Saving Grace (3 page)

Chapter
Four

Walker

I have no idea what I’m doing. What started out as teasing
has turned into a primitive irresistible urge to claim. She is
mine
, and
I desperately need her to admit it before she regains her memory. Before she
realizes what kind of man I am under the calm and cool façade I’ve been showing
her. For months I’ve tempered my instincts with her, but the shooting broke my
control. I can’t wait for her to come to me. It’s time to force her to admit
she’s mine as much as I’m hers. The need to get so deep under her skin that
she’ll never leave me is overwhelming. The fear that I won’t succeed is the
greatest I’ve ever felt.

Her pussy tightens around my fingers and she releases a long
slow hiss through clenched teeth. Oh yeah. She is right on the edge and I know
just how to push her over. But first a little confession is good for the soul,
isn’t it? I bite back a smile, sliding my fingers slowly in and out of her
while avoiding her clit.

“You need to come, baby?”

She gives me a look equal parts disbelief and outrage. It’s
damn hard to repress a smile. I have her right where I want her.

“What was that Grace? You don’t need to come?”

My fingers still and she glares at me.

“You started this Walker. You damned well better finish it.”

I pinch her clit, her hips strain against my hand, and I go
to pull away. She grabs my wrist, holding me to her. Her eyes are angry, but
there is an edge of desperation in her voice.

“Walker. Please. I need to come.”

I thrust two fingers into her pussy and curl them up to rub
against her G-spot.

“All you have to do is ask, baby,” I whisper. And maybe beg
a little. I try to keep one eye on the road and one eye on her. She is so
close, panting, her face flushed, her inner muscles contracting around my
fingers.

“No one else can make you feel this way, Grace. Can they? No
one else makes you want to lose all that rigid self-control.”

She rolls her head on the seat back to look at me. Her eyes
are glazed with lust. For me. My heart swells so much I think it might burst.

“No one else,” she whispers, her eyes pleading for release.

I smile, a surge of tenderness and possessiveness at her
agreement, at the expression of surrender on her face, filling me. I know her
capitulation won’t last longer than her orgasm, but it is incredible while it’s
there.

My fingers stroke her pussy while my thumb brushes her clit.
The hard nub jumps under the featherlike touch and she groans. So responsive,
so perfect. Made for me
.
I go back to it, increasing the pressure,
rubbing in hard tight circles, my fingers sliding in and out of her cunt
faster, deeper.

She grips the sides of her seat, the muscles in her body
beginning the rhythmic contracting that signal her climax. Pressing her head
hard against the seat, she squeezes her eyes shut, a low keening sound coming
from her throat while her pussy clenches around my fingers.

“Look at me, Grace.”

She meets my gaze, her eyes stark with need, all her
barriers gone now.

“That’s it,” I say softly. “Come for me, baby.”

I leave my fingers in place, riding out her climax,
remembering the exquisite feel of her coming around my cock. I’m aching,
desperate to get inside her. If I’m not careful I’ll embarrass myself and come
watching her. It is impossible not to be swept up in the woman’s bliss. I
caused it after all.

Finally, the tremors in her body fade and I life my fingers
to my mouth. She meets my gaze with drowsy eyes as I lick them clean, satiated
while I still throb in need. Releasing a relived sigh, she closes her eyes.

“Get some sleep, Grace,” I whisper, focusing my attention on
the road and trying to ignore my throbbing cock.

Grace

I jerk up when we pull into my parking spot. I must have
dozed off. My leg aches and I realize with embarrassment that my skirt is still
tugged up around my waist. At least he’s unwound the seat belt. I reach for the
button, snapping myself free and swing the car door open without a word.

I wince when my right foot hits the pavement, but force
myself to stand, shimmying the skirt down before reaching into the back seat
for the stupid cane. I leave my panties on the floorboard. Walker grabs his bag
and rushes around the car before I get the chance to move. Gripping my elbow he
leads me into the building and to the elevators.

We ride up the five stories in silence. I’m too busy trying
to breathe through the pain in my leg to make conversation and he...I have no
idea what his story is. He’s probably still pissed at me. The elevator dings.
We get out and turn right, walking to the last door at the end of the hall. I
lean back against the wall next to it and take a deep breath.

“I forgot about the damned key.”

How could I forget something so important? My keys along
with my car are gone. Nodding at the door, I meet Walker’s gaze. His eyes are
expressionless, neutral. I have no idea what is going on in his head. Without
saying a word he pulls a slim tool out of his overnight bag, wiggles it in the
lock, and opens it. I don’t even want to know where he learned how to do that
or why he happens to have that tool handy.

Within seconds I’m inside, back in my white and glass condo.
I loved it when I got out of the Army. Not green. Not brown. Not old and dingy.
However, lately it seems so impersonal and sterile. Ha! Lately, my ass. Since
Christmas when Walker decided to turn my life inside out. As if reading my
mind, he looks around in distaste.

“You have
got
to get some color in here,” he mutters.

The way he emphasizes
got
ignites my temper. I don’t
need a man upsetting my life, making me question my choices or direction. I
refuse to admit he’s already wormed his way under my skin. Walking to a white
leather couch, I sink into it. I want to stalk, but anything other than a slow
crawl is currently out of the question. It fuels my anger. My leg throbs more
in response.

“Did you bring up my prescription?” I ask.

My voice is more a croak than the sure confidence I aim for,
and I wince. I can’t show any sign of weakness with Walker. He’ll take it and
run, insinuating his way even further into my life.

The irritated look on his face disappears, replaced with one
of tender purpose. Uh oh, here we go. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out
the orange bottle and turns to the kitchen. He finds a clean glass, fills it
with water, and comes back to the living room to squat in front of me. Handing
me the glass, he twists the top off the medication bottle and pours one into
his hand.

“You should take that and go lay down. Get some rest.”

I swallow the pill, chasing it with the water and lean my head
back against the cool leather. I don’t speak for a long while, waiting until I
start to feel the effects of the pain killer.

“Later. I’ve been in bed for a week. It’s the ride that
jarred it.”

Remembering certain events during the ride to Atlanta, my eyes
pop open. He hasn’t moved, still crouches before me, and his hot gaze sweeps up
my body. Despite the pain in my thigh, my body reacts, a warm flood of cream
fills my pussy. He smiles and slides one hand up my left leg, pausing at the
top of my thigh. I fight my body’s urge to arch against his hand and catch my
lower lip between my teeth. Leaning forward, he drops a kiss on my nose and
whispers.

“That ride rattled me too.”

His hand moves up, finds my bare pussy, and begins a lazy
exploration. A finger brushes my clit and I groan, my hips moving of their own
volition. A finger thrusts into my cunt. One finger, then two. I clench around
him, the ache in my leg forgotten and replaced by lust.

“You’re so wet for me,” Walker murmurs.

“Hmm,” I moan when he thrusts in and out of me in a slow
steady rhythm.

He withdraws and I sense him shift position, standing over
me. Opening my eyes, I meet his gaze. His eyes are tight. Hot. In absolute
control.

“Not in here,” he says roughly.

Bending down, he scoops me up, careful to grab me under the
knees and not bump my right thigh. He carries me down the hall to my bedroom
and lays me on the bed gently. I reach for the edge of my shirt and he pushes
my hands away, tugging it over my head himself. Then he turns to the skirt.
Unzipping it, he pulls it down over my hips and thighs, giving the gauze
covered right one as wide a berth as possible. I quickly free myself from the
bra as he studies me and I lie back against the pillows.

“Well?” I whisper.

He stands still, just watching, so long that I’m afraid this
is as far as things will progress. What is this pull? This attraction that has
always raged between us? I’m like a junkie and he is my drug. My body is on
fire for him and I need the release I know I’ll only find in giving up control
to him in bed. To give over control to someone else just for a little while, to
forget the danger in my life just for a little while, to forget how alone I am,
my doubts about myself and him. I need that.

Maybe he sees the craving in my eyes. Before I can figure
out a way to ask for him to fuck me, he toes off his shoes and whips the shirt
over his head. Then he reaches for the snap on his jeans. The clothes fall to
the floor at his feet, his cock standing straight and proud before him. Sighing,
I sit up and circle it with my fingers, gliding my hand up and down the shaft
and rotating my wrist in the way I know drives him crazy. A drop of pre-cum
appears on the slit on its head and I lean over to lick it off.

“Ah Christ,” he mutters, his hands coming up to hold my head
still and slide into my mouth. I open wide, feeling the head hit the back of my
throat, the salty taste of him filling my senses. He thrusts in and out in at a
slow steady pace a few times before pulling free from my mouth with a pop.

Climbing into the bed with me, he rolls me to my side and
spoons up behind me, snuggling in close so his entire body is pressed up
against me. I smile. Even now, he is looking out for me. My injured leg is on
top and he carefully shifts it up a little as he thrusts into me from behind.

His strokes are long, sure, and slow. Lazy and teasing and
tender. Walker’s deft moves slowly drive me out of my mind, wrapping me in a
cocoon of security. Then his fingers find my clit and send me spiraling out of
control. The orgasm sweeps up out of nowhere, overwhelming me with Walker’s
usual intensity. My body shakes with it. My soul rocks with it.

It is a hell of time to realize I’m in love with him.

Chapter
Five

Grace

Five days later, I’m beginning to think one of us isn’t
going to live and it is a toss up to who the survivor will be. I thought the
forced confinement of the hospital was bad. It is nothing compared to the house
arrest Walker has me under now. Every time I look at the door he tenses. If I
walk towards it, he immediately moves to block my exit.

The first couple days I let it go. I hadn’t really felt up
to going out, not that I will admit that to Walker. By day three I’d gone
twenty-four hours without any pain meds and though I won’t be running any
marathons soon, I feel almost my old self except for the lingering limp I
expect will be a reminder for several weeks to come.

Day three I wanted out.

Day four I started climbing walls.

Day five I am eyeing my pistol and wondering if I need it to
get out of my own damned condo. Even Walker is antsy at this point.

He stands in front of a window with his arms crossed over
his chest while I sit on the couch, pretending to read a book and glaring at
his back. The hell with it. Laying the book down without marking my page, I
stand and leave the room. I’m done being his prisoner. I have work to do. I go
into my bedroom and strip out of my shorts and tank top, changing into loose
trousers and a silk T-shirt appropriate for the office. I slip into low heeled
sandals, clip on my gun, and find my extra set of keys before returning to the
living room.

He’s waiting for me, hands now shoved into his pockets, his
expression livid. Red highlights his cheekbones and his eyes flash dire
warning. His voice is arctic when he speaks. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Work.” I have no idea how I keep my tone cool, fight the
excitement. Fighting with him is so much better than the silent treatment I’ve
been getting.

“You aren’t going anywhere.”

“I am. I have a job, a business that doesn’t run itself.
Bills. You know--responsibilities.”

“What the hell is so important it’s worth risking your life
over? I told you I’d take care of the bills for you. Enough of this bullshit,
Grace. Pack it up and come home.”

Now is the time to bring up Beaumont, whose primary income
came from drug dealing, but he’d also been involved in illegal gambling and
prostitution and God only knows what else. I need to ask what Walker’s
connection to the crime boss is but that nagging suspicion returns. Exactly how
is Walker involved with Beaumont? Is he the killer I’m hunting? I’m positive he
is guilty of something, but damned if I can remember what.

You’d never know it to look at him, but Walker has a ton of
money. I have no idea what he’s worth, but I know it’s a hell of lot more than
me. I’m barely scraping by, and he is...not. And somehow he is connected to
Beaumont, I’m just not sure how. I can’t remember, which is annoying as hell.
Damn it.

“Where will that money to pay my bills come from, Walker?” I
ask softly, recognizing I tread dangerous ground here, ignoring the internal
voice screaming not to be an idiot, to just trust him already.

His expression shuts down completely. “What are you
suggesting, Grace?”

I shrug, a childhood playground song spinning through my
mind. Catch a tiger by the tail.

“You’re pretty well off for a mechanic in rural Alabama.”

“I’ve invested wisely.”

I almost snort. What exactly was that supposed to be a
euphemism for? I know he works for Hunter Wallace, like his brother. I’ve never
asked questions before and I’m not sure why it’s so important now.

“Is that so. You know, there are whole years in your past
that are blanks, which you refuse to discuss. Makes a person curious what you
were doing--”

He slices a palm through the air to cut me off. “That’s
irrelevant. Now is what’s important.”

Oh, but there is so much more to it, so much he isn’t
saying. Even if instinct doesn’t tell me that, his body language does. His
hands are shoved in his pockets, but his arms are flexed, the muscles corded
and hard and he stands with a slightly widened stance as if ready to strike at
something.

“I think it is important,” I reply, not sure of this mood,
not sure how far I should push him. I insist to myself that I’m pushing because
of the case, not because I want to be closer to him, to know him better. Not
because I’m trying to drive him away. His eyes narrow as some of his control
slips.

“You’re not exactly forthcoming about the years you’ve been
gone either. And none of that matters does it? You’ll grasp any excuse you can
to refuse to trust me. What are
you
hiding, Grace? Why is trusting me so
damned hard?”

I shake my head, gritting my teeth. Score one for Walker. No
way in hell am I going there and he knows it.

“Okay, you’re right. The past doesn’t matter. But I’m not
likely to trust you as long as you keep up the secrets.”

He finally moves, stalks around me but pauses in the
hallway.

“That’s a two-way street, baby. I’ve played the last six
months by your rules, giving you what you want while you ignore what we could
be, what we
should
be. Fuck that. When you’re ready to grow up and let
this relationship become what it’s supposed to be, you know where to find me.”

He disappears down the hall--to pack I presume--I leave the
condo ignoring the knife of pain and anger twisting in my heart. He isn’t
really
abandoning me…I want him to leave, and I have work to do.

Grace

Carlos Beaumont paces around my office, his loud tirade
bouncing off the walls. I ignore him until he stops in front of my desk and
plants both palms flat. He is a big, beefy man but for some reason I just get
the impression of a weasel when I look at him.

“Ms. Monroe, are you even listening to me?”

I force a smile, not caring that it probably appears brittle
with my resentment of his intrusion into my personal space. Client or not, I
don’t have time for him.

“Of course. You want frequent updates on the progress of the
investigation into your father’s murder,” I answer, trying to inject a level of
soothing commiseration into my tone. And failing miserably.

“And yet, no contact for two weeks.”

I sigh. I’ve been home just over a week, only back in the
office three days. And in that week my life has begun to spiral out of control.
First there was the awful fight--and the insulting questions--that had Walker
storming out of my condo three days ago. Then there is the office. It wasn’t
tossed and nothing is missing, but someone has definitely had a good look
around. There are other little things. Slashed tires on my rental. An attempted
break-in at my house. And then, the
piece de resistance
--the mail.
Specifically, the sealed police files of the murder of one Hugo Beaumont,
Walker’s own arrest record and a separate envelope I apparently mailed to
myself from Birmingham with my case notes. There are no return addresses. That
day in Birmingham, the day of the shooting, is still a blank in my mind and now
I have even more questions.

I’m more upset over the fight with Walker than the rest,
even the revelations about his past. It’s not like I didn’t already have
suspicions. I always assumed the years he doesn’t speak of were times he is
less than proud of. And he is a proud man, one I didn’t have any qualms about
attacking during that fight. Questioning where his money comes from is pushing
him too far and I know it. He’s not going to tell me about his illegal
activities anymore than Trace will tell Lynn. This will probably cause a
permanent rift. He hasn’t called me and I’m afraid to call him. I see in these
arrest records the violence he’s capable of. I know he’d never hurt me, but
years of mistrust and suspicion are hard to overcome, right? I sigh. Denial. It
is all about denial when it concerns my feelings for Walker, isn’t it?

Funny how he seems to be part of all the pivotal moments of
my life. We sat across the aisle from each other at Trace’s trial. I went to
Birmingham at its conclusion to hold Lynn’s hand through her sorrow and
distress as she blamed herself for her father’s actions. I decided then and
there love isn’t for me, and it is all the Graham boys’ fault. Because
apparently when you love one of them it is all-out, and if they return that
love? Nothing in the world will get in their way. It is obvious to me that Trace
loves Lynn at least. I have no idea how Walker feels about me. He’s possessive
but that isn’t love, right?

So instead I instead ended up marrying a guy I knew I could
protect my heart against if I had to. Despite the disappointment of the
trial--Trace never should have gone to prison-- and the awful week consoling
Lynn in Birmingham, I wasn’t able to resist Walker’s charms when I ran into him
a couple of weeks later in Panama City. The attraction was undeniable and I
hadn’t fought it. Truthfully I didn’t even try, and had given him my virginity.
By unspoken mutual agreement we hadn’t spoken about anything personal--I’d been
on my way to becoming an Army MP and I hadn’t even wanted to imagine the kind
of things he was involved with. It was a weekend of straight up, mind blowing,
no strings attached sex. Early Monday morning we went our separate ways and I
tried like hell to put him out of my mind. But no matter what I do, even
getting married to someone else, he haunts my nights. For years I thought my memory
was playing tricks on me and it couldn’t possibly have been that good. In a way
I was right. The memories got damned better with a few years experience.

Walker is the man I was thinking of when I filed for
divorce. Not because I wanted him or had seen him, but because I knew Walker
would never have treated me the way my ex-husband did, that despite who and
what he is he will be truly devoted to whoever he loves. And years later, last
December when I went home for Christmas, restless and bored with my life, there
he was, trying to overwhelm me, trying to take me over. Part of me wants to go
on that trip and it scares the hell out of me.

My refusal to go home with him or even discuss the case or
my plans, my inability to trust, caused the argument, but any fight that got
him to leave would have suited me fine. A man just doesn’t fit in my solitary,
compulsively disordered life. As soon as I realized I loved him I decided it
was better to end it quick, like ripping off a band-aid. Painful at first, but
infinitely better than his ripping my heart out later when he realizes what a
disaster we are for each other or my discovering I can’t trust him. After
reading the police files, I am even more convinced that is the best course. So
why do I keep reliving that final scene when he walked away? Jaw clenched and
eyes blazing with fury he’d simply said, “I’ll be waiting when you’re ready”.

I’m not going to be ready. What the hell does that mean
anyway? But...plans change. It irritates me no end, but until I figure out what
the hell is going on, I might be safer in small-town, east-bum-fuck-Alabama.
With the most dangerous man I know. But first, I have to ditch the client. I
eye him, not trusting him either after reading the police file, and wonder how
much to divulge. Go big or go home, right?

“I am sorry there haven’t been any updates. I was shot a
couple weeks ago. In Birmingham. Looking into your father’s case.” Well, I
don’t know that for sure since I can’t remember that damned day. “I’ve just
returned to the office.”

Even watching him carefully, I almost miss the flicker of
awareness that flashes across his face before he plasters a look of shock over
it. He knows I was shot. So why is he in my office pretending ignorance and
outrage?

“My God! Are you all right? Who was it?”

I smile, not about to admit I don’t remember, but my voice
is grim. “I didn’t see him. Apparently, it was a simple theft.”

Beaumont looks dubious. “Are you sure about that? Awfully
suspicious timing. I don’t see how it could be random.”

I arch an eyebrow at the supposition.
Curiouser
and
curiouser
. He wants me to suspect the shooting is
connected to the case? How does that benefit him?

“What?” he asks, obviously in response to my expression.
“Don’t you people believe there are no accidents? That’s a hell of a
coincidence.”

Going with my gut, which is screaming something about this
guy is seriously off,
ya
know, other than being a
criminal, I smile and feign a confidence I am far from feeling.

“I’m sure it was just a fluke. I happened to be in the wrong
place at the wrong time. Nothing more.”

He blinks, another action I’m sure is designed to help him
cover what he really thinks of my pronouncement. For a moment his expression
exclaims a very clear
you’re crazy lady
.

“Right,” he answers, dragging out the
i
.
“A fluke.”

My reply is a small, tight smile. “I knew you’d see it my
way.”

I stand and walk around the desk, somehow managing to
suppress the lingering limp as I walk towards the door.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment.”

Beaumont looks like he wants to argue, but after a few
seconds nods in acquiescence.

“Of course. But, please, don’t forget the updates in the
future.”

“Certainly,” I answer, having zero intention of following
through on that request. He’s moved onto my suspect list with his odd behavior.
Hell, everyone is on that list.

Relieved, I shut and lock the door behind him, pulling the
shade over the glass top before turning back to the office. My offices--a small
reception area and one office really--are on the second floor of a quaint
mid-town building. I share the floor with a psychiatrist and a local insurance
company and all three businesses are longtime residents of the building. I
didn’t lie about the appointment exactly--not if lunch with the insurance
company’s receptionist counts as an appointment.