Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
Grace
W alking inside, it’s immediate, the way my gaze finds him, like he’s the only one in the room. My breath catches and my heart stutters as I drink in the sight. Wearing khaki-colored Chinos that hug his beefy thighs and a black, short-sleeve, button-down shirt that accentuates his tan, corded, weathered arms and broad shoulders, my mouth waters. I can’t seem to peel my eyes away. Conway’s talking to a man who appears to be the bartender, but as if he senses my presence, pauses whatever he’s saying to scan the room, all the air leaving my lungs in a rush when his dark, broody gaze collides with mine.
For a moment, everyone in the room—my sister, Charley, the man he’s talking to, all the volunteers—vanishes. For a single, electric moment, it’s just me and Conway standing barely a room’s length apart, our eyes locked on one another. He holds my gaze long enough for my mouth to dry and my pulse to kick up a notch, but it’s when his eyes drift lower, shamelessly taking in the way the periwinkle dress I’m wearing cups my breasts and hugs my curves before cutting off mid-thigh, that my body truly awakens. Goosebumps prick along my flesh and my stomach performs somersaults as every inch of my body is doused in gasoline and ignited by the match provided in Conway’s hungry, appreciative gaze.
Feeling a little too vulnerable under the weight of his stare, it’s me who looks away first. Shifting my body toward Charley and Gemma, I’m met with a couple of knowing smirks, and I can’t help the bubble of laughter that spills past my lips.
“Why are y’all looking at me like that?” I ask obtusely, suddenly wishing I had a drink in my hand, but that would require me to walk over to where Conway’s at, and I’m too sober for that.
Damn, we should’ve pre-gamed at Gemma’s. What was I thinking?
“Oh, please. You know exactly what,” Charley huffs with a small laugh. “Like we could’ve missed that steamy exchange.”
“There was no steamy exchange.” The words sound like a lie even to my own ears.
“Grace, that man practically undressed you with his eyes just now.” Gemma snorts. “There’s no way anybody could’ve missed that.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. I’m going to find the studio owner and make sure we’re good to go for doors opening in twenty minutes. You two can put yourself to good use and get me a glass of wine.”
“Oh, sure.” Charley nods, a grin inching up her face. “And that task you gave us has nothing at all to do with you avoiding Conway.”
“You’re right, it doesn’t.” Clasping my hands in front of me, I stand taller and roll my shoulders back, giving them my most innocent smile. “I have an actual job to do here, you know. I simply don’t have the time to get my own drink before the event starts.”
Gemma and Charley share a look before my sister says, “Right, of course. One glass of wine coming right up.”
Linking her arm through Charley’s, they set off in the direction of the bar and the man I’m totally not avoiding. I breathe out a laugh before walking farther into the gallery in search of the owner. Finding her all the way in the back, I go through the checklist with her before showtime. As soon as eight o’clock hits, parents and townspeople alike stroll through the front entrance, flooding the gallery with curious eyes and ready wallets. By the end of the first hour, I know with certainty that this event will already be more successful than the first, which is saying something, because the auction performed quite well.
Avoiding Conway, while also pretending I’m not, is a lot easier than I thought it would be with how crowded it is in here. Artists from Blossom Beach and the surrounding towns—mostly college students—donated beautiful pieces for the fundraiser, and I’m in awe at the sheer talent they each possess. A few of them even came tonight, and getting to talk with them about their art is, honestly, inspiring.
Thanks to my lovely sister and equally lovely bestie—with the help of the cute bartender whom Charley’s been shamelessly flirting with all night—it’s nearing the end of hour two, and I’ve got a nice little buzz flowing through my veins. Taylor’s Grill donated their services again tonight, just like they did for the auction. Hors d’oeuvres that I’ve eaten way too many of are being passed around by a couple of their employees who can’t be any older than sixteen or seventeen. They’re all interested in perusing art in college after they graduate from high school—a fun little tidbit of information the manager of the grill shared with me when I confirmed their donation yesterday.
The excitement shining in their eyes makes me smile as they mingle with the guests and take in the paintings and photographs lining the outer corners of the room. It reminds me of when I first decided to pursue my dream of opening my own bakery. The conferences I went to where I got to meet successful people in my field, all the forums I joined for tips and tricks, the classes I took taught by professors with a wealth of knowledge and experience, all of it was so new and shiny. The potential and possibility are thrilling, and I love getting to witness it in their eyes.
“Quite the successful night,” a deep, gravelly, familiar voice says from right behind me, sending a rush of heat down my spine, settling between my thighs.
My stomach fills with flutters and my mouth dries, knowing I can’t avoid Conway any longer. Even with him behind me, a small distance between us, his larger-than-life presence is impossible to ignore and feels like a physical touch all along my body. A gentle caress over my overheated skin, using a hand I know all too well to be calloused and skilled. The vein in my neck pulses rapidly, a thick, hazy cloud that has nothing to do with the wine swimming through my bloodstream, making me dizzy as I swallow around the lust-filled lump swelling in my throat.
“I would say so,” I murmur softly, keeping my eyes fixed on the sexy, yet tasteful, oil painting depicting a woman sitting nude in a field of wildflowers in front of me. Her fiery red hair is flowing down her back in the wind, the long column of her throat delicate, breasts small and taut. Eyes drawn shut, her expression is almost euphoric as she tilts her face toward the sky and bathes in the warm sun rays. “This is… wow,” I breathe, unable to formulate my thoughts as I take in the painting.
“Beautifully breathtaking,” Conway offers in a hushed tone, the two words spoken with such conviction it has me finally turning my head in his direction. Expecting to find his attention fixed on the painting in front of us, my heart skips a beat when I realize it’s not the painting he’s admiring.
It’s me.
The air in the room thins under the weight of his gaze, making it hard to breathe or think or, really, do anything at all. My skin tingles, sweat lining the back of my neck as I can do nothing but stand here as I’m sucked into his orbit. The rich, woodsy scent I’ve grown to associate with Conway is paired with spicy, musky notes from the cologne he’s wearing. My mouth waters as the intoxicating scent fills my senses.
“Can we talk?” Conway asks, gaze boring into mine as he keeps his voice low.
Swallowing down the ball of nerves attempting to choke me, I nod while my heart palpitates. Standing here with him, not even a foot between us, the reality of how much I’ve missed him—his attention, his touch, even just the warmth from his body’s proximity to mine—crashes into me, nearly making my knees buckle.
Which is kind of insane, right? It hasn’t been all that long since we were last intimate, but after experiencing the effortless way Conway makes me feel—both mind and body—and quickly becoming attached to that comforting feeling, what has realistically only been a mere few weeks feels more like an agonizing eternity.
With a gentle, featherlight hand to the small of my back, we weave through the crowd toward the exit at the back of the building. The crisp night air feels like a balm against my sensitive, overheated skin. I peer up at Conway, finding his attention already on me, as silence wraps around us for a moment. Stomach filled with butterflies, I watch Conway’s gaze slowly and appreciatively drag down the length of my body before coming up to my face again. Rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, he breathes out a sigh and takes a single step toward me, putting us close enough that I have to tilt my head back to properly look at him.
“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are, Grace?” Conway murmurs, almost as if to himself. Brushing a strand of hair out of my face, the calloused feel of his finger as it barely grazes my forehead makes my heart hammer against my ribs before he rests a firm, steady hand on the area where my neck and shoulder meet. My mind blanks, making it impossible to respond. That one simple compliment that I’ve probably heard at least a dozen times from various men in my lifetime hits me so much harder when it’s coming from him.
Not just any man.
But from Conway Levine, who’s looking at me like I hung his moon and hold all the stars in his sky.
“Have you thought about me?” There’s emotion wrapped around that question as he gazes into my eyes.
“Of course, I have,” I whisper. The urge to look away is strong, but I don’t let myself as I ask him the same. “Have you?”
The rough pads of his fingers apply pressure to the back of my neck, at the same time his thumb gently rubs over my erratic pulse point. Gaze dropping to my mouth for a split second, Conway’s thick, dark eyebrows wrinkle before his eyes are on mine again and he rasps, “Every goddamn day.”
My vision blurs despite my best efforts to blink away the moisture. “Oh.”
“I can’t do this anymore, Grace,” he croaks, and even though I was the one to put a stop to this in the first place, my heart still feels like it’s going to shatter in my chest at hearing him say that, thinking he’s about to walk away from me for good. But then he continues. “I’m done with the distance, done missing you when there’s no good reason for me to, but Grace.” He growls my name, sending a shiver down my spine. “What I’m even more done with is letting you pretend we could ever be over, letting you pretend that I could ever walk away from you, from what we have and from the way it feels when I’m with you. I’m fucking done.”
“Pretty sure you’re not the only one who gets a say here,” I mutter, rolling my eyes with as much sass as I can muster as tears spill over, burning a hot path down my cheeks.
Conway chuckles darkly, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps all over my body. Using his grip on my neck, he hauls me closer to him while simultaneously dropping his head down and bringing his lips right up against the shell of my ear. “Do not make me repeat myself, Sin.” Hearing that nickname roll of his lips again has a heady shot of arousal flooding my veins. And my panties. “You’re mine, baby girl, and every single ounce of me is yours. That’s the way it’s supposed to be and the way it’s going to go from here on out because I love you, Grace. I’m in love with you, and I think you love me too, even if you might not be ready to admit it out loud just yet.”
My head is dizzy as I hear Conway claim me so fiercely. Feeling his honesty pouring out as he tells me he’s in love with me leaves me feeling like I’m floating. But more than that, it’s the way he tells me with absolute surety that he’s mine that has me melting for this man. When it comes to Conway and the undeniable chemistry and connection we share, I never stood a chance.
Not the first time he kissed me breathless.
Not when he fucked me up against my house after waiting for me to come home from a date with another man.
Certainly not when I told him it was over in my office.
And I think if I’m being honest with myself, not even that night all those years ago when he drove me home from the bar when I was too drunk and too lost to drive myself.
I never, ever stood a chance.
Yet as Conway shifts his hold on me ever-so-slightly, bringing my mouth a breath away from his, I’m realizing that maybe that’s not such a bad thing. And as his lips crash down on mine and his tongue slips into my mouth, I’m also realizing that maybe Gemma was right. That despite the fear and the tiny voice in the far back of my mind reminding me that I’ve only ever been hurt, maybe it’s okay to let myself try anyway.
That just because the fear is there, and even if it never fully goes away, it doesn’t mean Conway’s going to hurt me. And that maybe it’s about damn time I let myself trust that the arms I feel the most comfortable in are the same ones that will also keep me safe and maybe even eventually heal that piece of me.
So, standing in the alley behind this art gallery underneath the streetlamps, our lips move in beautiful synchrony while his tongue reiterates every last confession he breathed into me a moment ago, making sure I hear his truth loud and clear.
That I am his just as much as he is mine.
I’m not sure how long we stand like this, but my lips are swollen and my eyes heavy by the time he finally ends the kiss, and I don’t miss the emotion wetting his eyes as he brushes his thumb across my bottom lip and meets my gaze.
“I’m taking you somewhere Friday,” he rasps.
“Where?”
“It’s a surprise, but I’ve taken care of everything. All you need to do is pack a bag for the weekend.”
“A bag?” A smile inches up my face as the organ in my chest pitter-patters. “You’re taking me somewhere out of town?”
“Yes, but that’s all I’m telling you,” he says, pressing one last kiss to my lips. Intertwining our fingers together, he adds, “Now, let’s get back in there.”
“Yes, Daddy.” Giggling at the growl that rumbles in his chest, I let Conway lead me toward the door while his words from earlier echo in my mind over and over.
I love you, Grace.
How is this real?