21. Grace
Grace
I woke up sweating. The guest room was cool, the duvet pulled up to my chin. But my body was taut, my pulse too fast, and fragments of a dream threaded through my waking mind. Garrett’s hands. His mouth on my neck. The weight of him pressing me into the mattress while I writhed underneath him.
‘Oh god,’ I almost moaned out loud.
I squeezed my eyes shut, chasing the dream. Chasing the feeling of him between my thighs, of his hands on my breasts, and mine around his cock. I slipped my fingers into my underwear and stroked my clit, letting them slide lower to dip inside myself, pretending it was him.
‘You’re so wet for me,’ I imagined him saying. Because I was. Holy hell, I really was.
It was good, but definitely not as good as Dream-Garrett. I stroked harder, giving myself the friction I was craving, while snippets of the dream flitted through my brain. I was working so hard—desperate to sink back into that ecstasy—and my waking mind took over.
He’d kissed me. Kissed me and pulled me closer, like he was done denying himself something he wanted. I rolled my hips against my palm and bit my lip as the orgasm started to build. Did he want me? Or had the wine made my memories fuzzy?
Worry about reality later. Focus on the fantasy.
My imagination took over, and Memory-Garrett slid his hand down to my ass, squeezing it gently. Then he eased me back onto the bed. Stripped off my pajama pants and panties and ran his tongue along my slit. No, he pumped two fingers inside of me and sucked on my nipple. Yeah, that was it.
My own fingers pretended they were his, sinking inside myself while I squeezed my breast. That’s it, Garrett.
The man had broad shoulders and thick arms, like the heroes in my favorite novels.
But having those arms around me last night, when he hugged me, like I was saving him from every bad dream he’d ever had?
I hadn’t grasped just how big he was until that moment.
Dream-Garrett was back again, thrusting deep inside me, telling me I was beautiful, telling me he loved my smile and my laugh.
He’d bitten my lower lip in my dream, so waking-me did the same.
I continued working myself, the dream and my fantasies weaving back and forth until my whole world exploded in the most amazing and blissful orgasm I’d had in forever.
My muscles all relaxed at once, and I let out one long, languid breath.
I blinked at the ceiling as my heartbeat slowly fell to normal levels.
The bed wouldn’t have been wide enough for the two of us to just sleep.
Not like it would have been a horrible thing if more had happened.
Although I didn’t pack condoms, because why would I have packed them?
Did he? Garrett seemed to be the sort who was ready for anything—but for the kind of anything that showed up with a gun, not the kind that needed condoms.
It was just a kiss, Grace.
But it was an amazing kiss, no matter how short it had been. The way he’d gone still for half a second before his mouth opened against mine. His fingers sliding into my hair, his arm pulling me closer, the rough catch in his breath.
I probably shouldn’t have kissed him. Definitely shouldn’t have kissed him.
But it had felt so right in the moment. And the way he’d kissed me back?
Did that mean the attraction wasn’t one-sided?
Or had he been caught off guard and was reacting like practically any man would react to a woman kissing him?
Was he even single? I sat up suddenly, staring at the door as though he might barge through and catch me with this flush on my face. Was I masturbating to a taken man? Had I kissed a taken man? Was that why he’d backed off?
Maybe Izzy would know. No, she barely knew the guy either. Maybe she could casually ask Tristan?
Don’t be a coward. Ask him yourself.
With a sigh, I grabbed my phone to check the time.
It was already after nine o’clock. This sleeping-in thing was becoming a habit.
I hauled myself out of bed and headed to the bathroom for a morning touch-up.
The short hallway led from the guest room, past a small bathroom, and to Jean’s bedroom at the far end.
I followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen.
Jean stood at the stove, cooking scrambled eggs full of veggies, ham, and cheese, judging by the smell.
Garrett sat at the small dining table with a mug in front of him, his back to the wall. Our eyes met for exactly one half of one second, then he looked down at his coffee.
Okay. So that’s how we’re doing this.
“Ah, Grace!” Jean turned from the stove with a wide smile. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
“Like the dead.” I moved to the counter where a French press sat next to a row of mugs. “Is this up for grabs?”
“Please, help yourself.”
The kitchen had modern appliances, but the walls were mostly stone, with wooden beams overhead and windows overlooking a garden gone wild.
It was warm and cozy from the heat of whatever he had in the oven.
I started the kettle and set up the French press while Jean served the eggs onto a large plate and set out a basket of croissants on the table.
He sat next to Garrett and spooned eggs onto his own plate. “I spent some more time with the letter this morning.”
I poured my coffee and took the seat opposite Garrett, who still wasn’t looking at me. “Anything new?”
“I’m afraid not. The smudged portions are simply too degraded.”
“And your friend?” Garrett asked.
“He’s a colleague.” Jean reached for a croissant. “But no, I’ve not heard from him yet. I’m sure he’ll call when he can. He travels quite a lot, and I don’t know what time zone he’s in now.”
I ate my eggs and let the conversation drift.
Jean talked about his garden, about the neighbor’s goats that kept escaping into his yard, and about an authentication project he’d finished last month.
Garrett contributed single-word responses when directly addressed. I contributed slightly longer ones.
But my mind kept drifting to my bed this morning.
To my dream and the fantasy that Garrett hadn’t pulled away last night.
Heat was absolutely climbing up my cheeks, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Mr. Tall, Dark, and Frowny was sitting so close to me that if I moved my foot too far, it would rub against his.
A wave of heat flashed through me.
Stop it, Grace.
I sipped my coffee, doing my best to focus on Jean.
However, our host finished his breakfast far too quickly and stood, taking his plate to the sink. “I should check my messages. Please make yourselves at home.”
He disappeared into his sunroom-turned-workshop.
I got up and moved to the counter. There was a hand grinder for the coffee beans next to the French press, and a bag of beans beside it. I didn’t need more coffee. But I needed to occupy my hands.
“About last night,” Garrett finally said.
Yeah, about last night. I kept my back to him, adjusted the grinder settings, and spooned in some beans.
“I wanted to apologize.” His tone was flat and factual, the words coming as though he were measuring every one. “I was unprofessional. I crossed a line I shouldn’t have.”
The grinder’s handle was smooth wood, worn from years of use. I began cranking, and the beans crackled and popped as the burrs found them. “I kissed you first.”
“It doesn’t matter who started it. I should have stopped it.” He took a deep breath. “It’s common to misinterpret intense emotions during dangerous situations. Adrenaline, proximity, fear. The brain confuses chemicals for connection.”
I stopped grinding and turned to face him. “Is that how your protection details normally work?”
He finally looked at me. A real look, not the one-second glance from when I’d walked in.
It had been so dark last night, I’d barely been able to see him.
But today, the sun was shining through the windows, and every bit of him was on display.
His short black hair and beard, the dark eyes, his black T-shirt and jeans. And the exhaustion under his eyes.
I did my best to keep my voice light and curious, as though the kiss didn’t mean anything. “Does adrenaline often make your clients think they have feelings for you?”
His jaw tightened. “Yes.”
“Really?” Was that all this was?
“Yes.” He averted his eyes. “It happens. It’s a well-documented phenomenon. Proximity plus danger creates false intimacy. I’ve seen it before.”
Truth or lie, Galahad?
He was avoiding my gaze, which let me study him in a way I usually couldn’t. The rigid line of his shoulders. The muscles straining in his neck. The ink visible from below his sleeves.
Maybe it was the truth, and it happened sometimes. Maybe some clients mistook fear for attraction. But was that what this was? I didn’t want to think so. His whole body had leaned into mine before his brain caught up, and none of that had felt like some fake phenomenon.
Ask him the important question. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
He made a sound of disgust, like the idea of dating was the worst thing imaginable.
What I honestly wanted to ask next was who’d hurt him.
Why was he so closed off? He obviously carried tremendous pain related to his mother, but was there someone else?
Either way, this wasn’t the time or place.
I returned to the grinder and finished the beans.
Dumped them into the French press. Poured hot water from the kettle and cleaned the grinder.
The coffee was dark and rich when I poured it. I took a sip, letting the silence stretch. Garrett was still sitting at the table, still not looking at me, still so tense he looked like he might break if he moved wrong.
Galahad was the pure knight in King Arthur’s court. I knew that much. He was the one who’d obtained the grail because of his purity. Was this Galahad the same? Had something happened to him that made him insist emotions were off-limits? He rarely smiled. I’d only seen him laugh twice.
But god, how he’d kissed me despite everything. How his short beard had brushed across my cheeks, softer than I’d imagined it would be. How he’d held me like he wanted me as much as I’d wanted him.
The morning light came through the window at an angle. Outside, birds sang. Jean’s garden was a riot of late-summer color—purples, yellows, reds, pinks, and whites.
It wasn’t just brain chemistry.
I leaned against the counter and waited. For what, I didn’t know. For him to crack? For him to admit that last night meant something? For him to get up and leave so I could think without him sitting right there?
When none of those things happened, I broke the silence myself. “I’m going to have a shower.”
Garrett nodded once. “I’ll be here.”
Of course you will. You’re on the job.
I was halfway through the kitchen when Jean appeared in the doorway, phone in hand. He was smiling. “I just got off the phone with my colleague. He’s rather excited to meet you both and is close enough to visit this afternoon. He should arrive around three.”
“That’s great.” I tried to match his enthusiasm, but Garrett’s near-silent treatment was setting me on edge. “Is he familiar with eggs like this?”
“He’s been researching this particular egg for years, apparently.” Jean’s eyes crinkled. “He was thrilled when I described it to him.”
Garrett’s posture shifted. “This egg? You told him about it?”
“The lost second egg, yes. He’s— No, no. I’ll let him explain. It’s quite a story.” Jean tucked his phone into his pocket. “If anyone can help you understand where it came from, it’s him.”