It pushed at that dirty space that echoed with that hollowed-out vacancy.
Threatening to spill.
Breaking through the cracks where it was supposed to be bound and subdued.
Fucking Grace. Fucking Grace with her tempting body and her sweet heart and adorable kids.
Whittling their way in where I couldn’t let them.
I swallowed it down and stood.
“Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
Thomas slid out, and when he did, I set my knee on the backseat so I could reach in and unbuckle Mallory, who was pretty much wedged between the two.
God, when I’d purchased my AMG, the last fucking thing I’d pictured was a herd of kids buckled in the backseat.
Never expected for my heart to fucking quiver when I pulled the little girl into my arms.
For everything to rush and expand when she wrapped her tiny ones around my neck and whispered, “Ian-Zian the Great. The most bestest hero in all the land.”
* * *
Faith showed us to our rooms, where she’d given us the four bedrooms that ran the left wing on the second floor of the massive plantation.
I’d told Jace implicitly that Grace and I weren’t together. That she was a client. That we sure as hell wouldn’t be sharing a bed, no matter how goddamned badly I might want to.
He’d instantly caught onto what had felt like a lie grinding through my teeth, the fact that the girl felt like mine. Didn’t change the fact that she couldn’t be.
The kids were tucked into their rooms, and the rest of us stood outside of Grace’s door where she was again profusely thanking Jace and Faith.
Faith touched her arm. “It’s our honor. Now, get some rest. I know it has to have been a long night for you.”
“Thank you,” she said, and Jace sent her a smile. “Good night.”
Faith and Jace stepped out of the hall, leaving me and Grace there alone.
She looked up at me with those trusting eyes.
So bright and beautiful and good.
That feeling stretched tight between us. So intense that I was having a hard time not giving in to the pull.
“Good night, Grace.”
A somber smile pulled at one side of her mouth. “Good night, Ian.”
Stepping back into the room, she snapped the door shut. It took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to bust it open.
Tear through it like some kind of wildman set on staking a claim.
Take her.
I stood there, glaring daggers at the wood. Cursing its existence, hands clenched in grueling restraint.
I jumped about fifteen fucking feet in the air when the voice hit me from the side. “How about a drink, brother?”
My head whipped Jace’s direction where he’d moved to the head of the hall, arms stretched out to rest on the walls as he watched me with a mix of speculation and amusement.
I ran both my hands over the top of my head. “Need about ten of them after the day I’ve had.”
Jace’s gaze traveled over my disheveled appearance. Shirt fucking shredded, soiled with blood, and my pants wrinkled and covered in dirt. “Found yourself a bit of trouble, yeah?”
A chuckle almost slid free. “You could say that.”
He turned and started for the curved staircase. “Won’t act like I wasn’t shocked when I got your call.”
Following behind him, I huffed out a sigh as we hit the first-floor landing of the enormous home. Everything restored, oozing character and charm and an old-world Southern elegance.
Still, there was something haunting about it, like the walls held a thousand secrets, and if you put your ear against one, you could hear the voices screaming out.
Jace led me into the parlor where an old-fashioned bar was set up. Wasn’t too hard to imagine the shit that must have gone down in there over the years.
Today, it still had all the original dark, carved wood, and it was furnished with antique sofas and a vintage settee.
I sank into one of the ornate stools while he went behind the bar and poured a tumbler of my favorite scotch. He slid it to me. I took a big gulp as he poured one for himself.
He took a sip and then pressed both his palms to the bar.
“Well?”
Another sigh, and I dropped my head, shaking it. “Got in deep, man.”
“No shit.”
I ran the back of my hand over my lips and tried to figure out what to tell him when I felt like I didn’t know a goddamned thing. “She’s going through a nasty custody battle.”
“That’s rough.” But he was eyeing me, clearly knowing there was more.
I exhaled all the air from my lungs before I was sucking for more. Like it might offer some clarity. “Reed Dearborne.”
He choked on his scotch, liquid spewing out and splattering on the glossy wood. He grabbed a napkin and ran it over his mouth. “You’re serious?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” I took a deep pull of the amber fluid, welcoming the burn as it raced down my throat.