An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(119)

He sipped his drink. “Absolutely.”

“Great.” She smirked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “You know, I was thinking, maybe you could ask Grace to stay here with you.”

Max frowned, having thought about the exact same thing and how awesome it would have been. “She’s in Preston County,” he muttered.

“Really?” Kat looked back at him and tilted her head toward the house.

Max’s gaze snapped over to the beach house, where, standing by the French windows, in the same red dress she’d worn at the lake, was Grace. His chest did an honest-to-God somersault when she smiled nervously, causing him to stare, knowing she was damn near the most perfect thing he’d ever seen.

Max wasn’t sure how he got to her, wasn’t sure whether he walked or floated across the dance floor, and only realized he was moving when he was a couple of feet away from her. He stopped, taking her in, her black hair loose around her face and down her back and shoulders, fluttering in the gentle breeze. Her beautiful dark skin, exquisite against the vibrant color of her dress, and her long legs, perfect feet, and toes that were painted to match.

He licked his lips. “What—how—what are . . .?”

She laughed. “Does it matter?”

He shook his head, stuck for words. “No. It doesn’t matter one bit. You’re here. I thought . . .”

“I thought so, too, but . . . I missed you too much.” She gestured toward his gray suit with a lift of her hand. “You look beautiful.”

Max grimaced. “That was going to be my line.”

Smirking, Grace shrugged. “Well, it’s my line now.” She laughed again when Max stayed silent, unable to do anything but just look at her. “What?”

“Just you,” he answered, taking a step closer. “Fillin’ the f*ckin’ room.”

“I’m in the doorway,” she teased. “I’m practically outside.”

“Doesn’t matter where you are,” he assured her. “You’re all I see.”

Grace’s face seemed to soften and relax with his words. “Max.” She stepped forward, closing the remaining distance between them, the scent of cocoa butter wafting over him. “Before we say or do anything else, we have to talk.”

Max nodded, his pulse spiking with anticipation, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

“You asked me to tell you what I want,” she continued. “And I can tell you now.”

“Okay.” Max braced himself.

Grace licked her top lip, scraping it gently with her teeth, as her shoulders rose. “I want you to tell me that this is real,” she said carefully. “I want you to tell me you want this; that you want me; not that you need me, because you don’t need me any more than you need to drink or get high. I want you to promise me that you’re not going to run away again, that you’ll talk, be honest with me, that we’ll both always fight our demons for ourselves, not each other. And, if you can, if you can do all of that, I’ll swear to you, I’ll do the same.”

Max swallowed as her request wrapped tightly around his heart, trapping his reply in his throat. He breathed, clenched his teeth in an effort to gather himself, and said, “I won’t run again. Ever. And I do want you. I do, Grace. This is real, I promise. I lo— I . . .”

Grace squeezed his hand, halting his struggle with words he hadn’t uttered to anyone for a hell of a long time. “No labels,” she murmured, smiling.

His shoulders dropped in relief. It wasn’t that Max didn’t want to say the words. Jesus, he wanted to tell her; he just didn’t know if he could. They’d frightened him beyond reason for so long that, despite feeling what they stood for in every fiber of his body, voicing them to Grace would take time.

“Don’t worry,” Grace added, as if reading his mind. “It’ll come. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m terrified,” Max admitted, repeating his words from the last time they’d made love.

“I know. Me, too. But we’ll find our way.” She entwined their fingers. “Together.”

He dropped his forehead gently to hers, closing his eyes as the weight of what they were choosing pressed on him deliciously, like a winter blanket.

“Tell me something,” she said quietly.

“Anything.”

“What was your question? The night at the gallery, what did you want to ask me?”

Max lifted his head. He raised a hand and cupped the side of Grace’s face, smiling when she leaned into it. His thumb wandered lazily over the apple of her cheek, across her soft skin.

“You said you understood that Lizzie was my first love,” he murmured. “And you were right, she was.”

Grace nodded, her expression solemn. “I know.”

Max stilled. “And my question for you was: Would you be my last?”

Grace gasped a breath that quickly shuddered out of her. Her mouth lifted into the most gorgeous of smiles, as she shivered under Max’s fingertips. She closed her eyes, tears sitting in the corners of them. “On one condition,” she said, looking up at him.

Max smirked but schooled his features quickly, playing along. “Okay, Gracie. What’s the condition?”

“That you kiss me,” she answered without hesitation.