Chapter Fifteen
Beck stood under the hot spray, letting it pound against the back of his neck until the steam filled the small space. The water eased some of the tightness in his muscles but did nothing to clear his mind.
Grace was in the guest room across the hall. He hoped she was asleep, though he doubted it. After the last two days, rest was what she needed most. He needed it too, but Beck already knew sleep would not come easy.
His thoughts ran in a relentless loop. The attacks, one after another, meant someone was determined to see them dead. And still they had no answers about who the killer was or what game was being played.
Each lead seemed to raise more questions than it solved.
Beneath all of that, though, was the tug he could not shake. Grace. The fierce attraction between them had been simmering for years, reignited with every brush of her lips, every look that lingered too long. It had only gotten stronger in the storm of danger surrounding them.
Soon, he knew they would have to face it. Sort it out. Decide if what they were feeling had a chance of surviving the wreckage of their past. But not tonight. Tonight, he needed to put it aside, bury it beneath focus and resolve. Even if every part of him resisted the thought.
Beck twisted off the knobs and the spray cut away, leaving only the sound of water dripping down the tile.
He grabbed a towel from the hook, drying off with quick swipes before wrapping it around his waist. His mind was already on the dresser in his bedroom, on pulling on a pair of boxers and trying to settle his restless thoughts.
But the plan stopped cold the moment he stepped out.
Grace stood in the doorway, leaning lightly against the frame. She wasn’t asleep. Not even close. She was wearing one of his T-shirts, the hem brushing her thighs, the fabric too big for her frame. Her hair was damp, darkened with moisture, and he realized she must have showered too.
The sight of her hit him harder than the water ever could.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The air between them felt charged, humming with everything unsaid. Beck’s fingers tightened on the edge of the towel, and his pulse hammered, because the look in her eyes told him she hadn’t come here for a casual conversation.
Grace stepped closer, closing the space between them. Her lips brushed his, light as breath, but it was enough to set off the heat that always roared to life when she touched him. The kiss deepened, need stirring sharp and fast, but Beck forced himself to break it.
“You’re in no shape for this,” he murmured, his voice rough.
She kissed him again, softer, and leaned into him as if she had no intention of backing away. “Remember that time when you were shot?”
Of course he remembered. He could still feel the phantom ache in his shoulder.
It had been during that op where Grace and Jonah had pulled a woman out from under her abusive ex’s control.
Jonah had restrained the bastard, but no one had realized the man’s cowardly brother was lurking nearby.
The chickenshit had fired off a wild shot, aiming for the woman and hitting Beck instead.
The bullet had torn into his shoulder, sidelining him for weeks.
Weeks that hadn’t been wasted. Grace and he had found ways around the injury, ways that hadn’t involved bed rest so much as her pressed against him in stolen hours.
The memory brought a smile tugging at his mouth. He kissed her back, lingering this time, his hands sliding to her waist.
Grace’s mouth moved against his, soft at first, then hungry, and the restraint Beck had been clinging to frayed.
She wasn’t holding back, and he realized he didn’t want to either.
He backed her slowly toward the vanity, careful of her injuries but unwilling to let the kiss break.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, sending sparks through every nerve he had left.
The towel slipped at his waist, forgotten, and her oversized T-shirt was no barrier at all when he slid his hands beneath it. Her skin was warm, smooth, and the little catch of her breath had him groaning into her mouth.
“You sure about this?” he rasped against her lips, though even as he asked, he already knew the answer.
“Yes,” she whispered, the word fierce and certain.
That single syllable tore down what was left of his restraint. Beck lifted her, sitting her on the vanity, his body fitting against hers as though they had never lost a beat, never wasted those years apart.
He kissed her deeper, the taste of her eclipsing every bitter thing that had happened in the last forty-eight hours. Her hands slid into his damp hair, pulling him closer, and he let himself go, giving her everything she asked for and more.
There would be fallout later, questions, maybe regrets. But not now. Now there was only this—the heat, the hunger, the reminder that no matter how hard they tried to fight it, they had always been inevitable.
Beck deepened the kiss, his hands steady on her hips as he anchored her against the vanity. She felt so solid beneath his touch, yet at the same time fragile from everything she had endured. He wanted to take away every bruise, every ache, every shadow that still lingered in her eyes.
Her legs tightened around his waist, drawing him closer, and he could feel the thrum of her heartbeat through every inch of contact.
Beck broke the kiss long enough to search her gaze, to make sure she truly wanted this.
What he saw there undid him—need, yes, but also trust. Trust that after everything, she was handing herself back to him.
His hands moved, fingers curling into the hem of his T-shirt she wore. He lifted it slowly, deliberately, giving her every chance to stop him. She didn’t. Instead, she raised her arms, letting him bare her, and the sight of her unraveled the last of his control.
“Grace,” he whispered, reverent, the name a prayer against her skin.
The kiss returned, harder now, her lips parting for him, tasting of heat and memory. He slid his palms along her thighs, hooking his fingers into the thin line of her panties. When he eased them down, her breath shivered against his mouth, and she shifted on the vanity to help him.
He stayed close, standing between her legs, chest pressed to hers, their kiss never breaking.
Each brush of her mouth, each sound she made, was a reminder of how much he had missed this, missed her.
And beneath the heat was something even deeper.
It was a fierce need not just to have her, but to hold on and never let her go again.
Beck’s pulse pounded as Grace shifted against him, her warmth pulling him deeper into the fire that had always burned between them.
She was perched on the vanity, her knees drawn close around his hips, her fingers skimming over his shoulders as if relearning the shape of him.
The kiss between them grew hungrier, but it was threaded with something more—an ache that came from all the nights they’d spent apart, all the words left unsaid.
Her soft sighs undid him more than any touch could.
He could feel the trust in the way she clung to him, the way she gave herself over to him without hesitation.
That trust made him slow down when every muscle screamed to race ahead.
He pressed his forehead to hers, steadying his breath, steadying hers, grounding them both.
The world outside could have been on fire, but in that moment, it was just them.
Every kiss, every brush of skin was a promise, an unspoken vow that this wasn’t about escape or adrenaline.
It was about them finally allowing themselves to be whole again.
He touched her with care, mindful of her injuries, but nothing could dull the way her body came alive beneath his.
Their rhythm found its own pace, tender yet fierce, the kind of closeness that blurred the line between comfort and hunger.
She whispered his name, and it sent him over a razor’s edge of emotion.
His heart pounded in unison with hers, and he let go of the restraint he’d been holding, surrendering to the raw, overwhelming need to be part of her in every way he could.
When her breath hitched and her body trembled against him, Beck held her tight, closing his eyes as if he could lock the moment into his soul forever. He followed her into that release, not just of heat but of everything that had been building between them. Fear. Grief. Desire. Hope.
It all poured out in the rush of holding and being held.
He buried his face in her damp hair, his chest still heaving. She leaned into him, spent but soft with trust, and he knew without a doubt that no matter what dangers still lurked outside these walls, they’d just crossed into something they couldn’t walk away from again.