"Well, hot damn." Fuming, she shifted to get the fettuccine out of the cupboard and saw his face. She turned slowly, holding the package of pasta. "You didn't go over to Jim's to watch a ball game last night."
"Didn't I?" He lifted a brow, glanced thoughtfully at his beer, then sipped. "You know, come to think of it, you're right. That was some other time."
"You were with Grace."
"Was I?"
"Oh, Ethan." With clenched teeth she slammed the jar down. "You're making me crazy! Where were you last night?"
"You know, I don't believe anyone's asked me that since my mother died."
"I'm not trying to pry—"
"You're not?"
"All right, all right, I am trying to pry and you make it impossible to be subtle about it."
He leaned back in his chair, studying her. He'd liked her, almost from the first—even when she made him uneasy. Wasn't it funny, he mused, to realize that sometime over the last few weeks, he had come to love her. Which mean that teasing her was, well, required.
"You're not asking me if I spent the night in Grace's bed, are you?"
"No. No, of course not." She snatched up the pasta, then set it down again. "Not exactly."
"Were the candles her idea, or yours?"
Anna decided it was a good time to get out a skillet. She just might need a weapon. "Did they work?"
"Yours, I imagine; probably the dress, too. Grace's mind doesn't work that way. She's not what you'd call… sneaky."
Anna hummed and prepared to make her cheese sauce.
"And it was sneaky, underhanded, meddling, to send me over there that way."
"I know it. But I'd do it again." More skillfully next time, she promised herself. "You can be annoyed with me all you want, Ethan, but I've never seen anyone more in need of some meddling."
"You're a pro at it. I mean, being a social worker, you make a living meddling in people's lives."
"I help people who need it," she said, firing up the skillet. "God knows you did." She yelped when his hand dropped on her shoulder. She half expected him to give her a quick shake, so when he kissed her cheek she could only blink at him.
"I appreciate it."
"You do?"
"Not that I'd care to have you do it again, but this once, I appreciate it."
"She makes you happy." Everything inside Anna softened. "I can see it."
"We'll see how long I can make her happy."
"Ethan—"
"Let it stand." He kissed her again, as much in warning as affection. "We'll take it a day at a time for a while."
"All right." But her smile bloomed. "Grace is working at the pub tonight, isn't she?"
"Yeah. And just so you don't have to bite your tongue in half to keep from asking, I'm thinking of going by for a while after dinner."
"Good." More than satisfied, Anna got to work. "Then we'll eat soon."
Chapter Twelve
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it was like walking wide awake into a dream, Grace thought, where you couldn't be sure what was going to happen next, but you just knew it would be wonderful. It was living inside a familiar world that had been polished into a constant state of anticipation and excitement.
Days and nights were still filled with work, responsibilities, small joys and petty annoyances. But for now, with this full rush of love, the joys seemed huge, the annoyances minute.
Everything she'd ever read about love was true, she discovered. The sun shined brighter, the air smelled fresher. Flowers were more colorful, the songs of birds more musical. Every cliché became her reality.
There were stolen moments—an embrace outside the pub during her break that left her jittery and delighted and unable to sleep long after she went home. A slow, intense look filled with awareness if she managed to linger long enough at the Quinn house to see him. It seemed she was in a constant state of yearning, only more acute now that she knew what could be.
What would be.
She wanted to touch and be touched, to take that long, slow ride into pleasure and passion again. Side by side with the yearning was the endless frustration that life constantly intruded on dreams.
There was never enough time to be alone, to simply be.
She often wondered if Ethan felt the same edgy need dogging his heels throughout his day. She thought it must be something inside her, some long-hidden sexual greed—and she didn't know whether to be delighted by it or mortified.
She only knew that she wanted him constantly, and that with every day that want passed into another night alone, that want increased. She wondered if he would be shocked, worried that he would be.
She needn't have.
He only hoped he'd timed it right, and that his excuses to Jim for taking in the catch before checking all the pots weren't as ridiculously transparent as they'd seemed. He wasn't going to let guilt eat at him either, Ethan promised himself as he secured his boat at his home dock.
He would work a couple extra hours that evening in the boatyard to make up for leaving Cam on his own that afternoon. If he didn't have one hour alone with Grace, if he didn't release some of this pressure that was building up, he'd go crazy. Then he'd be no good to anyone.
And if she'd already finished up at the house and left, well, he'd just have to hunt her down, that's all. He had enough control left not to scare her, or shock her, but he just couldn't get through another day without her.
His grin began to spread when he came through the back door and saw that the morning untidiness had yet to be cleared away. The washer was rumbling in the laundry room. She hadn't finished. He started into the living room, looking for signs of her.
The cushions were all smoothed and plumped, the furniture dust-free and shining. And as the floor above his head gave a quiet creak, he glanced up.
At that moment, he thought Fate was the most beautiful woman he'd ever known. Grace was in his bedroom, and what could be more perfect? It would be much easier to lure her into a daytime bed without jolting her sensibilities if she was already close by one.
He started up the stairs, delighted when he heard her humming.
Then his system suffered a sizzling lightning bolt of lust when he saw she wasn't just close by his bed, she was all but in it. She leaned over, smoothing and tucking fresh sheets, her long legs showcased
in ragged cutoffs.
His blood raced, a roar of speed that left him breathless, that turned the low ache he'd learned to live with into a sharp and gnawing pain. He could see himself springing forward, dragging her onto the bed, pulling and tearing at her clothes until he could hammer himself inside her.
And because he could, because he wanted to, he made himself stand where he was until he was certain his control was firmly in place.
"Grace?"
She straightened, whirled, pressed a hand to her heart. "Oh. I… oh." She couldn't speak, could barely think coherently. What would he think, she wondered giddily, if he knew she'd been fantasizing about rolling naked and sweaty over those crisp clean sheets with him?
Her cheeks had gone pink, charming him. "Didn't mean to sneak up on you."
"That's all right." She let out a long breath, but it did nothing to calm her racing heart. "I didn't expect anyone to… what are you doing home so early in the day?" Quickly she clasped her hands together because they wanted to grab at him. "Are you sick?"
"No."
"It's not even three o'clock."
"I know." He stepped into the room, saw her press her lips together, moisten them. Take it slow, he reminded himself, don't spook her. "Aubrey's not with you?"
"No, Julie's minding her. Julie got a new kitten and Aubrey wanted to stay, so…" He smelled of the water, salt, and sun. It made her light-headed.
"Then we've got some time." He came a little closer. "I wanted to see you alone."
"You did?"
"I've been wanting to see you alone since we made love that night." He lifted his hand, gently encircled the nape of her neck. "I've been wanting you," he said quietly and lowered his mouth to hers.
So soft, so tender, her heart seemed to turn one long, loose somersault in her chest. Her knees went weak. They trembled even as she threw her arms around him, as she answered that tentative kiss with a flash of heat. His fingers dug into her skin, his mouth bruised hers. For one wild and wicked moment, she thought he would take her where they stood, fast and frantic and free.
Then his hands gentled, smoothed over her. His lips softened, cruising over hers now. "Come to bed with me," he murmured. "Come to bed with me," even as he lowered her, covered her.
She arched against him, wanting and willing, impatient with the clothes that separated her flesh from his. It seemed like years since she had last touched him, had last felt those hard planes, those iron muscles. Moaning his name, she tugged up his shirt, let her hands possess, and possessing, they aroused.
His breath came raggedly, burning his throat. Her movements under him urged him to hurry, hurry, but he was afraid he would bruise her if he didn't take time, didn't take care. So he fought to slow the pace, to taste rather than devour, to caress rather than demand.
But where as she had once seduced him, she now destroyed him.
He tugged off her shirt, found her naked beneath it. She saw his eyes flash, turn to a burning blue that all but scorched her skin. He was careful, so careful not to bruise, not to frighten. Slow, to slow the pace even while the brutal