Page 34 of Guarding Grace (Hawk Security #2)

Grace

The next morning, I woke slowly, pulling the pillow to my face. I rolled, ready to wish a good morning to the man who’d rescued me from my nightmare last night, but he was gone. The sheets on his side of the bed were still warm, though. So it hadn’t been long.

He’d stayed with me like he promised. Realizing that made me smile through the headache.

Bringing his pillow to my nose, I got the slightest hint of the woodsy scent that was Terry.

I regretted all that wine as I rolled out of bed.

This was going to be a hell of a day—one foot in front of the other, and a million Advil in between.

After taking care of business in the bathroom, I found the pills in my purse and poured a glass of water.

Normally, a shower first thing invigorated me.

Today, all I wanted was to curl up under the covers and hope for sleep to rescue me.

The loud voice from behind startled me. “You need to drink these.”

Now my ears hurt as well. But as soon as I turned, the view of Terry made it all better. I accepted one of the mugs he held out. It was water. “Two?”

With his free hand he fished into his pocket and produced tablets. “Yes. Aspirin, water, and coffee.”

“I already took Advil, thanks. ”

He pocketed the pills and flipped on the light I’d intentionally left off.

Squinting, I tried to keep from having a full-on brain explosion.

“Bad?” he asked softly as he flipped the switch back off.

I nodded. “You warned me.” I waited for the cutting attack, the reminder of how stupid I’d been to ignore his advice. It didn’t come.

Instead, he leaned into the shower and turned on the water. “I find a shower helps, but you need to finish these—caffeine and extra hydration—to begin with.”

I nodded and addressed the elephant in the room. “Did I do something wrong?”

His brows scrunched together. “No. Why?”

“You didn’t want to…” I wasn’t sure how to ask the question delicately.

A smile grew on his face. “Sleep with you?”

I nodded, having expected a cruder way of putting it. “Do I?—”

His chuckle stopped me. “Kitten, you were drunk, and it wouldn’t have been right. If you’re asking if I’m still attracted to you…”

I hung on his next words like a lifeline.

“The answer is absofuckinglutely. If you had the time, which you don’t, and didn’t have a hangover, which you do, I’d throw you over my shoulder, lay you out on the hood of my car right now, and fuck you senseless. That would scratch one item off our list.”

With that, I had to laugh, even though it hurt. His words, crude as they were, sent sparks of anticipation up my spine.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked.

“Rain check?”

“You need to shower. I will not have you blaming me for being late to work.”

“I need to find my…uh, shower things first.”

In seconds, he held out a plastic shopping bag. “Zane packed these for you.” He leaned against the bathroom counter when I took it.

“A little privacy, please,” I said out of habit. It was totally inappropriate now that I’d slept with him, and I’d just imagined him fucking my brains out down in the garage.

He arched a brow. “Aren’t we past that, Kitten?”

“Yeah, sorry.” My cheeks flushed, and the memory of his face between my legs yesterday hit me full force. It canceled out the headache for a moment.

“I’m staying.”

Did he mean to watch me shower? Maybe join me in the shower? In spite of the throbbing headache, the prospect turned me on. Since I was hungover, but no longer drunk, was he now interested in me? If the hood of the car was out, would the wall of the shower be quick enough?

He took in a labored breath, as his eyes traveled the length of me and back up again, lingering on my chest for a moment.

A tingle of excitement shoved the headache aside. Looking down, my body’s vote was obvious. My nipples had gone into full headlights-on mode, poking through the T-shirt.

“Go ahead.”

With what? Take off the shirt? Was sex a part of his hangover remedy? Sex released endorphins and oxytocin. They relieved pain, right? Would sex mute this headache, or would the headache make sex impossible?

“I’m not leaving until you finish both mugs,” he clarified.

Shit. Sex was not a part of his cure. I drank the water first and struggled to gulp down most of the coffee as ordered.

He forced the coffee mug back at me. “All of it.” A night of sleeping together, but not sleeping together , hadn’t smoothed out his bossy streak. Maybe that was the effect of having blue balls if his morning wood was any indication.

“Yes, sir.”

After getting the last of it down, I organized my shower kit from the bag.

“Shirt off and turn around.”

“Huh?” Now he had me totally confused.

“I don’t want you getting the cut wet.”

He pulled a roll of tape from his pocket and a piece of plastic.

Obviously, I was the only one with sex on the brain this morning. “On one condition,” I demanded.

“Name it.”

“You don’t boss me around at all today—no arguments and no orders.”

“Sure thing, Kitten.”

There again was that nickname I associated with nice Terry. “Thank you.” I turned and pulled the shirt over my head.

He knelt behind me. “It looks pretty good here.”

Did he mean the cut, my ass, or just naked me?

A minute later, he rose after fixing a small piece of plastic to my butt cheek. “Join me in the kitchen when you’re done.” He disappeared without giving me a chance to ask if he wanted to join me in the shower.

As the water ran through my hair and down my skin, I was glad he’d insisted on this. It was definitely better than curling up in a ball in bed. Slowly, I felt almost human again—a human with a monster headache of her own making, but better than earlier .

As I soaped up, I realized how quickly things had shifted for us. Last week, sharing a bed with Terry would have been out of the question. The mere mention of it probably would have made me sick.

But this morning, it felt like… normal was probably the best word.

A whirlwind of danger had propelled me, had propelled us, into a new dimension, one in which the tyrant was such a gentleman that he refused my bed when I was tipsy—okay, drunk, but it was still so unlike the way I’d seen him before.

A shiver ran through me as that haunting nightmare from last night popped its ugly head up for a second. Recalling Terry spooning with me erased it quickly.

Last night and this morning, he’d obviously been aroused, and probably all night for that matter. Yet he hadn’t pushed for anything. How many guys would do that? Holding me to chase the nightmares away had been the ultimate caring gesture. Go figure. Terry was a compassionate, caring jailer.

I smiled, remembering the feel of his hard length against my ass, and hard was the right word. What woman wouldn’t feel empowered knowing that she caused that reaction in a man as virile as ex-SWAT, ex-Marine, ex-sniper Terry Goodwin?

Terry

Grace still hadn’t appeared after her shower as I chopped the bacon I’d fried into little bits. For a second, I considered checking on her, but I decided she might think that was creepy.

I had two pans going at once, waiting for the egg mixture to set up. When they finally cooked through, I sprinkled the bacon in, then grated the cheese over that, before folding the omelets closed and removing them from the heat.

“Breakfast is ready,” I called.

No answer came, but I could hear a hair dryer.

Before I could go to Grace, my phone ding-donged. One of my exterior motion detectors had triggered.

Lunging for the phone, I found the perpetrator just as he rang the doorbell. “Zane, what are you doing here?” I asked through the intercom.

“Came to relieve you. The bossman says you’re due to join him in rousting that Russo guy, Tony. ”

“Yeah, Tall Tony Russo.”

“That’s the one. Can you buzz the door for me?”

“I’ll be right down.” I’d disconnected the remote unlock mechanism first thing after reading about a case where the system had been hacked and bad guys had unlocked a remote door from outside. The fact that it had been a home invasion with a fatality drove the point home.

Zane rang the doorbell again as I descended the stairs.

“Keep your pants on,” I yelled several steps from the bottom. I took a calming breath before opening the door.

He held three Starbucks cups. “Morning. You look like you didn’t sleep well.” He offered me one of the cups.

“Thanks. You look like shit too.” He didn’t. I ushered him in and relocked the door. “Why are you here instead of Constance?”

“Lucas.”

I nodded and followed him up. Upstairs, Grace had finally emerged and was in the kitchen—in nothing but a fucking bathrobe. At least it wasn’t my damned T-shirt.

“How are you doing, Grace?” Zane asked. “I mean, with all this excitement?”

She glanced at me. “Okay, considering.”

“Don’t hit on my woman,” I warned.

Zane raised a brow. “Your woman? I thought?—”

“You thought wrong.”

When I glanced over, Grace didn’t seem pleased by my warning to Zane, or maybe it was the way I’d referred to her as mine.

He nodded with a chuckle. “Copy that, brother.”

I moved closer to her. “Maybe you should get dressed,” I whispered.

“I brought you this.” Zane held out one of the cups.

Instead of acknowledging my suggestion, Grace took the coffee cup with a smile. “Why, thanks.”

Zane walked to the stove. “Breakfast smells good.”

Grace followed him into the kitchen. “It sure does,” she said, checking her watch. “I don’t have much time before I’m due at the office.”

“Then you should dig in,” Zane said as he lifted the remaining coffee cup to his lips. He turned. “Oh, and Lucas said to tell you to hustle to the same meetup point as last time.”

“Why didn’t he call?”

“He said he sent you a text.”

I checked my phone and sure enough, I’d missed the message. He’d wanted me to hurry as soon as Zane relieved me. “Fuck. You be safe,” I said pointing at Grace on the way to the door. No arguments and no orders. “And lock up when you leave.”

“Do I need a key for that?” Zane asked.

I changed direction to the drawer where I kept spare keys and threw one to him.

“Do I need a code to set the alarm?” he asked.

“Don’t bother with that. Locking it will be fine until I get back.”

“I’ll keep her safe,” he assured me.

“Terry,” Grace called.

I whirled.

“Be careful,” she said sweetly.

I nodded. “Always.” It killed me to leave her, but I had no choice.

She smiled. “See you at the office.”

I would remember that smile and the melody of those words until I saw her again.

Grace

The sight of my car in Terry’s garage surprised me as Zane and I descended the stairs a little later that morning. “How did that get here?”

“Constance brought it over. We didn’t want it just hanging out on the street downtown.”

I pulled my keys out of my handbag.

“Oh no you don’t,” Zane cautioned. “I’m driving you. Those are the rules.”

“You guys and your rules,” I complained, but I put my keys away.

“It’s for your safety.”

I suppressed an eye roll. That was the same thing Terry told me every time I complained.

Zane was quiet during the drive until we were almost there. “What do you know about Peyton?” he asked.

Remembering how he’d watched her at the office, the question didn’t surprise me. “Peyton, huh?”

“Never mind.”

I looked over to catch his jaw working. “She’s single, if that’s your question.”

He didn’t answer, just stared straight ahead as he drove.

“She moved here from North Carolina,” I added. “She’s smart as a whip, but doesn’t talk much.” Peyton had never offered very much about her background.

Zane pulled into the parking lot for our building without another word.

Serena had mentioned that her ex-SEAL, Duke, didn’t talk much either. Maybe it was an entrance requirement—good strength, good shooter, good fighter, good runner, good swimmer, but bad talker.

I turned before opening the door. “Would you like me to?—”

“No. Stay in the car.”

I had meant to offer to talk to Peyton for him, but that was a very curt no .

He walked around and opened my door for me. “Now.”

I’d misjudged. Apparently, part of the guard-dog ritual was to open my car door and escort me inside. I decided against finishing my Peyton question. Zane was a big boy. He could talk to Peyton on his own, if he wanted to.