His fingers, those talented masculine fingers, moved along the column of her neck. He kneaded and stroked, and Gracie wanted to melt against the seat and let him have at her.
“Then what, baby? You feel the sparks; I know you do. I’ve seen you wavering on that fence. Each time I ask you out, you’re a hairsbreadth away from saying yes. Yet you deny yourself each time.”
He real y was a mind reader. Either that or she was just that transparent. Both options sucked. “I don’t want to get into this here. Besides, I’m getting hungry.” A lie, but a necessary one. Much more of his deep voice, his skil ful caresses, and she’d be begging
him to fuck her.
Wade released her and leaned back. “I’l let you off the hook for now. But soon we need to have this conversation.”
When he opened his door, Gracie knew her days were numbered. She’d been fighting the attraction too long. The only thing left to figure out was how she would handle it once he’d had his fil of her.
5
For the mil ionth time, Wade reminded himself that Gracie was injured. She needed a little time. He could give that to her, he assured himself.
Gracie squirmed in his arms and muttered under her breath. His cock hardened in his jeans.
“Stop squirming,” he growled.
“I don’t need to be carried.”
Wade rol ed his eyes. “You act as if I’m a wimp. Afraid I’l drop you?”
“No, I’m afraid I’m going to clobber you. I feel ridiculous. I didn’t break my leg, Wade.”
He grinned now. “I know, but I sort of like having you in my arms.”
She looked at him with that schoolmarm expression that turned his dick to granite. “It’s a sin to take advantage of a woman who is in no shape to defend herself.”
He leaned down to whisper into her ear, “I never said I was choir boy, sweetheart.”
She didn’t say anything else. A surefire sign he was getting under her skin. Gracie only went silent when she was aroused.
He’d noticed it before. She could flay him alive with her sharp tongue, but turned on, she seemed unable to string two words together. What would she be like once he got her beneath him? Would she shout out her pleasure or purr like a cat?
“Keys?”
Gracie pul ed them out of the purse she had clutched in her good hand. He watched her slip the key into the doorknob first, then use another for the deadbolt. He stil couldn’t believe she had some nut job hot on her tail and she hadn’t invested in an alarm. Wade thought of her father, the drunken ass who’d visited her at the hospital. Didn’t the man care at al about his daughter?
After unlocking both locks, she pushed the door wide. Wade crossed the threshold and entered Gracie’s private domain. He’d wondered a few times what her place would look like. She seemed so straightlaced. He expected something along the lines of a doctor’s office waiting room. Neat sitting arrangements and alphabetized reading material. The real thing wasn’t anything like he’d expected.
The spacious living room appeared like something right out of Country Living. The light pine coffee table and entertainment cabinet, along with a big, fluffy, blue couch and easy chair were a nice surprise, and not at al what he’d expected. There were books, dozens of them, scattered about. The place looked lived in. He liked it. It sure as hel wasn’t the neat, sterile surroundings he’d expected.
“Cozy,” he said.
“Say anything negative, and I’l hurt you.”
He chuckled. “I like your home, Gracie. It’s warm, inviting.” As he careful y sat her in the center of the couch, his gaze caught the title of one of the books on the cushion next to her. He bent and picked it up. “Dream Lover. Real y?”
Her cheeks turned pink, and she snatched it out of his hand. “Not a word, Wade Harrison. Not one word.”
Wade straightened and strode to the front door that stil stood open. He closed it and turned the lock, before facing Gracie again. Making a mental note of the way she clutched onto the book, as if her life depended on it, Wade said, “Judging by that blush and the way you’re holding that book, I’m thinking I may need to read it. Maybe I’l learn more about the owner.”
“If you value your life you’l stay away from my books.”
He tsked and crossed his arms over his chest. “Threatening violence over a sil y romance novel?”
“It’s not sil y. I treasure my books.” She smoothed her palm over the cover and smiled at it as if it were a living thing, rather than paper and ink. A spurt of jealousy shot through him. He wanted her stroking him, damn it. “They’ve gotten me through some pretty rough times.” Her head shot up and she pointed at him. “And don’t make assumptions about things you know nothing about.”