by Tessa Bailey
When he was finished, he tossed the scissors down on the counter and stepped back, crossing his arms. He nodded at his handiwork, but wouldn’t look at Grace. “There. I can get Peggy to string them up…however you had them.”
“Would you do it?” Grace whispered, knowing she shouldn’t. It would have been glorious to feel her new friend’s fingers moving through her hair, sifting the strands, but Aaron’s fingers? Oh man. It was shameful how much she needed to experience it. To imagine them doing something else, such as unclasping her bra or slowly tugging her panties down to her knees. His index finger pushing all the way into her mouth.
His sharp gaze pinned her in place, the planes of his face catching shadows, owning them with his intensity. “I shouldn’t be here, Grace.” Despite his statement, he reached out, wrapping his grip around her bicep, and positioned her in front of his much larger frame, wedging her belly up against the counter. “I shouldn’t be here. I don’t fuck around with girls’ hairstyles. Or ribbons, for Christ’s sake. You hear me?”
With her palms flat on the counter, chest heaving, Grace was grateful Aaron couldn’t see her face, positive her mouth was wide open, her eyelids fluttering like a silent movie heroine. “I hear you,” she murmured. “Okay.”
The kitchen’s air stilled, turned expectant, and then, oh God, his fingers were dragging through the crown of her hair. Dividing the thickness. There was no skill to his maneuvers, and Grace gasped mentally at the beauty of it. Had this man ever been out of his depth for a single second in his life? Had she just dragged him into the deep end? How intoxicating…and how good it felt. So good. So good. Her scalp tugged as he secured the first slashed remains of his tie. “How many were there before?”
“Four,” she breathed. “Like the seasons.”
Another tug on the right side of her head, a tight knot being tied. “Speaking of seasons, Grace...” His voice sounded like spikes dragging over concrete. “How many summers have you seen?”
Where before she’d been losing herself to his touch, the right and wrongness of it, now she shot into hyperawareness, his question signaling a crack in the foundation they were standing on. “Twenty-three.”
His rough exhale bathed her neck. Relief?
“How many summers for you?”
Another knot was made, this one less gentle than the first two. “Twenty-six.”
The grim way he answered made Grace wonder if a three-year age gap was a big problem for him. Sure sounded like it. But that would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? That would suggest he was interested at all. And she kind of thought they’d established he wasn’t. He viewed the way she acted, the way she spoke as not normal. Then again, Aaron wouldn’t be the first man who’d been baffled by Grace, but pursued her anyway, right? One of those guys who shook their heads, clearly recording her comments to laugh about with their buddies later on, but still hoping to hook up.
None of them had ever asked for more bear talk, though. Or mutilated their clothing to avenge her ribbons. What if he wants me because of how I think and not in spite of it? That would be really, really…amazingly nice. She’d been turned on before, but in a purely down low, physical way. Nothing like the clammy-handed, thick-tongued tingling situation she was in the midst of now.
She became very conscious of her thighs. Her bottom, only inches from Aaron’s lap. His chest throwing heat onto her back. How would it feel be horizontal, to have that big chest flush with her spine, sliding up and back? If it felt half as good as the fingers in her hair, the answer was: extraordinary.
“I’m not a virgin,” she murmured, looking back at him over her shoulder. “I went to art school.”
Aaron froze in the act of tying the final ribbon into her hair. With a hasty pull, he finished the job, before taking Grace by the elbow and turning her around. Bringing their faces a breath apart. “Did I ask if you were a virgin?”
“No.” His mouth would be so easy to reach. Would he recoil or welcome her? “I volunteered the information.”
Her pulse nearly jumped through her skin as Aaron gathered the hem of her nightshirt, turning it slowly in his fist. “What else are you volunteering for?” Before she could deliver an unknown answer, Aaron’s head dropped forward, the hand in her shirt releasing the bunched material, lifting to cover her mouth. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.”
“Are you sure?” Grace asked, his hand muffling her question.
For too long, he only stared at her. “I can’t know these things about you. I can’t…” His lids fell. “I can’t walk out of here smelling like you.”
Grace’s lips parted against his palm, probably leaving condensation in the curved creases. Such a…primal thing for a man like him to say. A man without a hair out of place, without a wrinkle in his clothing or demeanor. Most of the time. Right now, in the abbreviated light of her kitchen, her hair freshly mussed from his touch, Aaron had gone back to being the man in the woods. The one who’d treated her words like they carried weight. And maybe, just maybe, kind of liked her.
When his hand fell away from her mouth, Grace realized she’d liked having it there. The kick in his breathing made her wonder exactly how much he’d enjoyed it, too. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I didn’t.” Was that an agonized note in his voice? She would never know because he cleared it away. “I didn’t. Your father is the man I needed to meet with this morning. He invited me to dinner and I…saw your photograph on the wall.”
“Oh.” He’d had dinner with her father. Likely her mother and sister, too. The image sparked discomfort somewhere in her subconscious, but she chalked it up to jealousy. Aaron had been her secret and now her family was in on it. They were experiencing him now, too. “Was it the picture in the hallway or dining room?”
“Dining room. Why?”
“My mother made us dress in all white for the dining room photo.” Pushing aside the unsettled feeling wrought by Aaron dining with her parents, then coming to her door unexpectedly, she lifted her arm to sniff his jacket sleeve. Expensive cologne greeted her—and a hint of dog food. “I spilled grape juice down the front of my dress on the ride to the photography studio, so I had to wear it backwards. Did you notice?”
Aaron huffed. “No, Grace, I was a little busy figuring out what would happen when you walked into the room.” His eyes cut to the side. “But you didn’t come and…”
She went up on tiptoe. “And?”
“And…” He pulled the jacket more securely around her with an abrupt, no-nonsense jerk. “I started wishing you would. I thought maybe you eating dinner alone somewhere was worse than—”
“My dad finding out we know each other?” she whispered, positive she’d just elevated a foot off the ground.
“Something like that.” He visibly withdrew into himself. “What are you going to do with the stolen money?”
Grace dropped back down to earth. “Is that why you’re really here? To find out where I hid it…for my father?”
An eyebrow rose. “You hid it?”
Dammit. “I didn’t say that.”
“Oh, yes. You did.”
Grace eased out of Aaron’s jacket and held it out for him to take, but he only frowned at the offering. She refused to let her hand drop, though. This man confused her. Confused her body. She’d never been attracted to someone like Aaron before. Someone her mind told her she shouldn’t like, while every other vital part of her went heart-shaped with him nearby. He gave her one inch, then dragged her back two. With a past like Grace’s, confusion was the enemy, especially when it came to judging a person’s character. So this was it. The decision she’d been agonizing over before he knocked on the door would be his to make.
And hope willing, his actions would finally give her a solid read on Aaron.
“Here.” Grace tossed the jacket at Aaron, who caught it. “I’ll take you to the money. You can bring it back to my father. Or you can help me finish my job. It’s your choice.”
Motors spu
n inside his head, practically visible behind his intelligent eyes. “What’s your game?”
“I don’t have one. I’m trying to figure out yours.”
“Who says I have one?”
Grace leaned back against the counter, propped on her elbows, realizing too late how her position elevated the hem of her nightshirt to the tops of her thighs. “Um…” Gaze falling to her revealed flesh, Aaron made a gruff noise, rolling his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. “I can’t figure out why you’re here, when it could mean losing your chance to work for my father.”
Their eyes locked and held as Aaron stepped within an inch of her body, his rigid posture suggesting he didn’t have a choice. “If you can’t figure out why I’m here, hippie,” he breathed against her ear, “we’ve got something bigger to worry about than the games we’re playing.”
God, she hated puzzles, wished everyone would just speak their minds. Life would be so much easier. It only took a slight turn of her head to bring their cheeks together. Rough against smooth. “If you want me, could you just say it?”
Aaron’s laughter was devoid of humor, his hands brushing the hem of her shirt, whispering along the tops of her thighs. “I already knew I was a fucking bastard, but at least I was in control of it.” His swallow was audible. “I want to ask you questions, Grace. About yourself. You understand? But answering them the way I hope you will might give me permission.” A breeze met her belly, telling Grace he’d drawn up the garment. “But the things I’ve done would make it wrong of me to take that permission. And normally I wouldn’t care if I was bad for someone. That alone is reason enough to tell me to back off. So even though I want to…” He twisted the shirt tighter and tighter, his breath growing choppy. “Want to watch your eyes go wide, want to watch you catch my thrusts with your hands-off body…I’d buy myself a ticket to hell for it.”
Be careful what you wish for. She’d wanted him to be honest, hadn’t she? Now there was so much to process. Not an easy task when she was exposed below the waist, Aaron’s erection lying against her thigh. He’s heavy. “Ask me the questions. The ones that’ll give you permission.” To get closer. To touch me.
His exhale was deafening in her ear. “No.”
Grace squeezed her eyes shut and searched her mind, remembering his outburst in the morning while she hid in the closet and landing on the likeliest possibility. “I’m not crazy.” He stilled, that grip on her shirt intensifying. “You know that when you look at me, don’t you?”
Aaron’s frown collided with what she hoped was a level look, despite her thundering pulse and his mouth was still right there. Kiss me. Just do it. “I see a thousand things when I look at you,” he said. “I don’t know if I’m landing on the right one.”
Her bones turned to liquid, but thankfully the counter and Aaron’s body kept her standing upright. “It’s so much better when you say your thoughts out loud,” she whispered. “Keep doing that, okay?”
As if her mental compelling had finally worked, his mouth came closer. Closer. She could feel his breath on her tongue, didn’t care if her parted lips made her seem overeager. She’d thought their kiss that morning would be the first and last, so the possibility of another made her blood dance. Breathe. Don’t take the lead. Let him. That was how it was done, right? That’s what her past love interests had told her when she attempted to explore. But she never got the chance to try the right way, because Aaron stopped. He stopped with only a smidge left to travel, his golden brown eyes—so alive and maybe sort of baffled, in that moment—boarded up like an abandoned house as he pulled back.
“Enough, Grace.” He let go of her shirt, the material floating down around her legs. “Take me to the money.”
An axe fell in her midsection, cutting down the hoard of fluttering butterflies. It happened so swiftly and in tandem with his body being taken away, she reeled, catching herself on the counter. From the corner of her eye, she thought Aaron might have reached out, but she didn’t have the energy to confirm.
With doom riding on her shoulders, Grace went to go change.
Chapter Six
None of the Clarkson siblings had never been close to their father.
Except for Aaron.
Lawrence and Miriam had divorced while all four of them were still relatively young. In the beginning, their father had made an effort, picking them up once a week in his silver Taurus to treat them to pizza. And it had been a treat, because when your mother is a world-renowned chef, pizza wasn’t on the menu very often. Not unless it had truffle oil or a quail egg on top.
Aaron could recall the stunted attempts at conversation while waiting for Lawrence to hand over the arcade tokens, which he’d stockpile in his right pocket like water gathering in the clouds before a big storm. Peggy bouncing in her seat, Rita and Belmont brooding into their sodas at the far edge of the table. Aaron dying for the coins to be distributed so his siblings would bail and he could talk to his father alone, without catching eye rolls from his sisters.
It was the last time Aaron saw his father that stuck with him, though. Belmont hated accepting the tokens from Lawrence, and although Aaron surmised it was due to having a different father, Belmont had never confirmed his feelings on the matter. Huge fucking shock. That afternoon, the four of them were playing pinball—the Addams Family version—while Aaron and his father watched from the dining room.
“What do you think of the big one?” Lawrence had asked. “Belmont.”
After waiting all week to have ten minutes alone with his dad, Aaron was disappointed his grades or Thursday night’s soccer match hadn’t been the topic of discussion, but he’d also been curious over the way his father spoke about Belmont. “He’s my brother,” Aaron said, collecting soda with his straw, capping the end with a finger, and dumping it into his mouth. “Why?”
“He’s only half your brother.” The comment had been offhand, but it made Aaron uncomfortable. At home, they were just a family, regardless if their fathers were different. “You can tell which one of you is my son. It’s like looking into a mirror.”
Aaron cast a reluctant glance toward the arcade. He didn’t like feeling proud that he’d been compared to his father, while Belmont had been disregarded. But he couldn’t stop it, either. “You really think we’re the same?”
“I do.” Lawrence drummed a fist on the table. “You don’t need games like the rest of them. All you need is yourself. Your mind. No one and nothing else. That’s how it has always been for me.” He sopped up a drop of grease with his napkin. “People like your mother tried to make me into something I’m not. But guess what? If she’d succeeded, she’d have just wanted me to be something new at the end of it.”
Aaron loved his mother. And he didn’t mind playing arcade games once in a while, but he figured everything Lawrence said made sense. If his father—an adult—said something, it had to be true. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“You know so.” His father held his gaze. “Now run over and tell the others it’s time to go.”
When Aaron arrived in the arcade, Belmont had been a few pings away from tying the high score record. With his father’s approval and being singled out as the best riding on his back, Aaron stuck his foot behind the machine and unplugged the game.
Regret had flooded him right away, burning the skin of his cheeks. He wanted to take the action back. But it was too late. He’d watched his siblings slink back to the dining room, Peggy rubbing circles into Belmont’s back. Aaron had started to follow, but his father approached and stopped him, slapping a hand down on his shoulder. “Someone like you doesn’t need to apologize. You’re just embracing your nature.”
Torn between pride and shame, Aaron had only managed a nod. His father’s visits had remained steady for another year and sometimes he only took Aaron for pizza, his sisters and Belmont begging off. Aaron told his father everything. About every fight with his siblings, soccer drama, girls. And then one day, he’d never shown up again.
After having Be
lmont cut him off, Lawrence disappearing had been like déjà vu.
Although he saw one on occasion, he’d never truly gotten either of them back.
Lawrence had tried to instill many lessons—some of which had stuck—but the ultimate one hadn’t been intentional. Aaron didn’t have what it took inside him to keep people near. So he didn’t let anyone nose around. Having his lack of goodness acknowledged was almost as bad as seeing someone he cared about turn their back.
A branch snapping beneath Aaron’s feet brought him into the pitch-black woods, following Grace’s slight figure as she led him to the stolen campaign money. Get the money, return it to the senator, get ahead. Right?
Right.
“What were you planning on doing with it?”
Why even ask the question? Was he attempting to make this march to the gallows even harder for her? Fuck, this didn’t feel right. Nothing had felt right since he’d woken up that morning, but he’d chalked it up to nerves over sneaking into a nationally televised event. It wasn’t so far-fetched that he’d experience some tension.
This was nothing like that. Grace’s shoulders slouched forward, her face hidden by her newly tamed mane. Hair he’d made the mistake of touching and now nothing would ever feel smooth again. Or smell as earthy, the coming home sensation of those strands sifting through his fingers making him feel balanced. What the fuck was balance at this point in time?
He might as well be holding a gun to the girl’s back. Jesus, he didn’t know himself anymore. He wasn’t exactly known for being nice to people—on a good day—but this mean streak aimed at one specific person was new. Was it because the questions she asked, the way she looked at him…made him look inward a little too far?
“Answer me,” Aaron said around the lodgment in his throat.