An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(93)

Max’s head moved back as though he’d been slapped. “Say what, now?”

Grace shook her head and drew back the sheet so she could climb under. “Please lock the door when you leave.”

“Are you kidding me?” His voice lifted at the end, causing Grace to turn.

“No. I’m not,” she replied, calm and monotone.

Max scowled with his arms out wide. “And that’s it. No denial, no explanation, nothing?”

Grace shook her head slowly. The only denial she could see was his. “You saw what you wanted to see, Max, nothing more. I could spend the next hour explaining what was actually happening, and why, but it wouldn’t matter.”

“Why wouldn’t it matter?” he snapped.

Grace’s heart thumped at the fire in his eyes. He was too stubborn to realize what he was feeling, too blind to see what was right in front of him, but it wasn’t the time to try to show him. As much as it pained Grace, she knew he’d have to come to the realization on his own. “Would it matter to you, Max?”

“Yes!”

“Why?” She spoke so softly and he was silent for so long, Grace wondered whether he’d heard her.

The moment was broken when thunder cracked above them, making the lights dim. Rain pummeled the roof, getting harder and more aggressive as the seconds passed. Max stared at Grace, still without voice, though, she noted, the warm brown tones of his eyes had started to creep back and the softness that she loved so much about his face smoothed the angry lines that had creased it.

Relieved, she nodded toward him. “Get undressed and get in here.”

He blinked, his eyebrows meeting above his nose. “What?”

“You’re soaked and it’s like the apocalypse out there. You’re not driving and you sure as hell aren’t walking, so get in here until it passes.” She didn’t wait for him to reply and continued getting under the thin sheet, her back to him. He didn’t move. Grace squeezed her eyes shut. “Max. Please.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“I know.” She took a deep breath. “But I don’t want you to go.”

There was another stretch of quiet before the unmistakable rustle of clothes being removed could be heard. He padded around her room, placing his clothes on the radiator and his wallet and keys on the nightstand next to her, and eventually crawled into bed.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her shoulders dropping with the sensation of having him so close, as though his mere presence helped her breathe easier.

“Just until it passes,” he replied, his voice gruff, but quiet.

She reached out to turn off the lamp. “Okay.”

It was before dawn when Grace woke again. It was still dark. The thunder had eased but still the rain came. Grace nuzzled the pillow and sighed. While they slept, Max had moved closer, his body molding around hers, his hand tentative on her hip. He’d done this before when they’d fallen asleep together despite claiming that he wasn’t one for hugs or spooning. He was full of it, though; the man was made for snuggling.

In spite of their heated words, Grace smiled when his breath washed against her neck. He felt so good behind her that she was unable to resist shifting back in an effort to feel more of him. It had been too long since she’d felt so safe. Surely, he was feeling what she was, right? The expanding that occurred in her chest every time she saw him, the butterflies when he smiled, the insane lust when they came together. It had to be real.

“Quit moving,” he grumbled sleepily, his nose pressing into the skin behind her ear.

It was on her next breath to ask why, but the way his hips flexed against her ass told her loud and clear why his words sounded tight. Wow. The way he was so blatant about how his body reacted to hers never failed to make Grace warm all over. Life would be so much simpler if he could be so open with his heart.

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not,” he retorted, calling her out at the same time she pushed against him again. He huffed a breath. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

Grace was struck with how perfectly those words fit their relationship. Their argument had done nothing but underline just how fragile they still both were, while the overwhelming feeling that, inevitably, they were headed for a serious conversation filled Grace with resounding fear. She didn’t want to lose him. She couldn’t.

“Max.” His name slipped between her lips before she could stop it and she placed her hand on the back of his as it traveled up her waist and back down to the top of her thigh.

“What do you want?” he asked, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin.

She swallowed back the many things she wanted from him, for him, for them, and said simply, “You.”

His fingers dipped teasingly to her inner thigh at the same time he pushed his erection against her ass. “Just me?”

She turned her head sharply at the unspoken insinuation of his question. Meeting his tired yet hopeful eyes, however, made the angry response curl back heavily into her chest. She was so exhausted hiding what she felt for him, what she wanted with him. She could only be honest and hope that, in time, he would return the favor. “It’s always been just you. Nothing happened with Caleb, Max. He got my lights working again and left. I swear to you.”

He closed his eyes briefly, as though her words were exactly what he needed to hear, and slipped his hand swiftly between her legs and under the elastic of her sleep shorts. Grace arched when his fingers found her. They played her perfectly, firm but teasing, fast then slow, dipping and rubbing her in ways that had her calling out nonsense, clutching his forearm just to feel the muscles as they worked her.