Falling for Grace

by Kate O'Keeffe

She rolls her eyes. “Well, yes, I can. She’s a prize cow, that one. And I don’t mean in a good way.”

  I shrug. “She wants to be New Zealand’s answer to Kim Kardashian. I suppose she thinks this will help.”

  “No, she’s just a bitch troll from hell.”

  I look at her in shock. “You swore.”

  She shrugs, her eyes glistening. “Sometimes it’s called for. This is one of those times.”

  We both giggle as an image of Tiffany as a troll with little devil horns poking out of the top of her head jumps into my brain. And I can tell you now, it more than suits her.

  Chapter 14

  AT PRECISELY EIGHT IN the evening the front door bell on my parents’ house chimes. The acrobats resident in my belly do an elaborate routine involving flips, human pyramids, and a lot of swooping on the trapeze.

  I rush to the door as fast as my slim-fitting, Thirties-inspired satin dress will allow before anyone in my family has the chance to answer it.

  “That’ll be my taxi. See you later,” I call out as I open the door.

  A jolt hits me in the chest as I see Sam standing on the doorstep, grinning at me. He’s dressed in a navy suit and open-necked pale blue shirt. It shows off his tan and complements his blue eyes perfectly.

  “Sam,” I whisper.

  It’s becoming hard to remember how to breathe.

  “Grace. You look… incredible.” His eyes sweep appreciatively over my body, sending a shiver through me.

  “You do too,” I murmur.

  He responds with a sexy smile, weakening my legs.

  He offers me his arm. “Mademoiselle, your carriage awaits.”

  I take it and we walk down the path towards the car. Sam opens the door for me and we climb in. I slide across the cool leather seat.

  “Where are we heading?” I ask as the car pulls out from the curb.

  “It’s a surprise.” A sexy smile plays at the corners of his mouth.

  A short drive later we arrive at Logan Brown, one of Wellington’s best high-end restaurants. It’s a converted bank, with high ceilings and stone pillars. Very chic and sophisticated.

  We’re greeted at the door and shown to our table. I scan the room, noticing there are no other patrons. Peculiar, considering it’s dinnertime and this is one of the city’s most popular spots.

  Once seated, I lean in and whisper, “Have you noticed there’s no one else here?”

  Sam smiles. “I asked them to clear the restaurant for us.”

  “You did? Wow, I guess being a big star has its benefits.”

  He chortles. “I’m hardly a big star. But I’ll admit, having a name some people recognise can be useful at times.”

  As we chat, I realise I feel extremely comfortable with Sam, so relaxed I can totally be myself. As I sit and listen to him telling me how passionate he is about acting, my heart gives a little squeeze.

  It would be so easy to fall in love with this man. Certifiably crazy of course, but easy.

  “And I guess my career has taken off from there. Without Portal 51, the show you’ve never seen,” he prods playfully, “I wouldn’t be here with you right now.”

  I raise my glass. “To Portal 51.”

  We clink wine glasses and smile at one another.

  “So, was being famous always something you wanted?”

  He shrugs. “No. I love to act. Sometimes fame is part and parcel of that. And if I want to make it in America, a bit of fame doesn’t go amiss.”

  “Do you? Want to make it in America?”

  “Yes, I do. Portal 51 has been amazing, but now I’m working on my film career, and to do that I’ve left Britain for the US. And as Nicole Kidman once famously said, ‘you’re not anyone in America unless you’re on TV’.”

  “I don’t get it. You’re already somebody.”

  He shoots me a look I can’t quite read. “It’s the game,” he states after a beat.

  “And part of that game is pretending you’re with Vanessa still?”

  “Exactly.”

  We order our dinner. I tell him all about how I’d Googled myself this afternoon and how awful the experience had been.

  “Right. I think it’s time to put you through Paparazzi one-oh-one. First rule: unless you absolutely have to, never read about yourself in the media. It can only bring you down. Or, worse, it can bolster you up, and then bring you down.”

  “Okay.” I smile at him. “This sort of thing has never happened to me before. I’m not a celebrity. And I don’t want to be one, either. I’m a fashion buyer who occasionally models. A girl who’s lived all her life in one place, who’s a nerdy bookworm, who sews her own clothes and loves to watch the History Channel.”

  His face lights up. “The History Channel? Me too. Did you catch that documentary on Nazi planes last week? Fascinating.”

  I grin at him. “I love that you’re into the History Channel.”

  We gaze at one another for a moment like a couple of love-struck nerdy teenagers.

  “So, let me get this straight,” I begin. “You watch the History Channel and you’re a total sci fi geek.” I count off on my fingers. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

  He chuckles. “Well, let’s see. I’m a little OCD at times, I suppose.”

  “You are? How?”

  “I have to sleep on the left side of the bed.”

  “That doesn’t sound OCD to me.”

  “Or . . . the Earth might tilt off its axis, killing us all.”

  I let out a laugh. “Best we allow you to sleep on the left side of the bed, then.”

  The atmosphere changes in an instant. Sam. In bed. Naked? Definitely naked.

  I clear my throat. “Do you . . . umm . . . want to order?”

  The edges of his mouth quirk into a smile. “That sounds wonderful. I’m starving.”

  He attracts the attention of the waiter and we order our meals.

  Sam watches me from across the table, still smiling.

  Embarrassed, I ask, “What?”

  “Nothing,” he replies, still smiling. “I like you, Grace. This feels . . . right.”

  Warmth spreads through my belly. “Yes,” is all I can manage as my mouth goes dry.

  He reaches for my hand across the table. As I look into his eyes my heart clenches. I can’t put my finger on it precisely, but I now understand why people say they ‘just know’ when they meet the love of their life.

  Our moment is interrupted when the waiter delivers our beautifully presented meals.

  “Yours looks delicious,” Sam comments, eyeing my lamb dish as I take my first bite.

  “Mmm, bliss.” I savour the rich taste. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who always wants what someone else orders.”

  He looks down at his fish. “Maybe. Want to go halvies?”

  “Halvies?” I laugh. “I haven’t heard that since school. Sure.” I take a forkful of my dish and reach across the table, slipping it into his mouth.

  “Delicious,” he comments. “Here.” He scoops up some of his and offers it to me.

  “Mine’s better.” I grin across the table at him, enjoying our intimacy—and the delectable food.

  We talk quietly, enjoying getting to know one another more as we finish our dinner and move onto dessert. We share our respective choices—crème brulee and the most divine chocolate dessert I think I’ve ever eaten—devouring their rich deliciousness.

  After dinner Sam slips my coat over my shoulders, ready to step out into the cold night air. His jacket on, Sam suggests a moonlit walk, reasoning we’re unlikely to be recognised at night.

  We step outside and I’m almost blown sideways by the legendary Wellington wind.

  “Maybe not?” I suggest with a laugh, my hair whipping around my face. “It could be hazardous to our health.”

  He laughs, pulling me into him. “Okay, no walk.”

  He waits until a group of people bundled up against the cool wind pass by, then slips his arms around my waist, wr
apping them tightly around me. Our bodies pressed up against one another, we look into one another’s eyes, the wind swirling around us.

  My heart clenches, the acrobats in my belly jump on the trapeze. Again.

  I notice his lips part as he watches me intently, his face changing. He leans down to kiss me as I close my eyes, ready for him. Just then a fresh gust of wind lashes my hair into my face again. It stings, making us both pull away, laughing.

  Sam wipes my hair away, holding it back with his hand. “Let’s try that again,” he breathes. He leans down and brushes his soft lips against mine, bruising them oh-so gently. I inhale his scent, feel the warmth of his body against mine.

  My breath hitches in my throat.

  This. This is what I want.

  I reach up and run my fingers through his hair, pressing my lips against his, wanting more—needing more. Our kiss deepens, as we savour one another, locked in an exquisite embrace.

  Every nerve ending in my body stands to attention.

  Holy Mother, I think I’m going to explode.

  “Shall we go?” His voice is low with desire.

  “Sure,” I breathe in response.

  He takes my hand in his, leading me back to Jimmy in the waiting car.

  “Evening, Jimmy,” Sam says as he opens the door for me. “Northland, please. Grace’s place.”

  “Right you are, Mr Montgomery.”

  I get in the car and slide across the seat. Sam follows.

  I look at him, sitting next to me. I make a decision. “I . . . ah . . . Sam?”

  “What is it, Grace?”

  “Let’s go to your hotel room,” I whisper, not taking my eyes from his.

  The butterflies in my belly have turned into hummingbirds high on caffeine at the thought of being alone with Sam.

  He looks at me intently for a moment. “Are you sure?”

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak. As I look at Sam my heart swells. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.

  I want him: I know it with every fibre of my being.

  He takes my hand in his. Without taking his eyes from mine, he says, “Change of plan, Jimmy. Back to the hotel, please.”

  “No problem,” Jimmy replies.

  Breathless, I whisper, “Sam, I . . . I need you to know I haven’t . . . err . . . been with a man for a while.”

  For a while? Who am I kidding? People were still driving horse-drawn buggies the last time I had sex.

  Tiffany’s right: I am a reclaimed virgin.

  “It’s not that I can’t remember what to do. I think I’ve got that one down pat.” I laugh, nervous. “It’s just . . . I wanted you to know, I guess.”

  He places his hand on my cheek. “Grace, it’s okay. We can take this as slow as you like.”

  He leans across and kisses me on my lips. It’s so tender I could cry.

  “Whatever you want,” he whispers against my mouth.

  “What about Vanessa? Won’t she mind if you turn up with me at this hour of night?”

  He smiles at me, sending a shiver skating along my skin. “She’s gone away for a few days. With her ‘body guard’.” He does bunny ears with his fingers.

  “Oh. So, they’re—?”

  He nods. “Let’s just say Trent’s been doing more with her body than guarding it for some time now.” He flashes me a wicked grin.

  “Wow.”

  Vanessa and Trent? Well, they certainly looked pretty chummy when they walked into the hotel room that day I brought their clothes for the fitting.

  I lean down and pull my phone out of my bag. “I’ll text my parents to tell them I’m staying at my apartment tonight. I don’t want them to worry.”

  “Good plan.”

  My text sent, I turn to Sam and brush my lips against his once more. It starts out gentle, sweet, building with more and more intensity until my body pulses with my need for him.

  Good god, this man is hot.

  We kiss and kiss, like there’s nothing else in the world. And it’s good, oh my, is it good.

  A short ride later we arrive at the back of the hotel, by the kitchens.

  “Why are we stopping here?” I ask.

  “Because the last thing we want right now is to turn up as tomorrow’s headline.”

  “Right. See? You’re better at this than me.”

  “Practice.” He flashes me his gorgeous grin.

  We dash through the kitchen holding hands with our heads down, hoping no one recognises us. Let’s face it, you don’t need a journalist with a camera to end up in the media: all you need is someone with a phone and wham! you’re outed.

  We take the service stairs. They’re ugly and echo-y—and thankfully empty.

  “Why does your room have to be on the eleventh floor?” I puff. “We’ve still got three flights to go and I’m spent.”

  Without a word, Sam reaches around me and lifts me up so I’m facing him, making me giggle. He begins to climb the stairs, holding me in his arms. It’s so romantic.

  It reminds me of how we met—and how I didn’t want him to let go.

  After a flight, I notice he’s grunting as his face begins to turn decidedly pink.

  “Umm, you can put me down, if you like,” I say, embarrassed.

  “No . . . it’s fine . . . only two flights to go,” he grunts.

  “Seriously. I’m afraid you’re going to break something.” I laugh. “Sam, please put me down.”

  Exhaling loudly, he gives up the pretence of superhuman strength, placing me back on my feet.

  He lets out a laugh, his hands on his knees as he catches his breath. “I really thought I could do it.”

  Once recovered, I take his hand, smiling. “Let’s walk.”

  “A much better plan.”

  Two short flights of stairs later we arrive at his hotel room.

  As he grabs his room key card from his pocket my nerves kick up a notch. I’m going to Sam’s hotel room. We’re going to be alone. All night.

  Once inside his suite he helps me slip my jacket off and offers me a drink.

  “I’ve got whiskey, vodka, wine, beer. You name it,” he says, standing in front of the mini bar. “All at exorbitant prices, of course. Take your pick.”

  “That must hurt, you being a tight Scot and all.”

  He nods, smiling. “Most definitely. And I might start complaining about things in a minute too, just you watch out. Water?”

  I laugh. “Actually, water would be great.”

  “Well then, as long as the ice is free, water it is.”

  As Sam prepares our drinks I look out at the spectacular harbour. Lights are twinkling and the moon is full and bright, half obscured by a wisp of cloud, rendering the sky textbook beautiful.

  He walks over to me and hands me my water. My fingers brush his. We’re so close the hairs on my arms stand on end.

  My tummy responds with a low tug.

  “To your superhuman strength,” I say, raising my glass.

  He chuckles. “It’s a work in progress.”

  We clink glasses and sip our drinks. The cold water slips easily down my throat.

  He smiles at me. His eyes dilate with arousal, his mouth parted. He leans in and brushes his lips against mine. I close my eyes as every fibre of my being focuses on my lips, the way they tingle at his touch, the way his breath feels against my skin, the warm, vanilla scent of him.

  Talk is so overrated.

  Wanting more I put both our glasses on the table beside us. I slip my hand around his neck and pull him into me, teasing his lips with my tongue. He responds instantly, sliding his hands up my neck and tangling his fingers in my hair as his tongue slides against mine, pressing his firm body against mine. I can feel his heart racing against my chest.

  “Bloody hell, Grace,” he murmurs in his sexy Scottish accent, his eyes dark, full of lust.

  Lust for me.

  “Since the day we met I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind.”

  His voice rumble
s through me as my body tightens with expectation.

  A rush of lust slams into me with such a force I’m nearly knocked off balance.

  I want him, more than I’ve ever wanted a man.

  “Me too,” I whisper, barely trusting myself to speak. My heart’s hammering so hard I think it might burst through my ribs.

  He trails kisses down my neck. Sensual heat creeps up my body from my core. Without another word, he slips a finger under one of the straps of my dress, letting it fall down my arm. Then he turns his attention to the other strap. With a small tug my dress slips easily down to the floor.

  His eyes sweep over me, my body tingling as I stand in front of him in my high heels, clad only in my strapless bra and panties.

  He lets out a long breath, laden with desire. “My god, Grace. You’re beautiful.”

  I watch as he quickly unbuttons his shirt and pulls it over his head, never once taking his eyes—oh, those eyes—off me. His chest is muscular, tanned, firm. I reach over and touch it, half expecting my fingers to get singed by him.

  He pulls me into him and I can feel his excitement, pressed hard up against me. He’s warm, hard, angular. He unhooks my bra, lets it fall to the floor as he kisses me again with increasing urgency.

  He reaches up and cups my breasts. I arch my back and let out a groan as he rolls my nipples between his fingers, leans down and teases my breasts with his tongue.

  My intense need for him becomes almost excruciating.

  I pull his face up to mine to kiss him. It’s a hungry kiss, our tongues sliding against one another’s as the excitement of skin on skin rises. And rises.

  I reach down to undo the button on his pants. I’m too clumsy, my fingers like sausages.

  “Here.” He lets out a low laugh, quickly undoing his button himself. I unzip his pants and slide my hand inside. I let out a gasp as I feel him, ready. Oh-so ready.

  He groans, pulling his pants and underwear down and kicking them off. My eyes sweep over his body, drinking him in. He’s everything I imagined he would be: athletic, strong, with broad shoulders tapering down into a slim, taut waist, long muscular legs.

  Naked he’s even more magnificent than I’d dared imagine.

  He hooks a finger at the side of my panties, pulls them down my legs. I kick them quickly off. He reaches down and slips his hand between my legs, groaning when he finds me ready for him. He plays with me, teasing me, sliding over me, into me.