Falling Grace

by Melissa Shirley

  Wow.

  His eyes burned with desire and my breath caught somewhere between my lungs and throat. And he wasn’t through quite yet.

  “I ne'er was struck before that hour

  With love so sudden and so sweet.

  Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower

  And stole my heart away complete.”

  I had no defenses for a man who quoted John Clare. I didn’t know if this was part of his normal dating ritual or if the half smile and color in his cheeks spoke to sincerity, but I didn’t care either. For that moment, I chose to believe he meant it only about me. He slipped his fingers over my palm, back and forth with a friction that sparked heat through every cell in my body.

  “Blane…”

  Before I had the chance to throw him onto the table and have my wicked way with him, he stood and held out his hand. “Dance with me. Let me hold you.”

  Soft jazz music I hadn’t noticed until that moment played from speakers strategically hidden in potted plants and fixtures in the ceiling. I looked left at the dance floor, slid from my seat, and tried to breathe normally. He spun me into his arms, cradled me with soft pressure at the small of my back, and nuzzled my hair with his chin. My pulse pounded in my ears, and I stepped on his foot. A low rumble of a chuckle sounded in his chest. With his forefinger under my chin, he tilted my head up to look at him. “Just breathe.”

  Easy for him to say. I hadn’t taken a full breath since he started quoting poetry and looking at me with enough fire in his eyes to start an inferno.

  He swayed us back and forth, moved us around the floor in a sensual haze. Finally, he lowered his head and captured my mouth with his. He brushed his tongue over my lips until I opened my mouth and let him in. My heart raced, my steps faltered, and when he pulled back, the stars in my eyes clouded my vision of everything but him.

  “I’m falling for you, Grace.”

  A mewl escaped my throat. The music stopped, yet we stood on the dance floor, clinging to the moment. “We should”--I pointed over his shoulder at our table--“um, go back.”

  He hauled in a deep lungful of air and nodded. “Right.”

  Our food arrived a second after we were seated, and I pushed mine around my plate, the butterflies in my stomach not leaving room for anything else.

  We stuck to safe subjects--our families, hometowns, my days as homecoming queen, college--until finally dessert was served. A little cup of ice cream smothered in chocolate and sprinkled with nuts melted in front of me. Blane lifted his spoon, reached across the table, and fed me a bite. “You’re a daddy’s girl?”

  “I guess.”

  “I could see how, even with that many sisters, you’d be the chosen one.”

  He made me sound like some kind of super hero daughter, and I smiled as he fed me another bite. I shrugged, unable to come up with an explanation for the phenomenon that had become my relationship with dad.

  “What about your mom?”

  I shook my head. “When I was seventeen, she just got up one morning, packed a bag, and walked away.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  I nodded. “I think it was harder on the younger girls. And on Dad.” I had my demons, but nothing suitable for an over ice cream chat and nothing I wanted to chance ruining such a perfect date.

  He leaned back in his chair and finished off the ice cream with a flick of his tongue against the spoon.

  I clamped my mouth shut to quiet a moan.

  “I could never leave my kid.”

  I shrugged. “She said she fell out of love with my dad, and it wasn’t fair to expect her to stay because of us.” The forgiving words tasted sour, and I helped myself to his half-full wineglass.

  “I would think it was the only fair thing, for a mother to stay with her girls.”

  I finished the glass and set it next to mine, toying with the stems. “We all had each other, and Dad made it feel normal. He cooked, cleaned, and cured our broken hearts with pizza and best friend chatter. We did okay.”

  “I would never let you go, Grace.” He said all the best things, and said them with such sincerity reflecting in his eyes I had no choice but to hang on his every syllable. The waiter took Blane’s credit card and returned as we gaze at one another. “Are you ready?”

  I nodded and slipped my hand into his. Together, we waited for the valet to pull his car around.

  “Why aren’t you and the homecoming king happily married with a couple kids, a mini-van, and a white picket fence?” My heart did a double thump as he took a part of our earlier conversation and brought it back out for further discussion. This man paid attention.

  “It’s a long story, and I don’t exactly come off as the heroine.” I hoped he’d let it go at that.

  “Oh, you can’t say something like that, then leave me hanging. Come on. What happened?”

  Saved by the valet. He pulled Blane’s convertible up and stepped out. Our frown inspiring story-hour resumed as Blane pulled away.

  “Did you break his heart?”

  “This is not a good date conversation.”

  He glanced away from the road for a second to look at me, the full pout on his lips as sexy as any smile I’d seen.

  “I cheated on him. Then I told him and he dumped me.” Funny, it wasn’t such a long story after all.

  “Poor guy.”

  “He was the guy every boy wanted to be and all the girls wanted to date. It took him about five minutes to get over me.”

  “I bet they were five very difficult minutes.”

  I smiled as he reached out and ran a finger down my cheek. “You’re very kind.”

  “My heart would still be shattered. I’d be alone, unable to look at other women, ruined by the loss.”

  “Well, it all worked out. We’re friends now.” We’d reconnected after college, had a couple beers, and chatted over old times.

  “Being friends with you is enough?” His voice dropped low, injected with a bit of flattering disbelief.

  “I think his wife prefers it that way.” She’d been the exact opposite of me, and he seemed to love that about her. He’d glowed as he hauled out baby pictures of their daughter, showed me a wedding photo he carried in his wallet. Jackson Teller had no problem getting over me.

  “He doesn’t know what he’s missing.” After our third left turn, he pulled into a space in front of the grocery store, still a block from my house. “I’m driving around in circles because I don’t want this night to end, Grace.”

  From the way he said my name to the way his fingers caressed my hand, I couldn’t find one imperfect thing about him or this night. The date faded the drive-in debacle to the same realm as every other forgotten memory I’d ever let slip from my mind.

  “We could go for drinks. It’s still early.” The digital time on his dashboard said barely nine o’clock.

  “We could. Or”--he bit his lip in that adorable kid way--“we could go to my place.”

  “Your place?” Oh, Grace. What are you thinking? I mentally berated myself for even considering sleeping with the man, again, who was prosecuting my client, for allowing lust to cloud my better judgment, and for contemplating carrying on with this relationship. But I had a mirror to see how beautiful I was and a book of poetry because only the great ones had the words to describe how he felt about me.

  “No pressure. No hidden agenda except not letting such a perfect night end. I don’t want to share you with a bar full of people. I want to talk to you and get to know all the things inside that beautiful mind…learn what makes you happy and sad, and what song makes you get up and dance because you can’t stop yourself. I want to know your dreams and the secret wishes you make when you blow out your birthday candles. I want to know you.”

  When this guy made a speech, he went all in. I had to wonder about that night at the drive-in and the change in him from then to now. My emotions jumbled inside me, twisted in a state of flux, and no ready d
ecision came, so I smiled over at him. “You’re going to be tough to beat in court with arguments like that.”

  He grinned, brushed the hair back from my face. “Let’s not talk work.”

  “Okay.” My voiced squeaked higher than a cartoon mouse.

  His smile evaporated and his tongue brushed across his lower lip. “What do you say? Let me have my chance to know you?”

  I blew out a short breath and nodded, words more than I could manage while he batted those deep, chocolaty eyes rimmed in long, silky lashes at me.

  He grinned and pulled away from the curb. We wound through town until he reached the outskirts, then turned onto a country road that ran alongside the riverbed.

  As though I needed a tour guide, he introduced me to the river and shared the names of the occupants of two farms. After enough inane chatter to fill a volume of books, he pulled into a long drive that curved and bent its way up to a beautiful, two-story brick house. It had more windows than his closest neighbors’ houses combined. “This is nice.”

  The porch, a wrap around with rocking chairs and a swing, spanned enough square footage half the townsfolk could stand comfortably along it if lined up. He struggled with the lock, a number pad that required the right combination to move the tumblers. When the latch clicked, he looked over his shoulder, grinned, and pushed the door open. With a flourish of one arm and a slight bend at the waist, he stood back to let me take the lead, then reached around me to flip on a light.

  As I stood gaping at the enormous chandelier overhead, he walked past me making a left into what I could only assume was a living room. An expensive arrangement of flowers sat on a marble-topped table against the wall and artwork of various design--two landscapes and one abstract that all looked pricey--hung on either side of the foyer. I shut my mouth and stepped into the room he’d entered. He had two candles lit and a long lighter held over a third as I walked in.

  Either the man had feminine tastes, or someone, a high paid designer probably, had helped with the décor. Floral chairs flanked a cream colored sofa with matching throw pillows. A grand piano gleamed a brilliant polished finish in the corner, and tables of the same polished white held crystal lamps at the ends of the couch atop a plush ivory rug. Blane had obviously done well for himself before surrendering it all to become a public servant.

  He leaned back against a white marble fireplace tucked into a stone wall and smiled. “Nothing has to happen here tonight, Grace.” He shoved one hand into his pocket as his opposite shoulder tried to dig through the wall as if to get away.

  I crossed to him and placed a hand on each lapel of his jacket, pressuring him on one side and pulling on the other until he faced me. My body made decisions before my brain had time to catch up. “Are you trying not to sleep with me?”

  “I want it to be special if that’s what you decide you want.”

  Something about that statement rubbed me the wrong way, and I dropped my hands, smoothed my skirt, then stepped back. Maybe my better instincts were trying to tell me something. “So, what was the drive-in? Satisfying a need?”

  He closed his eyes. “The drive-in. Right.” When he opened them again, something changed. He pushed off the wall and headed for a cart with bottles of alcohol atop its gleaming metal surface. “How about a drink?”

  I held up a hand. “I’m good.” Jack Daniels or whatever other expensive liquor he had on that table would not help me figure out what just happened. “Blane, what’s wrong?”

  He took a big swallow from his glass and refilled it before looking up at me. “I don’t want you to base your decisions on that night.” He looked at me, drained the glass again, then slammed it against the table in a crash of metal and shifting bottles. “Shit. I can’t do this, Grace.”

  The southern from his accent faded, and I stepped back until my back hit the wall he’d been standing against. “Jamie?”

  “Blane is married. Technically, they’re separated, but she’s back in town and he didn’t have time to break this date with you. I was just supposed to call and reschedule. It was wrong and I know it, but…” He turned to the window.

  How dare they? “Is this something you do for him regularly?” Oh, Lord. “And you were going to sleep with me and let me believe it was him?”

  He shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t have slept with you.” He shoved his fingers through his hair and spun to face me. “Not if I could help it.”

  “And the gifts?” Oh, what a tangled freaking web…

  “Blane gave me his credit card and cell phone.” He pushed his hands into his pockets again and began a thorough investigation of his shoes. “I got carried away.”

  “You lied to me, and he lied to me. I would shove all those flowers and the mirror and all that other stuff right up your ass if I could.” I whirled away, considered flinging the expensive vase on the table at him, then clenched my fists at my side to keep from hurling it across the room.

  Anger boiled in my veins and my eyes clouded with a batch of tears, inspired not by sadness, but rage. “You son of a bitch. Take me home. I would walk to keep from being in a car with you, but I have no idea where I am and I have no one to call for a ride. But if you try to talk to me, I swear to God I’ll jump out. You will have to explain my cold dead body and how it ended up on the side of the road in this Podunk, weed-infested town to seven angry Wade girls and one over-protective father with a collection of shotguns that have never missed anything he aimed at. I’m nothing compared to them.”

  His whisper barely reached my ears. “I think you’re everything.”

  I ignored his words and took a minute to tread through the deception and get to the headline I’d somehow overlooked. “Blane’s married?”

  He nodded.

  “Why didn’t he break the date?”

  “He had to leave early this morning. He wanted to get her out of town before you got an eyeful of her.” His toe-curling English lilt had returned. “He couldn’t exactly say, ‘Hey Grace, I can’t go out tonight. My wife wants a chat.’ So, he told me to break the date.”

  Another lie? Hadn’t he said Blane didn’t want to break the date, and he’d offered to pretend to be his brother?

  “Why didn’t he do it himself?” I shook my head. “Or why the hell didn’t you let me break the date when I tried?”

  I’d never even read his reply to the text, but he showed up anyway. I couldn’t say much because I’d been dressed and ready to go. But still…

  He scrubbed his face with his hand. “Because I wanted to see you.”

  I choked on a scoff stuck in my throat but battled through. “Well, you’ve seen me. Did this do it for you? Because let me tell you something, pal, this is not the happy ending I was promised.” I clicked my tongue against my teeth. “Oh, wait. That was ass-face brother number one. What were you hoping to get out of this night?”

  “Time.” He didn’t look at me, didn’t lift his eyes from the spot they fixed on, but the man knew how to use words in a way I doubted I ever would.

  Still, anger pulsed through me. “Well, your time’s up and thanks for playing. Take me home, Jamie.”

  He nodded, then finally brought his gaze to meet mine. “But I want to say something first.”

  I crossed my arms and glared, but didn’t move to stop him.

  “Tonight, the man I was when I was with you is the man I really am. This thing with Blane was wrong, and I’m sorry. I wanted to be… I guess I wanted to be him. To have you look at me the way you looked at him at the lake.”

  My head wobbled back and forth for a minute as though I had a big decision to weigh. “Well, the joke’s on you, pal. Because that day at the lake, when you saved me, I wanted you to kiss me. And you know what else? If tonight is the guy you really are, I would have chosen you.”

  “And that’s done?”

  I nodded. “Oh, yeah. Both of you can go straight to hell. Play your games with someone else. Now, take me home.” I turned and stomp
ed out to the foyer.

  Chapter 14

  On the way from Blane’s house to my apartment, Jamie opened his mouth, and as soon as the tiniest of sounds escaped, I curled my fingers around the door handle. “I swear to God, I’ll jump.”

  I wouldn’t have, but I couldn’t bear to hear another lie come off his lips. I’d heard enough already. Blane seemed to make it his personal mission to deceive me, and now Jamie had played along. Added to my own confusion, I could barely breathe from the weight of the pain in my chest.

  When he pulled next to the curb in front of my apartment, I moved to open the door. He reached out a hand, then laid it on my shoulder. I ignored the traitorous zing of desire that raced from that spot straight south.

  “Please, I’ll go away, but I never meant to hurt you. I only wanted to know you.”

  I nodded. “Then you shouldn’t have lied to me.”

  “I will always wish I hadn’t.”

  I need a drink. “Me too.”

  “If it matters, I’m sorry.”

  My jaw clenched with effort as I held it shut so as not to dole out forgiveness. Heat rolled in waves along my skin, and my heart thudded against my ribs. I wanted to forgive him, he’d quoted poetry, for goodness sake, but I stepped out of the car and walked between a dozen vases up the steps to my apartment before I could change my mind and throw myself at him. At the door, I made the awful decision to glance back. His forehead rested against the steering wheel. “Aww, crap.”

  I turned to go back to the car.

  No. I will not be that girl.

  I spun away, then reached down to right a vase I’d disturbed. As I breathed in the floral scent of the gift he’d picked out, my brain battled my aching heart to see which one could make me act first.

  He told me the truth. That has to count for something.

  I yo-yoed between running back to him and heading inside until the car’s motor purred behind me. My lower brain connected quickly with my feet, bypassing the higher and more rational brain functions, and I ran down the stairs and popped the door open as he pushed the shifter into gear.