Park Avenue Prince(50)

We moved to her couch and I took off my jacket, laying it on the chair. She beamed at me as I took a seat next to her. Christ, I wish I’d bought her diamonds or a horse or something. She looked at me as if I’d just given her the moon.

“Go on then,” I said.

She tore open the paper like a five-year-old on Christmas morning and looked up at me when she saw what it was. “Oh Sam, I love it,” she said, flipping through the coffee-table book I’d bought of the Frick.

She ran her hand over the glossy cover. “That’s so thoughtful.”

My heart thumped against my ribcage as she curled her fingers around the top right-hand corner of the book and opened to the page where I’d written an inscription.

I want for nothing with you in my world.

She traced over the words in silence. Was it too much? Not enough?

She stared at the page. “I feel the same, Sam.”

I ran my hand over hers and lifted her fingers from the paper, drawing them up to my mouth, kissing the back of her hand. “I didn’t know what to buy.”

“This is perfect,” she whispered as I pulled her onto my lap.

“Harper asked me if I was sleeping with other women.” Grace’s face froze and her smile wilted. “I told her of course I wasn’t.”

I wanted to ask her if she could say the same. I knew she wasn’t, but I needed to hear it. We both stared at each other before she answered my unasked question. She sucked in a breath. “Neither am I.”

I tried to bite back my grin before she pressed her lips against mine, soft and certain. I cupped her face.

I should have been roaring in delight. Instead, the flecks of fear over caring about someone—having them care about me—seemed to embed more deeply.

Her mouth on my jaw brought me back to her, back to the joy. She smelled like cherries—ripe and sweet. I shifted her legs over mine.

“I know we haven’t been together long, but there’s something about you that fits with me.”

I knew exactly what she meant. It was as if we’d been separated and found our way back to each other. But it didn’t eradicate the fear I felt. Much as I cared about her, those feelings brought fear along with them.

“I feel very lucky to know you, Grace Astor.”

“The feeling’s mutual, Sam Shaw.”

Her giggle vibrated against my chest and I pulled her closer. “Tell me about the painting that we saw in the window. Harper said you sold it to pay for the gallery and that it was the piece that started your love of art. Is that true?”

She pulled her hands from my face and shrugged. She relaxed against my chest, moving nearer. “It’s been sold. I found out yesterday. I walked by the gallery and it was gone, so I couldn’t help but ask what had happened to it. Some buyer from the Middle East apparently.”

I circled her with my arms. “I’m so sorry, Grace.”

“As much as I loved it, it gave me my gallery. I shouldn’t be sad.”

I stroked her back, the joy draining from me, replaced by frustration that I couldn’t erase her loss. “I wish I could make it better.”

She placed her hand on my cheek and dropped a kiss next to it. “Harper shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“I’m glad she did. I want to know what’s troubling you.” I might have spent my whole life since my parents died trying to avoid caring about anyone, but Grace had broken my stride. I’d do whatever it took to keep her happy and safe.

She twisted in my arms so she was facing me. “Other than being a complete busybody, how did you like Harper?”

“I love how much she cares about you.”

“Did she threaten violence? I think Angie might have. Subtly.”

I chuckled. Angie wasn’t violent, but she was protective. “Did she?”

“She told me the story about you punching her husband because you thought he was cheating on her.” She lifted my hand and placed her palm against mine.

“That was the last time I hit someone.”

“Have you punched a lot of people?” she asked, cocking her head.

“I’ve done what I’ve needed to protect myself and Angie.” At Hightimes I’d kept to myself most of the time. There was a group of four boys who had terrorized the place, but after I’d broken the nose of their leader, they’d left me alone. The Kung Fu lessons I’d had before my parents died had been useful.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I wish I could make it better,” she replied.

I buried my face in her neck because I didn’t want her to see my expression. This was new to me, having someone care about me. I wanted to shout from the top of the Empire State building how incredible it felt, but a nagging sense of fear kept me from sprinting to Fifth Avenue.

Would I always worry, or would Grace chase that from my life?





Chapter Sixteen

Grace





His fingers trickled across my leg as we sat contentedly on the couch, my back to his front. I couldn’t remember ever having a better birthday. Sam made everything better. Unlike previous men I’d been with, he’d overcome real hardship on his own. He hadn’t looked to anyone else to solve his problems or make his life better. I was finally dating an adult. But dating felt like too slight a word for what was happening between Sam and me.