Chapter Nine

Grace caught a glimpse of herself in the steam-fogged bathroom mirror and her earlier anxieties returned. She needed Jack to kiss her senseless again. He was good at vanquishing her insecurities—always had been.

She wrapped a towel around her and picked up the half-full glass of white wine from the ceramic tile beside the claw-foot tub. If their son hadn’t interrupted them an hour ago, they’d be lying in bed now basking in the afterglow, the awkwardness of their first time making love behind them.

And for Grace, that’s what it felt like, the first time. Jack would probably think she was ridiculous for feeling that way, but she couldn’t help it. Seventeen months was a long time. More like thirty-five months if you included the year he’d been deployed. Grace didn’t count the few times they’d made love before he re-upped. They’d had sex. They hadn’t made love.

Setting the wineglass on the bathroom’s granite countertop, she released the clip from her hair. Face flushed from her bath, all she needed was a touch of mascara… and her husband, who’d gone for a run. Since he’d been ticked at her, it was possible she was going to all this effort for nothing.

Jack hadn’t agreed with how she dealt with their son’s temper tantrum. He thought she should ignore little Jack until he regained control. Their ensuing argument had left her frustrated. She’d done her best to hide her irritation, but she was pretty sure he knew how she felt.

The apartment was so quiet that the clock ticking down the minutes on the bedside table seemed overly loud and drew her attention. Her stomach knotted. Jack had been gone for over an hour. She realigned the tall pillar candle between the two smaller ones, trying to rein in her anxiety.

She wondered how long it would take before she stopped worrying about him every time he left the apartment, worrying that he wouldn’t come back. Forever, if her past history was any indication. Eighteen years had passed since her sister died. Eighteen years and it felt like yesterday. The nightmarish loop of images had played more frequently in her mind since she’d had a child of her own, since Jack had gone missing. She couldn’t shut them off no matter how hard she tried.

Someone probably stopped him to talk, she reassured herself as she retrieved a modest cream satin negligee from the dresser drawer.

She pulled the nightie over head and thought about calling Jill. Then nixed the idea. She was the last person her sister-in-law wanted to hear from. And Grace didn’t want to worry her needlessly. Jill adored her brother. As far as she was concerned, he could do no wrong. Grace understood why.

With his mother barely functional after his father’s death, Jack, at the age of ten, had taken on the role of head of the household. He’d made sure his little sister ate and got to school and to bed on time. And when they’d moved to Christmas, he’d been her protector, standing up to his grandmother on her behalf, accepting the blame for all real or imagined wrongdoings and the punishments that accompanied them.

He was the kind of brother every girl dreamed of having. But at times, like tonight, Jill’s hero worship put a strain on their friendship and was the reason Grace never told her she’d given Jack an ultimatum before he’d left.

Jill wouldn’t understand that Grace had been desperate that night. Desperate and scared that if she didn’t somehow get through to Jack, she’d lose him forever. And that was why, while Grace was tucking her son into bed earlier, she’d unsuccessfully strained to hear Jill’s conversation with Jack.

Grace was afraid she’d tell her brother about the sugar plum wish. How Grace had given up on him. Obviously Jill hadn’t, but given her mood, Grace wasn’t sure how long that would last. But maybe she was wrong, and their friendship meant as much to Jill as it did to Grace. She hoped so.

Placing the glass of wine on the bedside table, Grace crawled beneath the covers. As she propped the pillows behind her back, Jack’s cell phone pinged on the bedside table. Grace reached for the glass of wine, and it pinged again. She eyed the phone. What if Jill had decided to text her brother? Casting a nervous glance toward the hall, Grace leaned over to read the screen. The texts weren’t from Jill. They were from Maria DeMarco.

Grace debated whether or not to read the messages. Brandi’s earlier comments popped into her head and, unable to overcome her curiosity, she scanned the texts. From what Maria said, she’d been trying to get in touch with Jack since he’d left Virginia, and he hadn’t responded. The woman sounded ticked.

The proprietary tone of her texts set Grace’s teeth on edge. Who did Maria DeMarco think she was? Taking a sip of wine, Grace reminded herself it was easy to misconstrue tone in a text. She put down the phone and glanced at her iPad. Ignoring the warning bells going off in her head, she Googled Maria.

As Grace clicked through the pictures, she took a large gulp of wine. That was the last time she ignored those bells. Maria DeMarco was beyond gorgeous. So far beyond that Grace decided the photos had to be airbrushed or the woman had a very talented plastic surgeon. Because really, how could breasts that large be so perky? Or lips that pouty and lush be natural? Grace’s stomach did a nosedive when her gaze dropped from the pictures to the woman’s bio.

Just like Jack, Maria was an adrenaline junkie. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she was also brilliant and well traveled. She’d been an imbedded journalist for three years before she’d been held hostage. Grace clicked on the more recent photos. The one of Maria coming off the plane with Jack. Her cheek resting on his shoulder, the gorgeous brunette looked up at him as she clutched his arm. Jack still had a beard in the picture, and it was hard to read his expression, but she saw his smile—dangerous and sexy. Her stomach sank. No, she had to be mistaken. She scrutinized the photo, trying to get a better read on his body language.

“So, does this mean I’m forgiven for being an ass?”

She gave a startled yelp, her gaze jerking to where her husband leaned against the doorjamb, muscled arms crossed over his chest as he took in the candlelit room with a smile playing on his lips. He looked like he stepped off the big screen. Of course he did, she thought a little petulantly, tossing the iPad onto the bed. He and Maria DeMarco with their movie-star good looks were the perfect match. Stupid thought. Ridiculous thought. Stop it, Grace, she chided herself. She had no reason to be jealous. He was here, and he was hers.

The heated look in his eyes told her all she needed to know. She wasn’t going to waste her energy worrying about a woman who lived over a thousand miles from Christmas.

*     *     *

His wife gave him an impossibly sweet smile. “Of course you’re forgiven. I’m used to doing things my way, that’s all. You have every right to voice an opinion on how we discipline our son.”

Sure he did. Whether she’d listen to him was the question. Jack didn’t think a two-year-old should be disciplined, and Grace had made it clear that she did. The exasperated expression on her face when she’d firmly put his son in the time-out chair, lecturing him on his behavior in a tone of voice Jack had heard Libby use often, had pissed him off. If his grandmother had lightened up with him, Jack doubted he would’ve pushed the boundaries as hard as he had. He didn’t want the same thing to happen to his son.

He’d headed out for a run before he lost his temper. But all Grace had to do is smile at him like she was now and his earlier frustration would’ve evaporated. “If I’d known what was waiting for me, I would’ve cut my run short,” he said, walking to the bed.

“I was worried about you. Maybe next time you should bring your phone.” Her eyes darted to his cell, and a tiny frown pleated her brow.

He kissed her forehead and smoothed a hand over her silky hair. “Sorry. I ran into a couple of reporters. I’m not going to be able to stall them much longer. Might as well give them what they want so they’ll leave us alone. You up for an interview in a couple of days?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want? I like the sound of that.” He smiled, trailing his finger down her elegant neck to slide the delicate strap of her nightie down her arm. “Just let me grab a shower.” Dropping a kiss on her shoulder, his eyes lit on the screen of the iPad lying open on the covers beside her.

He breathed deeply, holding back a curse. What the hell was wrong with her friends? If Brandi hadn’t brought up the damn picture at the meeting, Grace wouldn’t have felt the need to check it out.

That was the problem with small towns. No one could resist sticking their nose in everyone else’s business. He and Grace didn’t need to deal with this on top of everything else. As tonight had proven, they had a few things to work out before their marriage was back on track.

He wasn’t going to let what happened—or didn’t happen—with Maria hurt his wife. He loved Grace, and that was all that mattered. And as soon as he had his shower, he’d show her just how much.

The thought made him smile, and he didn’t have to worry about covering his earlier reaction. “I won’t be long.” He pulled his sweaty T-shirt over his head on his way to the bathroom.

“Um, Jack. Maria texted you,” Grace said, a nervous hitch in her voice.

He silently counted to ten before he turned to face her. “Oh yeah?” he said, instead of asking what she was doing reading his messages.

“I, ah, didn’t mean to look, but…” She wrinkled her nose, then shrugged. “You might want to get in touch with her. She seems upset that you haven’t responded to her previous texts.”

“Huh, is that right. I don’t know why.” Her golden eyes narrowed slightly as she studied him with sharp intelligence. He’d seen her zero in on another man with that same intent gaze the night he’d first met her. She’d been doing the spy thing for her father. She’d fascinated him. She still did. But his pulse kicked up at the thought she now had him under her radar.

Play it cool, Flaherty. “I’ll get back to her. You want me to extend the invitation to the Fourth of July thing?”

“Um, no, it’s okay. It doesn’t look like the budget will cover their expenses. Besides, I’m sure they’ll want to spend the day with their family and friends, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I’m sure they will.” He didn’t like the idea that seeing him with Maria and Brandi’s dumb-ass comments had caused her to retract the invitation. Not that he wanted them to come, not Maria at least. But it meant Grace was feeling insecure, and that was the last thing he wanted. Before the night was over, he vowed to wipe away her doubts.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he said as he closed the bathroom door. He thought about taking his cell phone with him, but that’d tip his hand. Same as if he told her to toss her iPad in the garbage.

He stripped off the rest of his clothes and turned on the shower. The bathroom smelled like Grace: delectably sweet and feminine. His conscience rebelled at the idea of holding out on her. Raising the shower head, he stepped under the stream of hot water. He didn’t want to lie to her, and indirectly, that’s what he’d done. It went against his code of honor. Honesty was important to him. If he expected it of those close to him, he had to hold himself to the same standard. He had to be honest with Grace and tell her about Maria.

She’d understand.

So maybe it’d be a little tough to understand that her husband had been attracted to another woman, had kissed another woman, had wanted to have sex with another woman… Fuck. She’d never understand. But she had to. He’d just gotten her back, and he wasn’t going to lose her. And it wasn’t like he’d known he was a married man at the time. He hadn’t betrayed her, not intentionally.

The water turned cold, effectively ending the conversation Jack was having with Grace in his head. So far, none of those imagined conversations had ended well. He turned off the shower and grabbed a towel. Maybe she was asleep. Towel-drying his hair, he opened the bathroom door. She was awake. The knot in his gut tightened.

She watched as he walked naked toward the bed. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes gratifyingly wide. “I forgot how beautiful you are,” she whispered.

“Nah, too many scars for that. But you, you’re beautiful, princess,” he said as he crawled up the length of the bed.

Her eyes flitted to the iPad on the bedside table, her fingers curling in the modest neckline of her nightie. She gave him a small smile. “You always knew the right thing to say to a girl.”

“To you, and only to you. I love you, Grace Flaherty.” He couldn’t do it. Not now. Seeing the pictures of Maria had done a number on Grace’s confidence. And just because he wanted to clear his conscience didn’t mean it was the best thing for his wife. In a few weeks… maybe.

He got under the covers and pulled her warm, lithe body to his. She tipped her face up, and he kissed her, tasting wine on her lips. His stomach turned. Ever since the morning he’d tried unsuccessfully to revive his mother, he’d had the same reaction.

Pulling away, he said, “You mind brushing your teeth, princess?”

Her hand shot to her mouth, an embarrassed flush spreading over her face. “Do I have bad breath?”

If he hadn’t been entranced by the sight of her waiting for him in the candlelit room, he would’ve noticed the glass earlier. He gestured to the bedside table. “No, it’s the wine.”

“Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry. I forgot,” she apologized as she scrambled from the bed.

“Don’t worry about it.” He felt like an ass for embarrassing her. His weakness embarrassed him. He’d surprised himself by telling Grace about it on their second date. He’d never talked about his mother’s problem or his own with any of the other women he went out with. There’d been no need to tell them. He hadn’t wasted time on kissing, never saw the point until he met Grace.

But on the night of their second date, he’d learned they had something in common. Her mother had invited him in when he’d picked up Grace at home. Helena Garrison might be good at fooling some people, but she couldn’t fool Jack. He’d recognized the signs right away. Grace spent the first ten minutes of their date making excuses for her mother. In an attempt to put her at ease, Jack had confided about his own mother’s drinking problem. He’d never forgotten the look on Grace’s face. She’d been apologizing for Helena’s condescending, superior attitude, not her drinking.

Grace had been right about one thing: her mother was a bitch. Jack couldn’t stand the way Helena treated her daughter. He thought he’d blown his chance with Grace right then and there. But that was the thing about his wife, she always took him by surprise. He was pretty sure that was the night he’d fallen in love with her.

Thoughts of the past vanished at the sight of Grace backlit by the bathroom light before she flipped the switch. She looked like an angel, fine-boned and fragile. His decision not to tell her about Maria had been the right one.

“Better?” She smiled, leaning over to kiss him as she slid under the covers.

“Yeah. Thanks.” As much as he wanted to return that kiss, there was a small worry niggling at the back of his mind. “You never used to drink when you were alone. Has that changed?”

“No, Jack. You don’t have to worry I’ve become a closet drinker while you were gone. I was a little nervous.” She frowned. “I guess a lot nervous, since I forgot how you felt about wine. I thought a glass would relax me.”

“What were you nervous about?” He hoped it didn’t have anything to do with Maria or his plan to put that conversation on the back burner would be shot. If she asked him outright, he wouldn’t lie.

“Us. This.” She motioned to him and the bed.

He smiled, both relieved and amused.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me, Jackson Flaherty.”

“Ah, my wife, the little prude.”

“I am not,” she said in an offended tone of voice.

“No one knows that better than me.” Passion darkened her eyes as he slid his palm up her smooth thigh. “You look like an ice princess, but in bed you act like her slutty stepsister.”

“Jack!” She tried to keep an annoyed look on her face then started to laugh.

His chest tightened, and he lowered his mouth to hers. “God, I love you.”

“Oh, Jack, I’ve missed you so much.” Her lips parted on a needy moan as he slid his hand under her nightie, touching and caressing her. He loved how responsive she was, the sexy sounds she made.

“You still seem a little nervous, Grace. I can take it slower if that’d help,” he teased, nuzzling the soft spot just below her ear.

She tugged his head to her breast. “Who’s Grace? I’m her slutty stepsister Ginger.”