The Price of Grace

by Diana Muñoz Stewart

  Okay. He sat. The chair was a little small for him. Awkward. Seemed to be a family trait—keeping a man off-balance.

  Her folded hands rested comfortably on the desk. It was the most skin she showed. Those age-lined hands. “So you work for the FBI, are investigating me, and are sleeping with my daughter.”

  A lot awkward. “That your idea of an ice-breaker?”

  She laughed; the brush of air fluttered her veil. “Being direct saves time. Time is precious and who I share it with greedily guarded, as that person takes from my family. Something I despise.”

  Well, that cleared it up. “You’re worried about Grace.”

  The edges of her eyes creased. “Yes.” She slowed as if counting her breaths, this pause in time, and found it worth her while. “Grace.”

  The heat rising in his body kicked him in the face. Calling her Grace and not Gracie had been stupid. Might as well have told the woman that, for him, it was more than sex.

  He rested his hands on his knees. “My uncle always said there’s no greater waste of time than an inauthentic man. The kind of guy that’ll piss on a toilet seat ’fore lifting it up. So let me just state, flat out, I’m not here for you. I’m here to protect Grace, and if that means protecting you, so be it.”

  He let that marinate and soak into the exact meaning it needed, what he was offering, before he put out his demand. “I’ve been told you have a tape of Sheila Hall making accusations against Senator Rush. I need to authenticate it.”

  Mukta shifted in her chair. This obviously hadn’t been the way she’d expected this to go. She composed herself quickly. “Why?”

  “Because there are altered digital versions of that tape. Ones that suggest you have been blackmailing multiple officials with the same ruse. I need the original tape to prove the other versions are fake.”

  She leaned forward. “We obviously have a lot to discuss, but I have to ask. Did you tell Gracie about what her father did?”

  His body washed with warmth. Woman hadn’t even asked about the charges. She wanted to know about her daughter. “No. Wasn’t sure she knew. Wasn’t sure about the tape. Wanted to talk to you first.”

  She leaned back, as if satisfied. “We can discuss what kind of access I can allow you after I speak to Gracie, but if you don’t mind, before we continue I’d really like to ask you another question.”

  “Okay. Shoot.” Probably not the best colloquialism to use with a vigilante. Suspected vigilante. Wink, wink.

  “What sparked your investigation into my family?”

  Whoa. Lady knew how to strike at the heart of a matter. “I think that’s Grace’s story to tell.”

  Her eyes widened. “So she sent the email.”

  Fuck. How the hell…? Gracie wasn’t going to like that he’d accidentally ratted her out to her momma.

  Chapter 46

  Gracie felt Dusty kiss her and get out of bed. She wanted him to stay so much it hurt. She could feel it in the center of her chest.

  That scared her. What would happen between them now that he was here?

  She waited for him to visit the bathroom and make his way out. After the click of the suite door, she threw off the blankets and picked up her clothes from the chaise.

  Aw, he’d folded them.

  Ignoring the bathroom to her left, she turned right into the closet. Had Dusty noticed that the bathroom he’d used only had a tiny shower? He must’ve. Man was big.

  She flicked on the recessed lighting. The wide, shelf- and drawer-lined space lit up and was reflected in the wall of mirrors at the end. Pulling open the laundry chute, she dropped her clothes in, then pushed the glass wall open, revealing a secret room, and walked into the large, bright bathroom.

  Covered in multihued stone, the bathroom had a spacious vanity, sauna, computerized multifunction toilet and bidet, and a set of long steps that led up to a six-person Jacuzzi. The bath overlooked the family grounds.

  She went to the panel by the doorway, pressed the temperature and settings for her bath. She was sorely tempted to press start but set it to start in 120 minutes.

  She dressed in black yoga pants and matching tank from her well-stocked closet. Out in the anteroom, she ate from the generous breakfast spread, poured some coffee. Pulling her laptop and cell from her bag, she set to work at the round table.

  An hour later, she shut her laptop and wiped the tears from her eyes. That had been a rough series of phone calls. She’d contacted the hospital, checked on the injured, and made sure she was covering all of their hospital bills; she’d checked in with her employees as well.

  She’d also called the police, the fire marshal, and her insurance company. Repairs might not be that awful, and could begin immediately. The investigators had expeditated the collection of evidence. Thanks, she was certain, to Momma’s influence. Not that that had stopped her family. She wondered what they’d discovered while she’d been sleeping.

  Time to find out. She headed downstairs. It hit her as she descended the staircase what she missed most about this place and why she enjoyed the nightlife of her club so much. The noise.

  In total, fifteen of her siblings lived here. The house was filled with love, laughter, and arguments. Usually the arguments were between girls. After all, Momma had adopted only two males. And one of them was gone.

  Oh, Tone. Miss you.

  But when he’d been here, Tony rarely argued with anyone. So it was weird to hear a guy arguing with someone.

  Gracie spotted him in the center of the gym. Romeo was openly arguing with Cee.

  Gracie strolled toward the high-pitched conversation. Romeo’s voice strayed higher. “I think this has gone too far.”

  “What’s gone too far?” Gracie said.

  Romeo’s head shot up. Cee spun around, a hand-in-the-cookie-jar look on her face.

  Seriously, that’s spy-craft 101: watch your back.

  Romeo stepped forward to stand beside Cee. They wore the gym uniform—black workout pants, black tees, and bare feet. They couldn’t have looked more like a team if they’d each had a lacrosse stick in their hands.

  Even though she also wore black—force of habit—she definitely felt like the outsider.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  Both at once. It must be something. Could it be the case that Cee had talked about? “Come on, guys. I’m not the enemy here.”

  They stared at her, with thin bodies and thinly veiled guilt. She didn’t like it. The two of them were up to something. And where was Jules, Romeo’s twin and the third in their trio?

  Okay. Fine. She could push them, but that wasn’t going to get them to open up to her. “Let’s go.” She beckoned with her fingers to Romeo.

  Romeo cast a glance around the gym as if for understanding. “What? You mean training?”

  “Tony and I were the most advanced Muay Thai instructors. And Tony, our dear brother, is gone. So maybe I can catch you all up.”

  To her utter shock, Romeo burst into tears. Crud on a cracker. Shouldn’t have mentioned Tony. He and Romeo had been close. Not only had Tony mentored him, but when Romeo had first come here, he’d been Tony’s shadow. Tony had taken it as a compliment and had seen the need in the kid, a space he’d tried to fill.

  Fudge. He was really crying. He needed a hug. She sucked at hugs. Putting her arms out, she walked forward like a short, red-headed Frankenstein’s monster. Why couldn’t Shelley have named the monster?

  She heard Cee snort something that sounded like “Tin Man.”

  She wrapped her arms around the tall boy. Someone with a good sound effects machine should definitely start making rusty-hinge noises. He bent over, putting a weight on her that she hadn’t expected. He was tall, like Tyler. She wrapped her arms tighter around him. “I’m sorry. I miss him too.”

  The kid sobbed harder. She fel
t her own throat grow tight. What had they done by telling these kids Tony was gone, but never having a funeral? When all of this was cleared up, she was going to insist Momma have a memorial service. They obviously hadn’t processed their grief. And she included herself in that.

  He pulled away, wiped at his eyes. “It means more because you suck so bad at it.”

  Gracie burst into laughter that met her own tears. That was a Tony quote. He’d said it as encouragement, as if the thing they were worst at, just because they tried, was worth so much more.

  She’d been wrong not to come here, wrong to try and distance herself from them to win John’s approval. She wiped her eyes. “I love you guys.”

  Their turn to look shocked. Cee looked down at the floor. “I’m sorry about your club, Gracie. I really am.”

  Aw. That was sweet. Romeo clapped a hand to his eyes, obviously embarrassed. “Me too. I mean, I’m sorry too.”

  These kids. She wanted to get to know them well enough that they’d trust her with their secrets. Like Romeo had trusted Tony. “I appreciate that. And it sucks, but you know what, it got me here. And I’m glad I’m here.”

  Cee perked up, smiled in a way that seemed triumphant. She rushed over and gave Gracie a quick, awkward hug. Gracie hugged her back. Two hugs in one day. She might get good at this.

  Cee pulled away. “Definitely better the second time.”

  Gracie had to laugh. “Okay. Let’s get to work. It’s not Muay Thai, but I’ll show you a move Tony taught me years ago. It’s saved my life twice.”

  Chapter 47

  Entering Gracie’s suite, Dusty saw that she’d been up and busy. Her laptop, cell, and a stack of papers were on the round table.

  He called out to her, but she didn’t answer. He went to the bedroom area and couldn’t find her. She must be somewhere in this huge home. Great. He’d have to send out a search party.

  He turned to go back out and then heard it. Water running?

  He followed the sound through the hoity-toity closet to the back wall of mirrors. Yep. Water. Another bath? He knocked on the glass.

  “Dusty, if that’s you, come in. Anyone else, go away.”

  Made a man feel special. He pushed, and the glass glided open. And who should he find sitting up to her perfect pink nipples in jetted bubbles but one Ms. Gracie Parish. “God, you’re beautiful.”

  “Take off your clothes and get in. This is going to make your day.”

  He was pretty damn certain of that fact.

  Dusty set the land-speed record for undressing, then climbed the stairs and dropped into the water. Thing was almost a pool. The heat loosened his muscles.

  He drifted across the water to where Gracie sat. She had her head against the cushions and her eyes closed. He settled on the seat next to her, kissed her on the cheek, licked water off her neck, collarbone, sucked the lobe of her ear and then, “How was your morning? You okay?”

  Her eyes still closed, her hand went between his legs and began to stroke. He sucked in a breath. Obviously didn’t want to talk right now. He’d already been hard, but the hand job increased the pressure and pleasure. “Nice way to change the subject.”

  She laughed, opened her eyes. “How long do you think I can hold my breath?”

  Before he could answer, her head dipped under the water. Her lovely ass floated up as her mouth slid around his cock. Holy hell. He grunted at the feel of her tongue working hot water against his hard-on. That felt incredible.

  Her ass, damn near irresistible, bobbed in the water in front of him. Make that irresistible. He gave it a gentle spank. And beneath the water, Gracie went wild, dipping and sucking, and quickening that talented tongue.

  Fuck. He fought to keep from coming, fisted his hands. She came up for air. Just in time.

  * * *

  The moment Gracie surfaced, out of breath, with her bottom still tingling, Dusty was on her. One of his hands squeezed her cheek, his mouth devoured her neck. He whispered, “That ass. None finer. None. All I could do to keep from reddening it properly.”

  She inhaled sharply at the thought, pressed her core against his hardness. “Yes to that.”

  He groaned, switched from devouring her neck to devouring her mouth. He kissed her like they had been apart a thousand years. And she was kissing him back with the same hot intensity, loving the feel of his strong, sure lips and tongue against hers, the needy way his hands ran along her body.

  Her own impatient hands traveled over the heavy muscles of his arms, thick deltoids, biceps, traps, as she straddled him, and with barely a moment to reconsider, grabbed his length and slid down onto him. Her breath whooshed out in one startled rush.

  “Careful there, Grace,” he whispered into her mouth.She was tired of careful.

  Grabbing his shoulders for support, she began to lift and lower along his hard length. As she rose up her butt broke the surface of the water, and he gave her a solid, stinging slap. The sound echoed in the room and sent heat along her skin. She moaned in approval. “Oh. That feels good.”

  “Goin’ to make me come,” he protested. But each time her butt rose above the surface of the water he delivered another. The rise and fall of her hips increased in speed, and she watched his handsome face fight for control as her breasts bounced in front of him. “Grace. Please.”

  The pressure built and built. She moaned against his forehead, into his ear, against his cheek, into his hair. And he held back his release, held back while her voice rose into sharp, desperate cries. Her body tensed, tightened, coiled, and exploded in a rush.

  She came with a cry, muted by his shoulder as she bit down, but she still heard his quiet proclamation, “Watching you come…breathtaking.”

  Her head slumped forward onto his shoulder, her body paralyzed for a moment by how incredibly good that had felt.

  He kissed her cheek, rubbed her backside. “You okay, darlin’?”

  “Mmm,” she managed, and he lifted her up, turned her, so she could kneel on the seat, facing the window. She braced her arms on the cushion. Head resting on her forearms, she looked at him, positioned to enter her.

  Not a hint of playfulness, he told her, rough and sure, “That apple on your tattoo, I’d bite it a thousand times without a moment of regret. You’re worth damnation.”Her heart filled with warmth.

  Brushing away wet strands of hair, he bent over her, kissed the back of her neck, moved a strong hand around her hip, down her stomach, down. His confident fingers teased her clit, dipped inside her softness. She instantly arched back, pumped her hips. Felt so good.

  And because he was Dusty, and probably could talk a stone to dust, he told her about how hard he was, how deep he was going to enter her, how fast, until she gyrated her hips in rhythm with his hand and begged, “Yes. Please. Do that.”

  He chuckled. “Happy to oblige.”

  Removing skilled fingers, he grasped her waist, pushed deep inside. Her body responded instantly. Heat burst along her core. Tingles danced inside. Her need became urgent. She pushed back to meet every forceful stroke.

  The slap, slap of their bodies, the splash of water, the whir of the jetted bubbles couldn’t compete with her cries of pleasure.

  She called out to him as the fever built inside and broke across her in tremors that wracked her with mindless rapture. Panting, she tried to catch her breath.

  He bent forward, snaked a hand under her stomach, lifted her hips and thrust hungrily. She could feel every inch of him, sense his skin start to tighten, feel the electric explosion that rocked his body through the heat that spread through her core.

  He came with a fierce growl, a sound so animalistic she was sure he’d gone back in time, all the way back to his caveman roots.

  He pumped into her for long, greedy moments. And then his hips slowed. He dropped back, settled on the seat, brought her, quaking and as malleable as putty, o
nto his lap.

  He snuggled into her neck. She moved to give him access. She was pretty sure that saying “in like a lion and out like a lamb” referred to Dusty. He sure did like to cuddle after.

  He kissed her forehead. “Grace,” he breathed hard. “Didn’t just make my day. Made my life.”

  Hers too. She kissed his swollen lips. “Where did you go earlier?”

  “Uh…” He stopped kissing. His eyes opened wide. He cleared his throat. “’Bout that…”

  Dusty at a loss for words? This wasn’t going to be good.

  Chapter 48

  Leland and Momma’s dual office was on the ground floor of the Mantua Home. Their styles were so different, the room practically had a line drawn down the middle of it: Momma’s whimsical, bold color palette and Leland’s no-nonsense cowhide and earth tones.

  Gracie and Dusty sat side-by-side on midnight-purple chairs, watching a screen that had lowered from a compartment in the ceiling. Momma and Leland sat across from them on a recently acquired designer showpiece. A multicolored couch that looked like a quilt, like it had been sewn together from dozens of bright fabrics. Kind of like their family.

  Projected onto the screen was Gracie’s mother, Sheila. This wasn’t the woman Gracie remembered. The woman who’d been sick.

  When this had been recorded, her mother had had a thin, girlish body and a guileless look. Thus far, the interview had concentrated on why she’d come to the United States, how she’d gotten involved in politics, and how she’d met the would-be senator.

  But then an off-camera female interviewer asked her to describe the night of the “incident.”

  The story came out haltingly. How candidate Rush took opportunities to speak with Sheila, make her laugh, and how he’d offered her a ride home one night. He’d insisted on walking her up to her apartment and once there had asked for a drink of water. Inside, Sheila had toasted water-filled glasses with him to a bright future.