Dying for Love

by Angel Nicholas

  Bending down, she hooked her finger in something. When she rose, what had been a bra swayed from her hand. The underwires were snapped and the fragile lace torn. Grace tossed the bra over her shoulder then peered around the doorframe into her bathroom and sucked in a sharp breath.

  He crossed the room and looked over her shoulder.

  Her toilet seat lay in pieces on the floor. Glittering shards on the porcelain tiles were all that was left of the glass shower door. The mirror over the sink hung drunkenly from one broken hook. Toiletries and broken makeup containers were scattered amidst the shattered glass and broken shards. His jaw dropped.

  Across the wall, written in what looked like lipstick, were the words “TRAILER TRASH TRAMP.”

  The asshole was entirely too hung up on that phrase. Matt needed to call his background guy. He’d call him when they got to his place. Grace would be staying with him, if he had to tie her up and toss her in the backseat of his truck.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Grace winced, gently shutting and locking the door behind Matt. That was not a happy man. Once he’d realized he wouldn’t be able to talk her into staying with him, his mouth had hardened into a thin line. He’d insisted on following her to The Hampton Inn.

  The poor clerk who’d checked her in had cast nervous glances at Matt. When he slapped his credit card onto the counter, the young guy jumped and knocked over a stack of newspapers. Matt had glowered and cocked an eyebrow. She’d wisely kept her mouth shut.

  Sighing, she walked over to the window, crossing her arms. No luggage meant nothing to unpack and put away for her indeterminate stay. A depressing thought.

  She scowled at the light-mustard-yellow walls and flung herself onto the bed. Not a color she would have chosen. She tilted her head back. The deep-red accent wall was a nice touch. She’d have to remember that for her next place. Another depressing thought.

  She rolled over and buried her face in the bedding with a groan. At least she still had a job. A job where she’d thrown caution to the wind and fallen in love with her Type-A, anal-retentive, bossy boss.

  A loud bang woke her. Stupid motels and their thin walls. She rolled over, rubbing her eyes and smearing her makeup. Sweet dandelion blood.

  Someone pounded on her door. Great. Her day wouldn’t have been complete without greeting someone at the door sporting raccoon eyes.

  She pressed a bleary eye to the peephole. Matt paced in the hallway. His mouth was tight. Little lines fanned out from his eyes and his hair was tousled. She sighed and flung the door open. Let him savor her messy I-was-sleeping-you-woke-me-and-now-my-makeup-is-smeared-you-big-jerk look.

  Minus the barrier, a large portion of her irritation fled. He’d changed into a black V-neck tee and black jeans, both of which showed off muscles she’d licked. He also sported a sexy-as- heaven five-o’clock shadow and a frown that would’ve intimidated her back when he was just her boss. She was contemplating the merits of jumping him right there in the hallway when a mouth-watering smell distracted her.

  He held bulging plastic bags. Surely those weren’t all food?

  “Can I come in?” His raspy request set off her lusting hormones all over again. If he played nice, she might let him.

  Oh, who was she kidding? If he growled all sexy one more time, they’d both be coming a.s.a.p.

  Twining her fingers together behind her back so she’d behave, she held the door open. A whiff of her favorite man cologne—him—as he passed, pebbled her nipples. Man, was she a sorry case.

  “I brought dinner.” He headed for the desk and she closed the door. “I also stopped off at the mall.” His voice dropped an octave.

  “That had to be the most stressful experience of my life. Including playing second fiddle to my brother’s dog when he got married. I had to guess at your sizes. The women at the makeup counter must have seen me coming a mile away, because the quantity of items they insisted were absolutely necessary is mind-boggling.”

  One bag he sat on the desk, the rest he turned and deposited along the length of the small coffee table. A few wound up on the floor. A gorgeous pale-pink confection spilled out, distracting her slavering lust-buds.

  Gnawing on the inside of her cheek, she held it up. Shimmery pearl buttons and a wide cowl-neck. The sensuous softness of the cashmere sweater almost brought her to orgasm. Never in a million years could she afford something like this.

  The tweed skirt beneath caught her eye. Shot with blue, green and pink on a background of soft charcoal gray, it would be beautiful with the sweater. She also found a gray-silk scarf, tights, and dark-gray low-heeled leather shoes. A pair of silver earrings with a dainty cluster of multi-colored glass beads and a long matching necklace and bracelet were wrapped in tissue paper.

  Clutching the clothes to her chest, she plopped down on the couch and stared at Matt. The fine lines of tension had left his face. He leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, watching her with a slight smile playing around the corners of his lips.

  Tears stung her eyes. “You didn’t have to do this. They’re too expensive. But so beautiful. I love them. You’re so sweet.” She was blubbering like an idiot. “I can’t accept them. I would never be able to pay you back.”

  He shifted a bag aside to kneel beside her. Prying a shoe and a fistful of cashmere from her fingers, he wrapped her hand in both of his. Her stomach churned.

  “Sweetheart, it’s a gift. I don’t want you to pay me back. If I can do anything to make this insanity even a little easier for you, I will. I don’t care if that means buying you clothes or a dish of ice cream or just holding you. I’ll gladly do it.”

  “But—”

  “Grace.” His fingers tightened around hers, bringing her gaze—which had strayed to the other bags—back to his. “Please. Please, allow me to do this for you.”

  Two pleases in a row. She reluctantly nodded.

  Dropping a kiss on her lips, he rose and went to the desk, where he started pulling out containers of delicious-smelling food. Her stomach rumbled, but the bags called.

  Each bag was similar to the first, with an entire outfit inside. A bottle of her perfume was tucked in amidst the clothes of one. The last bag held piles of sheer-and-lace panties with matching bras, a half-slip and a full-slip, along with several nightgowns and a robe that would have given her old one a run for its money in indecency. Glancing at the sizes, she knew they’d fit. She also knew they suited his taste. Scarily enough, they fit her taste as well.

  “I’ll admit I didn’t hate the lingerie store nearly as much as the others.”

  “No?” She smiled. “Why ever not?”

  “I pictured you in each piece.”

  He stepped away from the desk, revealing a romantic dinner for two. A small vase held a miniature arrangement of rosebuds and two taper candles flickered in the middle of the plastic place settings. Sweet heaven, if he accepted defeat this gracefully, how did he respond to success?

  He held out his hand to help her up. Carefully depositing her lapful of lingerie back in the bag, she accepted his hand. The brush of calluses across her palm made her shiver. He seated her in the office chair with a frown, then sat across from her.

  “I’m sorry if my hands bother you. I know they’re rough from helping out around the jobsite and must feel like a cheese grater against your soft skin. I’ll start wearing gloves at work.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Her cheeks warmed. “I like your hands just the way they are.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Please, please, please don’t make me explain.

  “Because really, it wouldn’t be a big deal to wear gloves. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Angelic cherubs above, he was making her explain. Cheeks heating, she met his gaze. “I like the way your hands feel against my skin. I love the roughness. In college, I went on a few dates with a man whose hands were softer than mine. It was not appealing.”

  Matt grinned. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m su
re.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to—”

  “Matt, I’m sure. Where did you get this food? It smells really good. Looks good too.”

  Chuckling, he lifted something off the floor. Her favorite wine. He was seriously observant. Knowing he not only saw but remembered so much about her affected her far more than she expected.

  “I stopped at a little family-run bistro on the way here.” With the flourish of an experienced waiter, he poured the wine into the tiny glasses the hotel provided. She arched her brow and he shrugged. “I waited tables at a nice restaurant during college. Helped pay my way. They closed about five years ago.”

  “They probably suffered a steady decline in business once the women no longer had you to drool over.”

  He snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.”

  His muscles flexed as he poured the second glass. A tiny bit of drool may have formed as she watched him. Imagining feathering kisses along his strong biceps, across his shoulders to his neck, down well-defined pecs…she sighed.

  Color splashed across his cheeks, brown eyes glittered at her beneath heavy lids, and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

  “Grace.” His voice lowered, hitting the octave that never failed to make her happy parts sit up and pay attention. “If you keep looking at me like that, I promise you, not a bite of this food will pass your lips. Which would be a shame, because it’s excellent.”

  Sucking her lower lip into her mouth, she looked from the food to Matt. Her stomach growled loudly. The corner of his mouth kicked up and his dimple made an appearance. She whimpered.

  “Eat your food, sweetheart.”

  Her heart melted. She quickly dropped her gaze to her food. What would it be like to look at him across the table every night? To know he’d be there to cradle her in his arms as she drifted to sleep? For him to be hers and her to be his, forever and forever, till death parted them?

  She tried to shake the foolish fantasy.

  Brush it aside.

  Shrug it off.

  The images clung with relentless tenacity.

  Grace closed the bathroom door, one of the sheer nightgowns Matt bought draped over her arm. Back pressed to the door, she dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling. The noose tightened every time she was with him. She slid to the floor and rested her forehead on her bent knees.

  It was going to kill her when he left. Her foster mother’s death had been the worst to date, but Matt’s absence… Just thinking about it closed her throat and made her hurt. Everywhere. A hot tear dripped off the tip of her nose. She needed time to compose herself before she facing him.

  Halfway through dinner she had noticed the black duffle bag sitting in the middle of the white comforter. Matt explained that if she was staying there, he’d stay with her. His calmness had killed any argument before she even voiced it. Drat the man. Sharing a space with him like they were a real couple made it impossible to keep any portion of her heart safe—if she hadn’t already surrendered every nook and cranny.

  A hot bath would help. Lots of steam to clear her mind and heat to relax her muscles. Then she’d climb into bed with all the romantic sweetness wrapped in sinew and bulging muscle and let him sweep her away. Just the thought sent a shiver of desire racing down her belly.

  “Matt, I’m going to take a bath.”

  “Take your time, babe,” was his muffled response.

  Fifteen steamy minutes later she couldn’t take it. The steam had cleared nothing and the heat had relaxed nothing. Everything was wound tight in anticipation.

  She dried off and dropped the filmy nightgown over her head, then freed her hair from the towel. The outline of her hard nipples was clear as day through the black fabric. Quietly opening the door, she took a deep breath and walked around the corner. Matt had the blankets folded back and lay sprawled on his back in the center of the bed watching the news. Naked. With an impressive hard-on throbbing and twitching. She shot her gaze up and met Matt’s eyes.

  “I like the nightgown,” he rumbled in his midnight voice.

  Already perky nipples tightened to an aching throb.

  “Take it off.”

  The nightgown fluttered to the floor. She straddled his feet, dropped to her hands and knees on the mattress, then paused. The TV announcer rattled on behind her. She wanted his undivided attention.

  His mind-reading mojo worked in her favor for once and he clicked off the TV.

  She smiled and ran her fingertips down the length of one thickly muscled leg. His hair tickled her palm. She dropped a kiss to his knee, the center of his thigh, the top of his thigh, his hip. He shifted beneath her and she looked at him from beneath her lashes.

  “Something wrong?”

  “No.” He stilled.

  Moving a little higher, intentionally brushing her breast across his erection, she dropped kisses along the bottom of his ribcage. Then she used her tongue, lapping along his skin like a cat. Finding every sensitive spot that made him twitch. Brushing her breasts and nipples back and forth.

  Shifting down slightly, she settled her pelvis over his knee and blew a breath across the head of his dick. It jumped. Holding his gaze, she eased the head into her mouth. A sweep of her tongue pulled a groan from him. She sucked and he swore. With an audible pop, she released him.

  His leg shifted beneath her, the rough hair scraping across her swollen clit and she gasped. He lifted his knee again and she rubbed against him with a moan. But this wasn’t his show. Settling more firmly over his knee, her inner muscles clenching rhythmically with need, she took him into her mouth again. Deeper, hitting her throat. Backing off a little, she sucked and wriggled her hips.

  “Grace, come here.”

  Well, okay.

  But first…she swiped her tongue from the base to the tip. He groaned and fisted the bed sheets. She rose onto her hands and knees and crawled up until she straddled his hips. Raising up on her knees, she reached down and wrapped her fingers around him. The swollen head of his erection rubbed across her clit when she moved to guide him inside her, sparking the fire higher in her belly.

  She paused. Did it again. Back and forth, then in a circle. Her eyes closed and she circled her hips on the head, spreading her liquid arousal. Pushing herself closer to orgasm.

  Matt’s hands tightened on her hips to the point of almost pain, but he didn’t try to take over. Abruptly, she couldn’t take anymore and sank onto his thick erection. Her head fell forward and she couldn’t breathe. So close. She was so close, but her muscles clamped down and she couldn’t move.

  “Matt,” she whimpered.

  Big, gentle hands swept her hair from her face and lifted her chin. She met his tender gaze.

  “What, sweetheart? What do you need?”

  “Please. I can’t…” Move. Talk. Breathe. Her heart might stop in two more seconds. So very close. So much pleasure.

  He pulled her down to his chest and reversed their positions, never leaving her body. One thrust, two, three and her climax rolled over her with the force of a tidal wave. She arched up and cried out as he pounded into her and found his release. Heat spilled inside her.

  Matt dropped his head and whispered in her ear. “I love you, Grace.”

  The emotions she’d held tight all day burst free in a rush of tears. She wrapped her arms and legs around him. “I love you too,” she whispered. “And it terrifies me.”

  “Why, sweetheart?”

  A laugh choked out. Rhododendron blooms. She was out of control. Matt lifted up on his elbows. He cradled her face. His thumbs swept the tears away, but more ran down to replace them.

  “Everybo…body leaves ev…eventual…ly,” she sobbed.

  “Baby, please stop. You’re killing me. I’m not going anywhere. I promise. The only way I’m leaving you is if I’m dead. Please, stop crying.”

  Oh, sweet heaven. Laughter bubbled, dangerously close to hysteria. Tipping her head back, she gulped air and tried to calm down. Nice. Really. So romantic, sobbing out her f
irst declaration of love. The snotty nose was probably driving him wild with lust.

  “I’m s-s-sorry.”

  “No.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him. “Don’t be sorry. If you’d just stop crying, I’d be the happiest man on the planet. The woman I love loves me back. What could be better? Except maybe no crying.” His warm chuckle did more to calm her than all of her deep breaths combined. The room swam. Then again, too many deep breaths might be a bad thing.

  Pressed against him, she inhaled the combination of pheromones that made up Matt. Her belly tightened and deep inner muscles spasmed. His cock’s answering twitch startled her.

  Matt lifted his head and met her gaze. “I find declarations of love arousing. And tears. Tears are a guaranteed turn-on.”

  Laughing, she rubbed her palms down his sides and squeezed his butt. Nipping his shoulder, she arched her hips. He sank deeper. “Have I told you how much I love your butt?”

  “No. I’m pretty sure I’d remember that.” Leisurely strokes in and out rubbed all the right places. He bent his head and sucked her nipple into his mouth.

  She gasped. “And your arms.”

  All the way back until just the tip teased her entrance, then his hips lunged forward. He did it again, and again. His tongue traced slow circles around her nipple. Coherent thought fled.

  Hours or days later, she didn’t much care, she lay snuggled against him with her head pillowed on his chest. Pillowed might not be the right word. She had yet to find a soft spot on him. There was, however, a very pleasant niche beneath his shoulder, where she fit nicely.

  Warm blankets covered them and the only lights came from the city outside. As the heater hummed, she drifted. Matt’s hand rested on her hip and their fingers lay intertwined on top of his stomach.

  “What was it like when you were little, changing homes and families so often?”

  Languid from making love and half asleep, Grace didn’t tense as she otherwise might have. “It was hard. I have a very vague memory of the first time. I must have been three or four. My foster mother was crying and I kept patting her cheeks, trying to make her feel better, I think, even though I was crying too. The caseworker had to pull me from her arms. She kept asking why. There were tears the next few times, but eventually I stopped crying and so did they. Maybe they told them I wouldn’t be staying. Maybe as I grew out of my toddler years I was no longer so lovable. I don’t know. Once I hit my elementary years, I distanced myself from the families. Even from the teachers and other kids at my school. I didn’t have many friends.” She shrugged. “I didn’t feel sorry for myself or anything, so don’t think that. It’s just the way it was.”