Five Days Grace (34 page)

"I don't want to leave you tomorrow night," she said.

"Then don't." That was easy to fix. "Stay right here—"

"I can't. I have to work."

Shit, he didn't even know what she did, beyond being an artist. How was that possible? That he hadn't even asked. He felt like they'd talked non-stop since she came here. It seemed ridiculous, given all he did know about her, that he didn't know such a basic thing. "What do you do, Grace?"

She laughed. "After that incredible education my parents gave me, I ended up coming home interested, more than anything else, in what my own mother could teach me. She's a stained glass artist, a very talented one. My father and my brother-in-law restore old houses, and she started out repairing stained glass in the houses my father was restoring."

"So you're working with your mother?"

She nodded. "A couple of years ago Mom claimed she was afraid the work my father was doing would be too physical for him at some point, although he's in great shape. They have so many contacts in the construction/restoration business, she wanted to start a company to supply vintage and vintage-looking fixtures to builders, including stained glass. I suspect she went to my dad and said, 'Grace needs work. Let's try this.' So I'm not really sure which one of us the business was really for in the beginning, but it's working."

"And you like doing the work?"

"I do. We took over an empty warehouse in town and started producing all sorts of things that Mom and I design. She's doing very traditional lines, and I'm doing more modern pieces. Panes of glass. Light fixtures with stained glass. Glass insets for cabinet doors. Doorknobs. I love the old-fashioned, cut-glass doorknobs. Such a little thing, but so pretty. Everybody should have pretty things. Art isn't just about expensive pieces for people who can pay a lot for them."

"Must be a close family, if you can work together happily in a small business."

"We are. Mom and I design things and leave the rest to Dad and Emma's husband."

Yeah, with such close family, and being in business with them doing work she enjoyed, she wouldn't want to leave Ohio anytime soon. Even for him? That might be a problem, eventually. But it wasn't right now. Right now, she wanted to see him, and he certainly wanted to see her.

"So, if you work for yourself, you can take off when you want to, right?" he asked.

She laughed. "Everybody says that. And thinks it. But no, you can't just take off whenever you want. Not if you want to get any work done. Or keep my family from getting suspicious."

"You don't want them to know about us?"

"Do you mind? Just us for a while?"

"No. Whatever you want."

"I'd just rather not have to deal with a lot of questions. 'Do I really know what I'm doing? It hasn't been that long since Luc died.' That sort of thing. Plus, if our time is going to be limited, I don't want to have to share you with them."

He nodded. "I'm definitely with you on that last part. You'll slip away and come here? Or I could sneak into your place there." Sure he could. It wasn't like he had anything he really had to do here.

"I don't know. It's a really small town. Only about three thousand people. They all know me, my family. They knew Luc. News travels fast."

"Honey, I've slipped in and out of villages in Iraq and Afghanistan that harbor terrorists. I think I can make it in and out of a little town in Ohio undetected."

She laughed. "Okay."

"You don't think I can do it?" He was astonished.

"I didn't say that. I've just lived there most of my life, and there's very little I ever did that my parents didn't find out about eventually."

"All right, that's it. One night, when you least expect it, you're going to walk into your bedroom and find me in your bed."

"Okay." She gave him a huge grin. "Consider yourself invited to break into my house anytime you want."

"Then that's what I'll do," he promised.

Chapter 19

They had a lovely time on the lake, kissing and cuddling, laughing at the dog and soaking up the serenity of the place. Coming ashore, they walked, arm in arm, up the path to the cabin, the dog running excitedly ahead of them, happy as could be.

"Let's eat early tonight. So we can go to bed early," he said.

"We always go to bed early," she reminded him.

But she knew what he wanted because of the way he was watching her, all the heat in his eyes and the way he kept touching her, kissing her, the deep, husky tone of his voice when he said, "Insanely early. Indecently early."

"Okay."

Because it was his turn.

His turn to do whatever he wanted to her. She shivered just thinking about it, as she got ready for bed right after dinner. He'd told her he had plans for her, that he would not be manipulated into providing any kind of quick satisfaction, no matter how much she wanted it.

She had a quick shower, her own hands running quickly over her overly sensitive body, wanting so much to please him, to be everything he wanted in a woman. Once she got home, she'd buy some new things to wear to bed, she decided as she put on her plain pajamas once again. He was going to sneak into her bed at her house. She intended to be ready for him.

So she was smiling when she came out of the bathroom and took a moment to tell Tink goodnight and to get on his bed of blankets and stay there.

When she turned to Aidan, he gave her a long, heated look, one quick, soft kiss, and then told her to climb into bed just like that, that he wanted to take his time undressing her himself. So she did, because she was going to do whatever he asked. She was turned on just thinking about it.

Grace wasn't sure what she expected. Teasing, she supposed, her begging, those big, hot hands of his, so gentle at times, so urgent at others, so confident, and that's what she got. He explored her body, refusing to be rushed or to be deterred in any way, and no sexual games were involved. Just him honestly wanting to know exactly what she liked, what turned her on, what made her come.

"I need to know these things, to make this as good for you as I can," he said simply, then set about finding out in an orderly and methodical way.

His hands, his fingers, on her and inside of her, softly, slowly, quickly, one finger, two, three, and he watched her the whole time, watched her shiver and shake and beg and cry, taking her right to the brink, only to pull back again.

Then he went to work with his mouth, those perfectly soft lips and his wicked tongue, watching her still, asking her to provide some kind of coherent answers while he did it. What did she want? What did she like best?

She was so turned on by then, she could barely take the merest touch of his mouth on her, the tiniest swipe of his tongue.

"Please," she begged for at least the hundredth time.

"Not yet," he said, raising his head and stopping.

She tried to touch him. He pushed her hands away.

"Not this time," he insisted. "This is about you."

He was so strong. She hadn't quite realized before, until he'd pushed her thighs apart and held them there, not letting her get away when his touch was too much and she was sure she could not take any more, when he wouldn't let her roll over and hide to escape from those all-knowing eyes of his.

He was thoroughly and completely in charge, a thing as maddening as it was thrilling to her, too. She didn't have to do anything, say anything, be anything, feel anything but pleasure. No questions, no doubts, no wishing she knew what else she should do or how to do it, how to be a different woman who might please him. He just wanted her and to know what she wanted, what she liked. He wasn't going to blame her for anything or ask anything of her except to show him how she felt. Which meant it wasn't possible to mess this up. She had no shortcomings, no doubts, no fears. She was perfectly safe in his arms, and for now, he was going to take care of everything, didn't want anything she couldn't give him.

So she moaned and cried out and shivered and shook.

"This or that?" he asked over and over again, as he narrowed in on her preferences.

The tip of his tongue, soft as could be, swirling around but never quite on her clit? Or a slow, broad lick of his whole tongue? His thumb or maybe what felt like his whole hand rocking against her? Fingers pushing deep inside of her or barely in and rubbing that ultra-sensitive spot against the back of her public bone?

In the end, he had her feeling like every drop of blood in her body had pooled between her legs, leaving her so swollen and wet and responsive, he was barely touching her. He couldn't, not if he wanted to make her wait any longer.

"Tell me," he said finally. "Tell me how you want to come for me the first time?"

The first time.

She wasn't sure if she ever actually told him, if she was capable of that in that moment. She did remember that he finally pushed eager fingers inside of her and at the same time, went to work on her with his mouth, a combination that made her scream. The sensations kept crashing down on her, taking over her whole body, and she could feel her body clamping down on his fingers and she thought she could feel the smile on his face as it pressed against her, too.

She knew tears slid down her face, the sensations were so intense, and that he hardly let her rest before he was at it again, bringing her back up to another shattering climax, and then keeping her there, going back to things he'd only teased her with before. In the end, he left her absolutely exhausted, her body weak and boneless. He rolled her over into his arms, tucked her against that powerful body of his and held her close, stroking her hair, her cheek, her face, telling her how beautiful she was, how sexy, how perfect, how happy he was.

"Mmm." She pressed her face against his neck, wanting to crawl inside of him completely, just be a part of him and him a part of her forever, her whole body limp with satisfaction, humming with happiness.

This was how it was supposed to be, she knew then.

All this time, she was meant to be with him.

* * *

She was drifting off to sleep, when he whispered to her, "Grace?"

"Hmm?"

"I need to know something, honey."

"What?"

"We talked about it a little this morning, and then we got side-tracked. I need to know—what if, sexually, I can never do more than I can now? Is that going to be enough for you?"

She sighed. "You really have to ask? How many times did you make me come tonight, Aidan?"

"I don't know."

"Liar," she whispered into the dark.

"No, really, I don't." He chucked. "It's hard to tell sometimes, where one ends and another one begins, or if it's just one, long... You know. One."

"Okay, I'll give you that. I asked you earlier, is this usually what it's like? When you're in bed with a woman?"

He shook his head. "Doesn't even apply."

"What do you mean?"

He shifted beside her, turned onto his side and took her face in his hand, so he could look her in the eye through the dim light from the fire. "I have never wanted to please a woman more. It's never been more important to me to do that, than it is with you, and I'm working with a handicap here. So I'm being serious when I say, I need to know if this is going to be enough for you."

"You think I'd leave you if you couldn't have an erection? Really?"

"I'm asking you to put up with a lot here. A messed up head and a messed up body. It's a real question, Grace."

"It's enough," she said.

"You're sure?"

"Aidan, if I had some kind of accident, and for some reason, the doctor had to... let's say, sew my vagina permanently shut, would you walk away from me?"

"I have never in my life heard of that happening to a woman."

"Okay, if I could never do more, sexually, than what we've already done, would you leave me?"

"No." He didn't hesitate for a second.

"There you go. I feel the same way," she said. "Besides, didn't your doctor tell you that recovering from an injury like yours just takes time?"