Coming Home (The Santa Monica Trilogy Book 2)

by Jill Blake

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Enjoy the rest of your evening?” Logan repeated as he ushered Grace into this apartment. “What is this, Mister Roger’s Neighborhood?”

  She shrugged and deposited the bag of take-out on the kitchen table. “No sense making the situation worse.”

  “The guy was threatening you.”

  “He wasn’t. He was doing his job, annoying as it is. Another few days, and I’m sure he would have gotten tired of it, and moved on.”

  “I told you Quinn was bad news.”

  “What?”

  “That guy,” he waved vaguely toward the northwest, where the confrontation had taken place. “He basically said Quinn was acting like loverboy.”

  “I think he meant you.”

  Oh. Well, that was only marginally better. He wasn’t exactly Grace’s lover, and at the rate things were going, the likelihood of that changing tonight was getting slimmer by the second. “Why don’t we finish dinner? I can warm up the food.”

  “I’m not really hungry, thanks.”

  Now that she mentioned it, he’d pretty much lost his appetite too. He shoved the containers into the fridge, bag and all. “You want some tea or coffee?”

  She shook her head. “We should probably call Angie.”

  “That’s who you meant when you mentioned your lawyer?”

  “Who else?”

  If she wasn’t thinking about Quinn, Logan sure as hell wasn’t going to bring the guy up. Again. “Okay, but she’s not going to be happy.”

  Grace slumped onto the couch and kicked off her shoes. “It’s not like I did this on purpose.”

  “I meant with me,” Logan said, pulling out his phone. “She’s probably going to rip me a new one.”

  “In that case, maybe I should just call her tomorrow. Leave you out of this.”

  “Oh, no you don’t, Grace. We’re in this together.” He sat down, the sofa cushion dipping beneath his weight. His thigh pressed against hers. He savored a moment of satisfaction when Grace made no move to scoot away, the way she would have even a couple weeks ago. “I can handle Angie.”

  Turned out he didn’t need to. At least, not tonight.

  “Let me get this straight,” Angie said, after he briefly described the situation over the phone. “You’re not in jail or in the ER?”

  “No.”

  “And Grace isn’t in any danger?”

  “No.”

  “Fine, then. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  He stared in bemusement at the phone.

  Grace nudged him. “What did she say?”

  “That she’ll call back tomorrow.” He frowned, replaying the conversation in his head. Angie had sounded preoccupied. And was that a man’s voice he’d heard in the background, just before she hung up? “She was either working late, or on a date.”

  “Well, this’ll keep.” Grace slipped her shoes back on and rose. “I need to get going. Touch base after you talk with Angie?”

  He caught her hand and reeled her in until she stood between his legs. His free hand settled on her hip, thumb dipping beneath the waistband to stroke bare skin. “You don’t want to stay a bit longer?”

  She swayed, and braced a palm against his shoulder. “It’s been a long day. And I’ve got patients at eight-thirty.”

  He traced an invisible line toward her navel, outlining the shallow indentation. “Sure I can’t change your mind?”

  She shivered and leaned closer. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling lightly until he tilted his head back. He focused on her lips. Soft, lush, they hovered just out of reach. The tip of her tongue peeked out, wetting them, and he nearly groaned. And then she bridged the final inch that separated them, and he was breathing her in, absorbing her sigh, relishing the taste of her.

  Strange that after so many years, he felt like he was finally coming home. The scent of her hair, the texture of her skin, the contours of her body were achingly familiar and precious. How could he have considered going the rest of his life without feeling her come apart in his arms again?

  The last of her resistance gave way. Her knees buckled, and he was there, rising to catch her, lift her, carry her to the bedroom.

  Light from the hallway illuminated the path toward the bed. He set her gently atop the covers, and eased down beside her. His fingers traced her jaw and throat, paused over the skittering pulse, and then continued along the neckline of her blouse to the point between her breasts where the buttons impeded further progress.

  The first button gave way while he distracted her with another lingering kiss. She clutched at his shoulder, and for a moment he froze, afraid she might be pushing him away. But when he tried to lift his head, she brought him back down, her mouth ravaging his with a fervor that sent his temperature soaring.

  Three more buttons and the blouse fell open. He ran a finger along the edge of her lacy bra, slipping beneath to tease the nipple into a stiff peak.

  She moved restlessly against him. And then she did push against his chest, and he groaned, rolling onto his back. She followed, straddling him, rocking against his erection. The heat of her seared him through multiple layers of clothing.

  He cupped her hips, stilling her movement. “I won’t last if you keep that up.”

  Her breathless laugh made his heart swell—along with other parts, nearly defeating the purpose of his bid to slow things down.

  She attacked the buttons of his oxford shirt. As the material gave way, her palms swept over the contours of his chest. Fingernails flicked his nipples and he jerked against her. She did it again.

  He wanted to grab her wrists and flip her, tear off her remaining clothing, grind himself into her until they were both too exhausted to move. But the memory of her panicked response last time kept him still—or as still as the movement of her hands over his bare skin would allow.

  This was her show. She was in charge, directing the action. Whatever happened, he needed to keep a tight rein on himself and resist his natural impulse to seize control.

  She leaned forward, her breasts brushing the rigid muscles of his abdomen. Her tongue traced the outline of his nipple before pulling the bud into her mouth and sucking hard. Oh, God. His erection responded, as if that wet suction had been applied to it directly.

  He expelled a harsh breath and closed his eyes. If she didn’t stop soon, this was going to be over faster than a Bugatti Veyron going zero to sixty.

  Her mouth moved to his other nipple, laving it with the same attention, before moving down. His abs rippled beneath her tongue. There was a slight pause as she popped open the button on his jeans and lowered the zipper. And then he bucked up as her hand wrapped around his erection and her hot mouth settled over him. She licked off the drop of clear fluid seeping from the tip, swirling her tongue around the head before finally sucking him in deep.

  “Christ.”

  He plunged his fingers into her hair, molding her scalp, as his hips jerked up in response to her encouragement. In a last ditch effort to put on the brakes, he tugged on her hair until she disengaged. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and retrieved a foil packet from his pocket before making short work of the rest of their clothes.

  “Let me.” She reached for the packet and tore it open with her teeth, then unrolled it slowly over his erection.

  He shuddered.

  Her smile told him she knew exactly what the movement was doing to him.

  “Lie back,” she whispered, pressing a palm against his chest. “Hands above your head.”

  He almost balked. But then she straddled his hips again, this time with only the thin latex barrier between them, and he dropped back against the pillows, arms bent at the elbows, fingers laced beneath his head.

  She lowered herself over him, the snug wet heat of her surrounding him, inch by inch, until he was seated to the hilt. He throbbed, desperate for more movement, friction, speed. But other than the slow squeeze and release of her inner muscles around him, she remained still.

&nbs
p; “Grace?”

  She bit her lip. The light was too dim to gauge her expression. He held his breath, wishing he knew what to do. His fingers itched to grab her hips and raise them up and down, thrusting into her again and again to match the frantic beat of his heart.

  But he didn’t move. Didn’t dare, for fear of spooking her. “Grace?”

  “Yes.” She finally shifted, a tentative inch, and then another, before sinking back down and repeating the movement. “I’d forgotten...”

  “What?” his voice sounded harsh in his own ears.

  She shook her head. This time he could see the betraying glitter in her eyes, and he did lift his hands, wiping his thumbs across her wet cheeks. “Don’t cry.”

  He cupped her face, bringing it down to his. Lips replaced fingers as he kissed away the tears.

  The weight of her on top of him was nothing compared to the tight band squeezing his chest.

  Her lips met his, and his fingers drifted down. Over the smooth skin of her back, to the swell of her ass, where he paused briefly, guiding her to resume a rocking motion, before moving on. He lingered over the backs of her splayed thighs, feeling the tensing of the muscles as her pelvis rose and fell. And then one hand circled around to the front, thumb insinuating itself between their undulating bodies to where they were joined. Gathering some of the moisture seeping between them, he pressed against her clit, and felt her jerk against him.

  He swallowed her startled “Oh!” and continued to circle the nub, even as their rhythm shifted, and became more erratic, and he felt her convulsing around him, squeezing him, milking him, until he finally emptied himself inside her in a climax that rippled through his entire body.

  ###

  “Be right back,” Logan murmured.

  Grace pulled the covers tightly around her body and curled up on her side, facing the wall. Tears continued to leak silently across the bridge of her nose and down her temple, seeping into the pillow. She didn’t even know why she was crying.

  She should be elated. There had been no panic at the critical juncture. And the sex had been good. Better than good. Her body was still tingling in the aftermath.

  So why couldn’t she stop these stupid tears?

  For months, she’d wrestled with guilt and shame over what she’d allowed Harry to do to her. No. She bit her lip until she tasted blood.

  It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t allowed Harry to do anything. But no matter how often she told herself that, she still felt like there wasn’t enough soap and water in the world to make her feel clean again.

  She should be thanking Logan for helping her to reclaim her body. For helping her to feel normal again. Having him voluntarily cede control and place the reins in her hands had been liberating. Empowering. Exhilarating.

  She wasn’t foolish enough to believe it would always be this good. Down the line, she knew there might be moments of hesitation or anxiety. Times she might still experience flashbacks, nights when she’d wake up with nightmares.

  But at least now she knew that she was capable of having sex without freezing up or breaking down. And she had Logan to thank for that. If she could ever get the words out.

  She heard the toilet flush, and then the sound of running water. She closed her eyes and feigned sleep. The mattress dipped behind her. The covers lifted and then settled again, cocooning them together. His chest pressed against her back, radiating heat. His legs aligned themselves to hers, and she felt the beginnings of his arousal against her buttocks. She held her breath, but all he did was drape an arm over her hip and flatten his hand across her belly.

  His lips grazed the back of her shoulder. “Goodnight, Grace.”

  ###

  Logan woke up alone in bed. Pale gray light spilled through the balcony doors, chasing away the final remnants of some erotic dream.

  The sheets were cool. He reached for the pillow beside him. Traces of Grace’s floral perfume lingered there, and he smiled. Thank God. At least that part hadn’t been a dream.

  He fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table and glanced at the clock.

  A sound from the living room had him pulling on his discarded jeans and heading out to investigate. There was Grace, fully dressed except for shoes, which she was in the process of putting on.

  As she bent forward, Logan got a tantalizing glimpse down the front of her blouse. By the time she straightened and saw him, he’d gone from half-mast to fully erect. The change didn’t go unnoticed. Delicate color bloomed in her cheeks.

  He smiled. Maybe he could entice her into staying a bit longer. “Good morning.”

  Her eyes rose to meet his. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Too bad.” He sauntered across the room to stand directly in front of her. “But now that I’m up, how about you take those clothes off again and come back to bed?”

  Her lips quirked even as she shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I really need to head home.”

  “It’s barely six. Surely you have a few minutes to spare?”

  He felt her gaze like a caress, tracing a slow path down his bare chest and abdomen to the jeans he hadn’t gotten around to buttoning.

  “Really?” she murmured. “That’s all it would take?”

  He lifted her chin with his finger and captured her lips in a long, thorough kiss.

  Eventually, she pulled away. “Much as I’d like to stay, I have to shower and change and go to work.”

  He sighed. “Where are you parked?”

  “Downstairs, in the garage.”

  “Give me a minute, and I’ll walk you down.”

  “No need. There’s a twenty-four hour valet.”

  “I’ll walk you down,” he repeated.

  He left the door to the master bath open, half afraid she would disappear while he was brushing his teeth and pulling on a shirt.

  In the elevator, he studied her while she kept her eyes trained on the floor indicator display above the doors.

  “You know,” he said casually, “things were much simpler when we lived together.”

  She waited until they reached the lobby to answer. “We were a lot younger then.”

  “True.” He followed her to the concierge desk where she requested her car, and then outside to the semicircular drive where the valet was supposed to pull up.

  Logan waited for her to say something else, but all she did was check her watch. Perversely, it was her very lack of interest that made him want to press the issue.

  “So, how about it?” he said.

  “How about what?”

  “Living together.”

  She frowned at him. “It’s too early in the morning for this, Logan, and I haven’t had any caffeine yet.”

  It took a few moments for the realization to hit. She thought he was joking.

  Damn. This certainly wasn’t the response he’d anticipated.

  In all his years of dating, he’d only made the offer twice. And both times, it was to the same woman.

  He hadn’t appreciated how easily things had fallen into place the first time round. A casual question over pizza, a few weeks of scouring the local listings, and it was a done deal. Bye-bye crowded freshman dorms, hello single-family house. The rent was cheaper, the neighborhood quieter, his girlfriend cooked, and he could still bike to campus. Best of all, they could have sex whenever they felt like it, without having to worry about disturbing or being interrupted by any roommates.

  No doubt about it, he’d messed up a pretty good thing. He’d acted like an idiot, and they had both paid for it. Especially Grace.

  He didn’t blame her if she turned him down. In her place, he’d think long and hard before committing himself to any long-term arrangement too.

  But that was okay. As Grace pointed out, he was older now. Hopefully a little wiser. Definitely more patient. And a hell of a lot more determined.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Angie dropped by Logan’s office later that morning.

  “You should have told me y
ou were coming,” he said, after he’d ushered out a couple of graduate students. “I’m meeting some moneybags in an hour. If I’d known, I would have scheduled them for after lunch.”

  “This is very last minute.” She set her briefcase beside his desk. “I had a deposition nearby that got canceled.”

  “You want something to drink? Water? Coffee?”

  “If you’re talking about the stuff in the lounge, no thanks.” She shrugged out of her suit jacket and hung it over the back of the least uncomfortable looking chair. “When are you going to get some decent furniture in here?”

  “When I get tenure.”

  “That long?” She sat down. “I’ll call ahead next time. We’ll go to Profeta and get some decent cappuccino.”

  “Sounds good.” He leaned against the edge of his desk. “So, what’s up?”

  “You tell me, Logan.”

  “Uh-oh. I sense a lecture coming on.”

  “I wish you’d used that Spidey-sense yesterday. What were you thinking, getting into a scuffle with a reporter?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “He was harassing Grace.”

  “Did he touch her?”

  “Well, no. But he was getting in her face with the camera, saying all sorts of nasty things. Wouldn’t let us pass.”

  “This isn’t like you, Logan. Acting before you think.”

  “I couldn’t let him hurt Grace.”

  She sighed. “Look, if you’re going to be led around by your little head instead of the big one, at least pick someone who doesn’t have so much baggage. You’re less likely to get in trouble.”

  He ground his teeth and reminded himself that Angie meant well. She probably thought she was protecting him. How was she to know that in the span of just a few weeks—make that days—his entire perspective on life had undergone a sea change?