25. Galahad
Galahad
I navigated around the cramped bathroom, unable to even close the glass door for my shower.
The water pressure was surprisingly decent for a train, and I definitely did not think about the fifteen-minute shower Grace had taken before me.
Nor did I think about her having to hold the shower wand over her head to wash her hair, or the way her back would have arched as she did.
Nor about the way the lather would have flowed between her breasts and slid down her stomach to her thighs before vanishing down the drain.
When I came out in my sleep shorts and a T-shirt, Grace was sitting cross-legged on the lower bunk, rubbing cream into her hands.
Vanilla and something floral. She had a dreamy smile on her face, distant and soft.
She’d dimmed the compartment lights while I was cleaning up, switching them to a cool blue that made the space feel smaller. More intimate.
Brain chemicals, Garrett. That’s all this is.
“Did you pick your breakfast from the menu?” I asked.
“Mm-hmm.” She didn’t look up. “Do you think they were lovers?”
I paused in placing my items back into my duffel. “Who? Marcel and your grandmother?”
“Yeah.” She worked the cream between her fingers, still smiling. “The way Marcel talked about her in his letters. How he trusted her with everything, and she argued with him, but always backed him up.”
“Marcel was married.” I sat on the edge of the sofa across from her, inspecting the bottom of the little table next to the window, so I could lower it and extend the sofa. There was only five feet between us, maybe less. The compartment was too small for real distance. “And his wife was pregnant.”
“I know.” Her smile dimmed. “It kind of sounds like a wartime romance, but the cheating thing’s a no-go. At least—” She waved her hand. “In the novels I read, it’s not a thing.”
Cheating. The word landed harder than it should have. Carissa’s face flickered through my mind as I found the catch under the table and it lowered with a sudden thunk.
Would Grace be the loyal kind? The kind who stayed through the hard times?
Don’t think about that, Garrett. She’s not yours.
“You said your mom read Regency historical romance. Did she like any other time periods? Medieval? Viking?”
I pulled out my phone. I didn’t choose to stay in this room for conversations about my mother or ones that reminded me of my ex. “I should check in with Arthur.”
“Garrett—”
I was already dialing. “Give me a minute.”
Arthur picked up. “Impatient, are we?”
“Yeah. What’s the status for Prague?” I stood, and despite there only being eight feet of floor space to pace toward the door, I paced.
“Good news. I secured four Pendragon operators who are native to Prague. They’re all cleared for close protection and have their weapons licenses. We’ll have two with us at all times, rotating shifts. Also, I booked the hotel my father uses when he’s there. Security’s solid. And it’s discreet.”
“Send me their details?”
He grunted a laugh. “As soon as we’re off the phone.”
I stared at the control panel by the door. How many different colors would the lights turn if I fiddled with it? “Did I send you the train information?”
“Galahad,” he said on an exasperated breath, “get some sleep and trust me to coordinate things, would you?”
I needed more to say, but didn’t have anything. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I ended the call, paced back to my bag, and tossed my phone into it.
Grace’s dreamy face was gone, replaced by an uncharacteristic frown. “You don’t like talking about your mother.”
“No.” I should have asked Arthur about the jet. Or the hotel name. Or anything to prolong the call and avoid talking to Grace.
“Okay.” Her hands had stilled in her lap, the lotion absorbed, but the scent flooded the room. “What about your father? You’ve never mentioned him.”
Questions about my father normally had me leaving the room or telling the asker to fuck right off. Neither of those was an option at the moment, so I paced back to the control panel and jabbed at a button that turned the light red. Red? I didn’t want red. That was practically porno lighting.
“Is he why you don’t drink?”
“Grace,” I all but growled. “Drop it.”
She sucked in a quick breath, and I turned to see all the softness in her face vanish. The dreamy warmth from Henri’s stories had drained away, and the grief that kept surfacing when she thought about Didi was crawling back in.
Nice work, Garrett. You fucking asshole.
“You know, I’ve asked you a few times if your protection details are normally like this, and you keep saying this is normal.” She met my eyes. “Is it still true? After everything we’ve been through?”
No. Not even fucking close. “Yes.”
She nodded slowly, and I returned to the control panel, searching for the calm blue she’d used. I found a bright blue, then a teal, then a purple, and finally settled for a soft pink. Calming, and not sexual or intimate at all.
“Really? Do your protectees normally have their lives fall apart in front of you? Do they normally find out their idols were liars?” She was going to keep on pushing, wasn’t she? Of course she was. I’d hurt her feelings, and she was flailing for a safer topic.
“Your grandmother wasn’t a liar. She was a hero.”
Between Henri’s stories, the wine, and the sense of connection to her Didi’s past, Grace’s brightness had been returning all evening. But now my temper was ruining everything the same way it always did.
You should apologize.
No, you should tell her to get onto her own bunk and go to sleep.
I paced back to the bed and sat on the edge of the bunk beside her despite myself. I stayed far enough away that we didn’t make contact, but this way I could stare at the opposite wall instead of looking at her. “My father was violent when he drank.”
She let out a soft sigh that almost sounded like an apology. “And you’re afraid you’ll do the same?”
Why was I telling her any of this? I didn’t owe her an apology. But maybe sharing would help lift some of whatever I was carrying around and would stop me from barking at her. “I guess.”
“You’d never do that to someone.” There was so much conviction in her words, I wanted to believe her. It was like the stories Henri told about her grandmother, who saw the best in people who didn’t deserve it.
“My mother was pretty sure my father wouldn’t, either.” Yup, I stared at the wall. “After every single beating, she was still sure that one was the last one.”
She put her hand over mine. Again and again, our hands found each other, as if there were gravity between them. The contact shouldn’t have meant anything. It was skin touching skin. Nothing more than when I’d shaken Henri’s hand before we left his compartment.
But my heart insisted this was different. I covered her hand with my other one, sandwiching it between mine as though her touch might disappear. “My protection details are never like this one.”
Taking care of her is the most important thing. Remember that.
Grace turned to face me. She was right there, close enough I could feel her breath on my cheek.
Last night, she’d kissed me. The brush of her lips against my cheek had obviously been meant as a comfort, but had turned into something else entirely.
Part of me wanted her to do it again. Wanted to feel her mouth on mine and know she’d chosen it with only one glass of wine in her.
But she just sat there, a solid presence.
I waited for the voices to come over me. The ones that normally told me I hadn’t been strong enough to protect my mother, that I was too like my father, or that Carissa had been right to screw around on me because I wasn’t whatever she thought she needed. But they didn’t come.
What power did this woman have that touching her meant silence inside my head?
A distant voice whispered, ‘Don’t.’
But then Grace whispered, “Life’s too short to beat yourself up for someone else’s sins.”
It wasn’t about someone else. It was about my sins, my shortcomings, and every way I’d failed the people I’d loved or tried to love.
Or was it?
I turned to look at her, at those big green eyes that held no fear, and the only voice left in my head said, ‘Kiss her.’
She moistened her lips, as though she’d heard the voice, too.
I let go of her hand and threaded my fingers into her damp hair, cupping the back of her head. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
Her eyes widened, and she said, “I’d like that.”
I leaned in, sealed my mouth over hers, and probed with my tongue. Hers joined mine, and the world vanished. She gripped my shoulder, then the back of my neck, pulling me closer, and I went willingly. She tasted like mint toothpaste again, and I felt her smiling in her kiss.
We shifted without breaking apart—I pulled her onto my lap, and her legs spread so she straddled me. My hands found her waist, then her hips, then her ass, pulling her flush against me. She was soft and right, and I was hard, my cock straining underneath her.
Grace.
Her fingers curled into my hair, and she rolled her hips, grinding against me.
Fuck.
We had over twelve hours on this train. How much could we do in twelve hours? I pushed up against her core, showing her how much I wanted her, and her fingers clenched in my hair.
She moaned, and her legs latched around me as her chest swelled.
I stood, lifting her with me and bracing my legs as the train swayed. I needed more of her. I needed to put her on her back and peel her clothes off and?—
The train lurched.
The brakes engaged hard, throwing me off balance. I kept one hand under her and tried to brace myself, but fell back, smashing my head against her bunk before I crashed onto the bed. The train shuddered, slowing, and my brain snapped out of its haze.
What’s happening? Are we stopping? Why are we stopping?
Grace was still on my lap, breathing hard, her hands gripping my shoulders. “What?—”
“I don’t know.” I was already scanning the compartment, the door, the window. The train was moving, but slower. Probably a signal. A scheduled slowdown before a junction that they’d approached too fast.
Nothing. There was nothing.
But my heart was pounding, and it wasn’t just because of Grace anymore.
This is exactly what you were worried about. You got distracted.
“Garrett.” Her voice was soft. She shifted her weight on me, maybe getting comfortable again after we’d fallen.
“This is—” I stopped. Tried to find the words that wouldn’t make me sound like an asshole. Failed. “This is a job. I shouldn’t be?—”
“You refused the job.” She took my face in her hands, not letting me back out with ridiculous excuses anymore. “Remember? Tristan offered, and you said no. You said this was a favor. So don’t tell me it’s just a job.”
She was still pressed against me. Still looking at me with those green eyes that saw too much. My cock argued with me to keep going, but this was wrong.
“If something happens.” I shook my head, trying to calm my brain. “If Kessler’s people find us and make a move, I need to be ready. And if I’m—” I glanced at her lips, and my dick urged me to kiss her. “I need to be able to protect you. That’s the most important thing.”
“Nothing’s going to happen while we’re on the train.” She said it gently. “We’re safe here.”
“But what if, Grace?”
What if? Those two words were all I had. But those words contained everything—every worst-case scenario I’d ever run, every time I’d been too slow or too late. My mother’s face that night with the broken bottle. Carissa confessing about the other man, while I was recovering from the bullet.
What if.
Grace studied me for a long moment. She would argue, push, try to convince me I was being paranoid. Instead, she nodded and climbed off my lap. “Okay.”
The loss of contact was wrong on every fucking level in existence. Apologize to her.
“I’m going to read for a bit, then get some sleep.” She grabbed her phone and climbed the small ladder to the upper bunk, and the mattress creaked as she settled in.
I sat for another minute, trying to find the center I’d lost the moment I’d first held her hand.
Trying to get everything under control. I lay on the lower bunk and stared at the underside of hers.
The train had resumed its normal speed, the rhythm of the tracks steady beneath us.
I switched off the pink light. The compartment went dark except for the glow of Grace’s phone from the bunk above me.
She deserves a man who can commit to her. Who’ll always be there. She deserves someone better than you. Don’t forget that.