Chapter Twenty-Eight Grace
Twenty-Eight
Grace
Grace listened to Reese’s heartbeat doing its best impression of a drum solo.
The man was clearly grappling with something.
But whether it was the earth-shattering realization that he wasn’t actually in control of everything or regret that he’d just slept with the woman competing for his property, Grace couldn’t quite tell.
She hoped it was the losing control part.
Had watched it happen in real-time after all: the way his carefully measured rhythm had dissolved into something frantic and desperate, the way he’d buried his face in her neck and groaned.
And that final moment: muscles locked, body shaking, her name ripped from his throat like a confession he hadn’t meant to make.
Yeah. She’d definitely seen it. Had felt it, too. Had filed it away in her mental highlight reel under “Things That Will Ruin Me For Other Men.”
Reese Spencer—billionaire, competitor, alpha—had completely lost control.
Because of her.
He pulled away from her, kissed her forehead and dealt with the condom, then pulled her against his chest.
“So Grace Sullivan,” he said, his grin cocky, “tell me more how I just changed your sexual life.”
She swatted him but smiled anyway, settling into his arms again, her head on his shoulder. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
“It’s not exactly hard to be impressive when the competition is literally nobody for the past twelve years.
Single motherhood isn’t exactly a magnet for quality men.
Or any men, really.” She traced lazy patterns on his chest. “Turns out most guys aren’t into the whole ‘comes with a kid and crippling debt’ package. ”
“Their loss.” He said it simply, like it was a fact. “So how many men have had the privilege I just enjoyed?”
“Are we really doing this? The ‘what’s your number’ thing?”
“It’s universal pillow talk. Plus…I’m curious.”
She groaned. “Fine. But you’re going first.”
“Ladies first.”
“Your rule, your answer first.”
Reese laughed. “All right. I lost mine when I was thirteen. Girl from school. We snuck off to this field near my house in Thunder Bay.”
“Thirteen? Jesus, Reese.”
“Wait, it gets better. We were halfway through when a horse showed up and nearly bit my ass. Had to run out of there with my pants around my ankles.”
Grace burst out laughing, the mental image too good. “A horse?”
“A real aggressive horse. Scarred me for life, no lie.” He was grinning, though. “Your turn.”
She hesitated. “Fifteen. With Jake, the firefighter.”
Reese went still. “The tattooed one?”
“The very same. It was an agreement. We were friends. We figured we should learn together, you know? Practice on each other so we wouldn’t be completely clueless with people we actually liked. Great friends do things like that.”
“Hmmm.” He looked like he didn’t like the sound of that: “So, who was after Jake?”
Grace bit her lip. “Just one more. Zach’s dad.” She paused. “That makes you number three.”
Reese’s eyebrows shot up. “Three? Total?”
“Don’t look so shocked.”
“I’m not shocked, I’m—” He searched for words. “I guess I’m kind of honored.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sure you are. What about you? Am I, like, number three hundred?”
“Not quite.”
“Not quite? You horndog.”
“I was a horny teenager,” he said defensively. “What can I say?”
“And then a hot billionaire,” Grace added, trying to keep her voice light. “With women throwing themselves at you.”
“Something like that.” He was quiet for a moment, stroking her hair in that gentle, hypnotic way. “But honestly? A lot of them blur together. Faces I barely remember. Names I definitely don’t.”
Great. So she’d be another blur. Another forgettable—
“You won’t be a blur, though,” he said, like he could read her mind. “Look, this isn’t like me, but…Grace, the way you let go. The sounds you made. That was…” He paused, and when he spoke again his voice was softer. “That was fucking special. I’ll never forget that.”
Grace felt heat creep up her neck, into her cheeks. “You’re just saying that.”
“I’m really not.” He tilted her chin up so she had to meet his eyes. “I mean it. That was special. Truly the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.”
She opened her mouth, unsure how to respond. So she resorted to her default: make a joke. “You were pretty special yourself,” she managed. “For a guy whose first sexual experience results in him being chased by a horse.”
He laughed and pulled her closer. “Another reason you’re a keeper. You’ve got a way of cracking me up, even when I’m the butt of the joke.” He peered down at her. “Butt. See what I did there?”
“I did and now I’m sure your sense of humor isn’t what got you to where you are.”
A cloud drifted across the moon then, plunging the room into near darkness.
“It’s getting cold,” she said.
Reese gently eased her off his chest and went to the fire, adding more logs as he eyed the clock. “Just three more hours until my birthday’s over.”
“Any more birthday requests?” Grace asked.
He leaned over and grabbed one of the board games. “Want to play Monopoly?”
Grace looked at the box. “Monopoly? Are you serious?”
Reese nodded. “Very.”
“Fine,” Grace said. “But I’m the dog.”
Reese’s mouth twitched. “Whatever. This dog’s missing a leg, anyway. I’ll be the car.”
Grace insisted they get changed back into their ’20s outfits—“It’s the night’s theme!
”—then they set up the board on the fur rug by the fireplace.
Reese made hot chocolate while Grace sorted the money and properties.
The fire crackled and popped, finally putting out real heat. The tower room almost felt cozy.
“You’re the banker,” Reese said, handing her a mug.
“Wow. Letting me control the money. Very trusting.”
“I’ve read your financial projections. You’re honest to a fault. No massaging of figures, that’s for sure,” he said with a mischievous grin.
She shoved him as he laughed.
“Is this the British version?” Grace said as she looked down at the board.
“Sure is,” Reese said, examining the properties. “Mayfair instead of Boardwalk. Old Kent Road instead of Mediterranean Avenue. Maybe a British guest left it here.”
“I have no idea what any of these places are.”
“I do. I’ll help you.”
They set up, Grace claiming the dog piece with a defiant look that dared him to argue. Reese took the car without comment.
First roll and Grace landed on King’s Cross Station and bought it immediately, even though she had no idea where King’s Cross actually was. Reese got Mayfair. They traded properties with cold efficiency.
“You overpaid for that,” Grace said when Reese bought the Water Works.
“I like to control utilities,” he shot back.
“That’s a terrible strategy.”
“Says the woman who just mortgaged two properties to buy Mayfair.”
“You told me Mayfair is prime real estate in London!”
“Mayfair’s a money pit.”
Grace landed on Chance. Drew a card. “Bank error in your favor, collect ￡200. See? The universe loves me.”
“The universe is a deck of cards.”
“Don’t ruin this for me with your cheesy quotes.”
They kept playing until Grace landed on one of Reese’s properties and owed him rent. She groaned and threw the money at him.
“You’re a sore loser,” Reese observed.
“I’m not losing yet.”
“You have one property left and I own three-quarters of the board.”
“That’s called strategy. I’m biding my time.”
“You’re going bankrupt in two turns.”
Grace glared at him. Then landed on Go To Jail.
“Perfect,” she muttered. “I’m officially done with this stupid game!”
Reese’s smile turned wicked. “You know,” he said slowly, “maybe I should give you another chance to win. I think we need a rematch. But the rules are different this time.”
“What kind of rules?”
He pulled her toward him, the Monopoly pieces scattered. “My rules,” he growled into her ear. Then he gestured to the board. “Lie down.”