,
crushing her lips, the intensity setting off fireworks behind his
eyes in the blackness of the room.

He pulled her onto his chest, still joined with him.
He could feel her breath coming out in pants across his nipple,
threatening to harden him again. He rolled gently to his side with
his arm around her, tucking her into him as he wrapped his thigh
around hers. When she snuggled against him and let out a soft,
contented sigh, he felt a tightness in his chest that would have
bothered him if he’d managed to stay awake another minute.

* * * *

Grace was already dressed, her short purple hair
still damp from the shower when Dagger opened his eyes to the soft
gray light of morning. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor,
knitting and watching him. She smiled when he met her eyes before
looking down shyly through those long, silver lashes.

He sat up. “Come ’ere,” he commanded softly and
opened his arms. She put down her knitting and he saw her breath
quicken even as she hesitated.

“It’s not dark, Jack. Not dark enough.”

“What the fuck, Grace, is it with the dark? Just
come here.” He winced—it had come out more harshly than he’d meant
it to. He just wanted to touch her, to pull her into his arms, to
know that she was real, that last night wasn’t another one of the
dreams he’d been having since he’d seen her at the studio.

He’d never actually slept with a woman before. He
should have been long gone by now. But here he was, lying in
Grace’s bed and wanting her even more than when he’d knocked on her
door last night. Shit. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

She shook her head and bit her lower lip. He could
almost see her retreating into her Thorne shell. Damn it.

“I don’t think you should call me Grace. You might
slip up and say it when we’re at work.” She started talking fast,
“You must be hungry. I’m, uh, not much of a cook, but I’ve got some
granola and kefir. It’s really good, um, organic—”

“Goddamn it, Grace. Do not get all fucking weird on
me.” He was reminded of the first time he’d been in Thorne’s
apartment and he’d watched Paul coax her like a wild doe. But he
wasn’t Paul. “I don’t eat tree bark and you’ve only got one chair
in the kitchen. We’ll go out for breakfast. Now come here, before I
come and get you.”

“About last night, Jack…” She’d risen and was
standing close enough that he could have grabbed her and he really
wanted to, but something told him not to. She was biting her lip
again, clearly having an argument with herself.

He mustered his most reasonable tone. “Listen,
Grace, I’m sorry about last night, but I’m not taking all the
blame. You’ve been teasing me since the first time we met. Then I
find out you’re not just a crazy little faggot but a goddamn
beautiful woman. I didn’t hear any complaints last night and I
don’t want to hear some guilty song and dance to soothe your
conscience now.”

He folded his arms. As apologies went, it sucked and
he knew it.

Those pretty silver brows frowned and she said, “I
just…I just wanted to tell you that it was amazing, that I never
thought it could feel so wonderful, that I’m sorry I didn’t really
know what was happening and couldn’t make it better for you, that’s
all.” Her voice cracked.

Dagger sputtered in confusion. “Better for me? If it
had been any better for me, you wouldn’t be able to stand up right
now. Oh God, Grace, tell me you weren’t a virgin. I mean, you’re
bare, what was I supposed to think? But you were so tight, too
tight.” Shit-shit-shit.

Grace looked down at her knitting and said it so
softly he almost couldn’t hear. “No Jack, not a virgin. I just
never…”

It was his turn to frown at the mix of emotions
running through him: relief, followed by an odd sense of
disappointment; gratification that he’d been the first one to give
her that pleasure; and some anger on her behalf that it hadn’t
happened before.

“You must have been with some real assholes, Grace.
Jesus, you are so fucking hot. You went off like a firecracker last
night. A woman like you, so sensitive, so responsive to every
touch…”

Her pale skin blushed a deep red and he wondered if
he’d caught the need to babble from her.

Still avoiding his eyes, she said, “Not every touch,
Jack. I…I don’t understand what you mean about the significance of
being bare and I’m sorry I was too tight.”

The woman actually had the nerve to look confused
when that was his every right. What the hell was going on here?

“Tight is good, Grace. Really good.” His heart
started to race at the memory. “And bare is, well, an invitation
that’s pretty damn hard to refuse.” He sat up straighter and rubbed
the blanket across his lap.

“Really? So it’s not sick?” She was practically
strangling her knitting.

Dagger shook his head, more mystified by the minute.
“I don’t get it, Grace. Why would you do it if you thought it was
sick? Now, I admit, I’m a lot of things and I’ve done a lot of
things, but I’m not fucking sick. Why don’t you come a little
closer and let me take off those jeans so I can take a nice long
look and show you just how healthy I am.”

Thorne jumped back and screamed, “No!”

She grabbed her glasses and said, “I gotta go. Just
close the door behind you when you leave—it’ll lock, fucking thing.
I learned that the hard way.”

* * * *

Thorne hit the snowy sidewalk at a jog. She could
hardly tell Jack that she didn’t have any pubic hair because of
what had been done to her, that the doctors had told her the skin
was too damaged, hair would never grow there again. Jack had seemed
to enjoy how it felt and she had too—last night. But to let him see
her scars? That could never happen. Not ever. She wondered what the
hell she thought she was doing. This thing with Jack could never
work.

Chapter Eleven

Before Dagger had been able to say another word,
Thorne was gone.

He should have felt relieved, an easy out of a
situation he couldn’t control. But even before the door shut, he
knew he didn’t want out.

“Hey, come back!” His voice sounded fucking pitiful
to his own ears.

Just where had he gone wrong here? He was
frantically trying to pull at least some of his blood back to his
brain. He jumped out of bed, got dressed, and shot out the door
with the speed and skill born of years of practice. Except this
time he wasn’t getting the hell away from a woman, he was going
after her.

Dagger thanked his dumb luck for the early hour, the
freshly fallen snow and the distinctive, though worn, pattern of
Grace’s sneakers in it. He could see that she was walking fast, but
not running. It took him about ten minutes of following her tracks,
though, before he turned the corner to find her standing there, her
arms folded. Her mouth was screwed a little funny but her voice was
calm when she said, “What do you want from me, Jack?”

He grabbed her fast, afraid she’d slip away from him
again. Her lips parted and she inhaled sharply. Forcing back the
strange sense of desperation he felt, he tightened his grip on her
shoulders and whispered, “Breakfast, Grace. I want to have
breakfast with you.”

She relaxed. It had been the right thing to say.

“Um, breakfast. Yeah. I can do breakfast, Jack.”

* * * *

The diner was busy and they ate to the sound of
clanking dishes, scraping silverware, and murmured conversations.
Grace mostly just pushed her food around her plate, but she was
smiling at him.

Dagger told her how much he’d hated L.A., without
telling her how much he’d missed her. She told him about the search
for Sarah and how upset Lieutenant Rigby had been, how reluctant
Paul had been to call Katherine. She seemed a whole lot more
impressed by that than what she’d accomplished. He wondered if he’d
ever understand her.

He couldn’t remember a meal that tasted as good as
this breakfast with Grace, but he’d finished three of the specials
and had run out of conversation. His mind raced to find a way to
keep her with him. He’d have taken her to a fucking museum if that
had been his only option, but what he really wanted was to go back
to her apartment.

He was going to have to man up and try again. “So,
uh, Grace…”

She looked at him sharply.

“Shit. Fine, Thorne then. Got any plans for
today?”

His hopes weren’t the only thing her thoughtful
smile raised.

Then she rubbed her hands together and said, “I need
some more yarn. I was going to check out that shop on Madison. I
haven’t been in there yet,” and kept on smiling.

His mind, having been elsewhere, was consequently
somewhat short on blood; he struggled to make sense of what she’d
just said.

What? She needed more yarn? He thought of her tiny
apartment, practically packed to the rafters with the stuff, and
wondered how the hell she could possibly need more yarn. But as
crazy went, it probably wasn’t the most dangerous thing to have too
much of. Dagger gritted his teeth, yarn shop being lower on his
list of choices than museum. “Sounds fun. Want some company?” He
refused to consider that he might be pathetic. But if he hung in
there and braved the shopping, even the possibility of a payoff
would definitely be worth it.

* * * *

The shop was cozy and welcoming, a larger and more
organized version of Grace’s apartment, to Dagger’s way of
thinking. She was moving around the place, squeezing balls of yarn,
oohing and aahing and sighing. Whether the shopkeepers were
inclined to just let her fondle the merchandise because of his
presence or because that’s the way it was done, he had no idea.

But he hadn’t expected to participate until she
said, “Jack, close your eyes and hold out your hands.” She thrust
something soft into his hands. “Isn’t it fantastic? It’s
quiviet.”

“Qui—what?” He was trying to imagine what it would
feel like to hold an armful of Grace wrapped in the stuff.

“It’s musk ox underwear.”

“Huh. I bet they harvest that pretty carefully.”

She laughed. God, she had a beautiful laugh. “It’s
better with your eyes closed, isn’t it? It makes your sense of
touch more acute.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Why?” Dagger sensed from the tone
of her voice that she was going somewhere with this he might want
to go.

“I think I found a workaround.”

“‘
Workaround’?”

“A method for overcoming a problem or limitation in
a system.”

A light went off in Dagger’s mind. “This have
something to do with this whole darkness thing of yours?”

“You remind me of a dog one of my foster families
had, Jack. They thought all he was good for was hunting because he
wasn’t very obedient. They never saw that he figured out anything
and everything that had to do with getting what he wanted. Dog was
smarter than they were.” She softened the comment with a smile.

“That is one hell of a back-handed compliment,
Grace.” But he grinned. Oh yeah, it surely did sound like she
heading in the right direction.

When Grace paid for her purchases, he sucked serious
wind. He’d had no idea yarn was that expensive. She informed him
that you could spend as much as you wanted on the stuff. He eyed
her “new” jacket—the well-worn parka—and questioned her spending
priorities once again, but this time he had the sense to keep his
judgments to himself.

* * * *

“Why can’t I just close my eyes?” Dagger wasn’t
totally comfortable with the idea of being blindfolded. Grace was
standing behind him in the middle of the room and he couldn’t see
her.

“Because you’d be tempted to peek. And Jack, if you
do, even once, even a tiny little peek, I’ll know. And if that
happens, you’ll never see me again. Not ever. Understand?”

“Hell no, I don’t understand. But if that’s the way
it has to be, then I guess that’s the way it has to be.” He’d given
up trying to talk her out of her strange sense of modesty, and he
had no intention of waiting the many hours it would take for it to
get dark enough to suit her.