An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(51)

Max simply had the most exquisite and photogenic face. If she didn’t like him so much, she’d have hated him for it.

He was all hard edges, scars—he had two, one on his right eyebrow and one on his chin—and masculine lines. His hair was so dark it was almost black, as were his eyes, but when the sun caught the shadowy scruff on his face, it shone bright gold and auburn, while his eyes flickered with hazel and chocolate. He truly was beautiful.

And apparently had the patience of a saint.

The two of them hadn’t touched the way they had since their day by the cottage, a day that Grace had thought about constantly. There’d been hand brushes and shoulder nudges, but nothing that had set her alight as much as his hands on her thighs had done. Sweet Jesus, Grace was amazed that she hadn’t burst into actual flames. It’d been the first time in too long that she hadn’t shied away from a man’s touch.

And what a touch it was.

The rough, callused skin and the long, firm fingers of his hands could have brought her to orgasm without him going anywhere near her panties. It was gentle but commanding and even after she’d moved his hands away, she still felt them on her thighs a week later.

As surprised as she’d been that Max had taken the initiative and touched her, Grace was even more surprised at herself. Of course, there had been initial panic that squeezed her lungs and made her heart pump, but the peak of it was over as quickly as it had begun. By the time Max’s tongue was making its way up her neck and he was whispering devilish words into her ear, Grace’s heart was crashing behind her ribs for an altogether different reason.

She was aroused.

Like, truly, achingly turned on for the first time in years.

Max’s touch, his body pressed into hers along with his sexy mutterings, had awoken her libido with a giant how you doin’? Her blood heated, her breathing grew labored, and Grace knew that if she hadn’t pulled his hands away, they’d have gone a lot further.

But it would have been too fast. She had to remember to take it all one step at a time. For as proud of herself as Grace was, there were still elements of intimacy that scared her to death. She’d tried working them out with her therapist, Nina, over the years, but still the thought of touching a man below the hips left her more than a little apprehensive. Nina had urged her to take a chance when Grace had mentioned her deal with Max. Let go, she’d said; don’t be afraid of pleasure.

And she didn’t want to be. Seeing Max so hard for her was as exciting as it was nerve-racking. She wanted to touch him. Almost desperately, just to see what he felt like, to see if she could make him come, but every time she thought about doing it, uneasiness ravaged her.

“Hey, Grace?”

Grace turned from adjusting the cushions on her new leather sofa to see Buck and another of Vince’s workers staggering into the front door with a huge box between them. From the bend of their legs, it was very heavy.

“Vanity desk in the bedroom?” Buck gasped.

God bless him. He’d done nothing but apologize to Grace after his birthday and her completely embarrassing freak-out. He’d even bought her flowers. Daisies. He couldn’t do enough. His affection had certainly endeared him to her.

“Please,” Grace answered. “Thank you!” She smiled when the two men heaved and groaned as they started their journey up the stairway.

The house was finally completed. Grace glanced around, the smile on her face enormous. She’d done it. She finally owned something that was hers, untainted by her past, something that she’d done on her own. It was so beautiful and homey and exactly what Grace had dreamed about. She’d done nothing but dash around it, holding in her girlie squeals of excitement at the wooden floors, high ceilings, and wide windows. She couldn’t wait for Kai to see it. It even had a blue door. It was perfect.

Most of her furniture had arrived over two days, all except her bed, though the blowup mattress Ruby had loaned her was just fine for the time being. Vince had offered the moving services of his workers and anyone else who’d been in the bar the night they celebrated the house’s completion. Even Ruby had offered her husband’s muscles, as well as her own sandwich-and lemonade-making skills, which came in handy when the workers started wilting in the heat. It was a comforting feeling having such amazing people around her.

Max missed the celebration, being away at one of his meetings, but he’d helped the day after, moving wardrobes, sofas, and fridge freezers. Grace would catch his eyes on her repeatedly. She’d smile and he’d smile back, subtle and cool, but still it made her stomach dance.

When the last of the helpers left, each with a pack of beer, which Grace had bought as thanks, she made her way to the boardinghouse to see Max. She knocked on his room door as best as she could with her hands full. When she heard him call out, she did her best to disregard the fluttering in her belly. And when she heard his footsteps approach, she grinned when he opened the door, but it dropped off her face like a lead weight.

Holy. Shit.

If Grace had found Max attractive with his clothes on, it was a whoooole other story seeing him without. He was bare-chested and barefoot, wearing only a loose pair of black sweats, which sat low on his hips and were splattered with various colors of paint. The V of his torso was defined enough to have every pair of panties in a ten mile radius combusting at a geometric rate. His stomach was flat with grooves of muscle and a smattering of dark hair that trailed down from his broad chest. His shoulders were thick and strong.