“Can’t say I have.” I hide my cringe by biting a chunk out of my apple. My mom likened Spam to the canned dog food we’d feed Jake.
Gracie smiles, but it’s bittersweet. “Yeah, I’m not surprised. I’ll bet the grocery stores around this neighborhood don’t stock a lot of it. Anyway, like I said. It’s stupid.”
“No it’s not.” I reach over to give her slender forearm what I hope is a comforting rub. I let my hand linger there for a long moment, the feel of her silky skin against mine too hard to resist. Thoughts of this morning—of her warm, soft body in my arms, of her pliable lips opening for me—flood my mind and set my heart racing.
But the mood has shifted since this morning, in those brief, intimate moments where there was just her and me. Klein invaded, and then we went to The Lucky Nine and the stark reality of why Gracie’s here in the first place came crashing back. I haven’t had the nerve to kiss her again.
I’ve thought about it a hundred times, though.
And just the thought of Gracie struggling to pay her bills or having to eat canned meat, or living next to a lowlife like that Sims guy, ever again has me panicking. “Hey, so I was thinking, you should move back to Texas.”
She frowns as she pulls away from me—from my touch—to unload more groceries. “Why?”
“Because I have this big house to myself. Why not stay here? You don’t have to pay rent. You could get a job, and save your money.”
“You’re not obligated to pay for what others have done to us, Noah,” she says quietly. She leans over to stuff meat into drawers in the fridge, giving me a view I could sit here and appreciate for days.
“That’s not why I’m doing this,” I insist.
She seems to consider it. “Is it even a good idea?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because of—” She cuts herself off, her brow furrowing. “Things are getting complicated.”
Complicated because of what’s happening between us? This thing that’s come out of nowhere, and yet has probably been here all along? At least, it has on my end.
Or complicated with the investigation? With what Silas might know, what he may be lying about?
A soft, shaky sigh sails from her full lips. “Let’s see if Kristian can clear my dad’s name, first. Okay?”
Kristian. Not Agent Klein. Or Klein. She’s calling the FBI agent by his first name.
I grit my teeth and nod.
“Where should I put this?” She hoists the hefty watermelon up.
“In the pantry. Here, let me.” I reach for it, but she sidesteps me.
“I’ve got it.” Cradling it in one arm like a football, she struggles to open the door off the side of the kitchen and then disappears inside. A moment later, there’s a holler of, “God, Noah! There’s enough food in here to feed a family for a year! Why did we even go shopping?”
I give Cyclops a rough pat and then let him outside before heading into the long, narrow room, giving the dangling chain a yank to flood the space with dull light. “See? Another reason to stay in Austin. I need you to keep me in check.”
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know where you want this thing.”
I slip the watermelon from her grasp, my hand skimming across the flat of her stomach in the process. She inhales sharply, the slight feminine sound rushing blood straight to my groin as I set the fruit on a shelf. “Come on . . . How will I survive without you giving me grief?” I say it with a smile, so she knows I’m teasing.
She slides on a mask of calm indifference. “Hey, I didn’t give you grief for paying a fool’s price for that thing. And there’s no way you’re going to finish it before it goes bad.”
“Actually, it’s all on you. I’m deathly allergic to all melons.”
Her mouth hangs open. “Why the hell would you buy it!” she exclaims, smacking my arm.
I shrug, and then smile sheepishly. “You seemed interested.”
“In the ridiculous size of it, yeah.” She shakes her head. “You’re right. You do need me here to give you grief.” Her throat bobs with a hard swallow, all lightheartedness vanishing. “And I need you because you’re the only one who won’t let me down.”
“But, I have. I didn’t tell—”
“No, Noah.” Her green eyes flitter over my features, stalling on my mouth. “Since you showed up on my doorstep, you have been there for me, every step of the way, whether I deserved it or not. You are everything I could possibly have asked for.” Her face twists with a grimace, as if that’s not a good thing.
The pantry seemed narrow and cramped before. Now I can’t get close enough to her, fast enough. She’s small next to me, and I’m afraid of overwhelming her as my hands settle on her hips, and her head tilts back to meet my eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. And we’re not going to let that asshole Mantis, or anyone who’s responsible, get away with this, I swear it.”
She sighs softly, and I revel in the feel of her breath caressing my skin. “You can’t promise that, Noah. What if we find out something about your mother—”
“Then she’s guilty, and I’ll make sure everyone knows it.” As much as that pains me to even say.
A fire smolders in her gaze. “And what if your mother isn’t the only one close to you who did this?”
She doesn’t have to say Silas’s name. “Then that person will get what’s coming to him, too.” My stomach churns with the thought, but I steel myself against that vulnerability, instead filling my thoughts with Abe, with the emptiness I felt standing in that seedy motel room today, staring down at the spot where he took his last breaths.
Alone.
No doubt, spending those moments thinking of this girl standing in front of me, and how she would remember him. “Your dad . . . he was a good, honest man and he deserves for the world to know that.” I push a wayward curl off her face. “And, even under the shitty circumstances, I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re back in my life.” I hesitate. “Even if you want it to be just as friends. There’s no pressure here, Gracie. I’m here to stay, no matter what.”
Her eyes settle on my mouth, her own lips parting. “Well, if friends is all you want, then—”
“No, it’s not,” I say, way too eagerly, and then grin, feeling my cheeks heat. I want a hell of a lot more.
A rare wave of shyness radiates from her, and yet she stretches to her tiptoes to trail her cool nose along the side of my neck. “You sure you want to deal with the likes of me? Some people say I’m difficult.” There’s a hint of something in her voice, something exposed. Like she actually may believe that I would second-guess my feelings, that I would decide that she’s too much for me.
My face is buried in her mass of floral-scented curls, so she can’t possibly see my mock frown, but maybe she can hear it in my voice. “Who would say that?”
“I don’t know . . . crazy people?”
“Exactly. I’m not crazy. Are you crazy?” I mimic her words from that first day, remembering how I had to beg her to trust me. Now, those hands that wielded a switchblade are memorizing the feel of my chest. How things have changed.
Her responding chuckle is deep and throaty, sending shivers down my spine. “Sims would say I am.”
I groan at the mention of that asshole. “You really know how to kill the mood.”
“Did I kill the mood for you?”
I shudder against the feel of her tongue trailing along my skin where her nose just touched. And lose my ability to think altogether as her teeth graze my earlobe, at the sound of her shaky breath in my ear as she whispers, “Well, if you don’t feel up to it, I’ll just go and—”
I steal her words with my mouth, my hand slipping around the back of her neck to gain purchase as I kiss her, my fingers weaving into her hair. There’s no hesitation on either of our parts this time, that tentative, sweet tempo of this morning replaced with something more fervent, more needy.
“Believe me, I’m up to it.” My free hand travels down her arm, around her back, pulling her body flush against mine. Erasing any doubt she may have about how “up” to it I am.
Yet still, Gracie goads me. “Prove it,” she purrs against my lips, nose to nose, eyes locked on mine. It’s a challenge.
An invitation.