Page 6 of Save Me the Trouble (Country Love Collection #12)

“We’re going to—stretch,” she said and placed her hand on my arm. “We’re going to stretch right over here by the windows.”

“Stretch,” I repeated, going along with it because I didn’t want her to stop touching me.

“Yup. Simple upper body stretches to loosen you up.” We stopped in front of the windows, the shockingly nice day painting the city in clear light. “Okay. Four stretches. Real quick. Just follow my lead.”

I looked at her, watching her arms stretch above her head and out to the side a little.

I inhaled slowly, making sure to let out a low sound of displeasure as I lifted my arms and mirrored her stance, brushing her arm in the process.

“And the reason we’re doing this in front of the window?”

“Why wouldn’t we? No one can touch you up here, Mr. Killian Crown,” she mocked gently. “You might as well make the most of it.”

I grunted. Making the most of it would involve far less clothes and a kind of stretch that required my body to be inserted into hers.

“And now this.” She bent her arms so that her fingertips touched the center of her head.

My jaw tightened. “I’ve never seen this stretch before.”

“Because you never attempt to relax,” she quipped and moved on. “And now to the side.” Her left arm rested along the side of her head, and her right arm lowered to curl by her side, almost like she was making the letter…

“And now for the final stretch. Hand touching above your head.”

Clever, Miss Johnson. Very clever.

I copied her movement. “And here I thought the YMCA was a dance, not a stretch.”

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. “Well, I can only imagine the argument I would’ve gotten if I asked you to dance.” She moved her arms through the letters again, and for some reason, I found myself still following suit.

“Maybe I would’ve surprised you.” Our eyes met in our reflection in the glass for a split second before her arms fell to her sides and she stepped back from the window.

“I think that should do the trick,” she said, beelining back to her spot by the camera.

No tie. Collar unbuttoned. Doing the YMCA in front of my office windows. None of it should’ve changed anything, but when I sat back on the couch this time, it didn’t feel the same.

My shoulders didn’t feel as heavy. My spine didn’t feel as stiff. Either what she did had worked…or it was she who had the effect.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

I looked first at the red light but then found the urge to talk to her. To address her the way I would have if…everything were different.

“Hi,” I said, a low crackle to my voice as I paused a beat before introducing myself. “I’m Killian. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Grace’s jaw went slack, and I swore she was about to reply—for real—but then she remembered herself in the nick of time.

“Perfect.”

Damn, that word felt good when she was talking about me.

“Now tell me two or three things about yourself. Something personal,” she clarified. “Things that few people know about you.”

The red light of the camera caught my attention, and suddenly, it felt like a damn scope trained on me, just waiting to fire as soon as I verbalized anything personal. Any weakness.

I clenched my teeth. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows everything about my life.”

“I doubt they know you’re this difficult,” she muttered under her breath and turned the recording off. “Does everyone know you do photography as a hobby? Or that you like The Fountainhead more than Atlas Shrugged? ”

I tensed. “How do you know that?”

“I’m blonde, Mr. Crown, not blind. I had plenty of time to examine your book selection when I was…sequestered in your little office shelter yesterday, and The Fountainhead had far more wear-and-tear and dog-eared pages than Atlas Shrugged. ”

Smart. Observant. Clever. Gorgeous. If I wasn’t careful, Grace Johnson was going to turn into one of my very few weaknesses.

“Alright.” I tipped forward and rested my elbows on my knees. If I was going to be revealing something personal, then so was she. “I’ll answer the question if you answer mine in return.”

Her lips parted. “This isn’t a trade.”

“My office. My building. My video. My rules,” I said, and when she didn’t answer right away, I tempted her with, “Don’t you want to get your job done?”

Again, her nostrils flared as she ground out, “Fine.”

“I want to know?—”

“Wait, I’m not going first. Film this, and then I’ll answer your question.”

“I’m all too familiar with people disappearing once they get what they need from me, Miss Johnson.” I said her name to try and banish Amy’s from my mind.

“Well, so am I,” she persisted, her guarded tone intriguing me. “And I’m the one who has to remain here for my job. You’re the one who can walk out or kick me out any time you want.”

Fair.

I inhaled slowly. “I have your word?”

“Yes. Answer my questions, and I’ll answer yours.” She held up a finger. “As long as it’s nothing sexual.”

My head tipped. “Not this one.”

Her throat bobbed. “Three things, Mr. Crown.”

I sat back and linked my hands together, holding her eyes as I answered, “I enjoy photography. Nature photography in particular…because I don’t make it out of the office very often.”

Her eyes lit up, and damn, if it didn’t make it easier to keep talking.

“I do like The Fountainhead more than Atlas Shrugged, but my favorite books are the Sherlock Holmes mysteries.”

Her brows lifted, and it was like a punch of want to the gut.

“And my deepest…darkest…secret,” I said, lowering and slowing my voice until she started to tip forward in anticipation, “is that I like pineapple on my pizza.”

Her jaw dropped and then snapped shut, realizing I’d been leading her on. Still, she tried but couldn’t fight the smile that tugged on her full lips.

Damn, did it feel good to make this woman smile.

In my world, smiles came cheap. There were a billion reasons for women to smile at me

“See?” She cleared her throat. “Was that so hard?”

I smirked. “Your turn.”

Grace shifted in her seat. “Ask away.”

I let my eyes roam over her, confirming for the umpteenth time that she was far too overqualified for this job, and I didn’t need to know her academic background to see it.

“I want three things in return that few people know about you.”

Her lips pursed. “I like to sew—to create things with my hands since I’m usually in my head all day. My favorite book is A Court of Thorns and Roses. Romantasy, if you’re not familiar. And my deep, dark secret is…I love anchovies on my pizza.”

“Fair enough,” I replied, leaning forward. “What’s next?”

Relief swept through her, making me even more curious about what happened.

“Please tell the camera who your ideal partner would be.”

“Someone who doesn’t ask too many questions.”

She shot me a pointed look. “You promised.”

“I did,” I conceded, my teasing tone fading. “For a wife…I’d want someone independent and intelligent. Someone who challenges me and…supports me. I’d want someone not easily swayed by external influences.”

“External influences?”

“Money. Power. Image. Prestige. In my world, everyone has an angle, Miss Johnson. You’d be surprised how rare authenticity is.”

Grace’s eyes softened momentarily, and for a beat, I wanted her to ask more; I wanted her to know more… about me. And then my spine stiffened like there was a knife held to my neck, warning me how dangerous that would be.

“And you, Miss Johnson? What are you looking for in a partner?”

“Who says I don’t already have one?” she said so casually I wasn’t prepared for the surge of anger that lashed through me.

My fist tightened, my pulse thundering against the side of my neck. “Do you?”

It felt like the whole world stopped while I waited for her answer—an answer that shouldn’t matter but somehow seemed to have the power to stop my heart.

She stared at me for a second, swallowed, and then replied, “No, I don’t.”

Slowly, I uncurled my fingers, sure I’d hear them all crack with the effort to break their tension.

“Then it’s your turn to answer.”

Her chin lifted. “I’d want someone who doesn’t take himself so seriously.”

My jaw clenched. “Miss Johnson.”

She sighed. “I’d want someone who is honest and kind. Driven. Passionate. Someone who makes me want to risk everything to be with him but also makes me feel like there is no risk at all.”

Me.

The thought came unbidden, and I quickly shoved it away.

“Maybe you should make a profile,” I murmured, half-wondering if their fancy systems would match her to me as surely as my body wanted her to.

“Maybe I will,” she returned with a smile. “Shall we continue?”

I nodded.

The interview continued with a few more standard questions. Every so often, between the sincerity I promised, I pretended to be difficult. Just to see her eyes flare at me again and feel the stroke of heat through my body.

Finally, she turned off the camera, the red light dimming. I sat forward, noting how she scissored her bottom lip between her teeth.

“What is it?” I rumbled.

“One last question,” she began, the tenor of her voice changing as her hazel eyes connected with mine. She was going off-script. “Why don’t you want to get married?”

I stiffened. The question shouldn’t come as a surprise; I’d spared no effort to make it clear I was against this whole process; I’d go through with it because I’d made a promise to my grandmother and I was a man of my word, but I didn’t have to like it.

And I didn’t have to explain my reasons to the woman sitting in front of me.

But the way Grace asked…the intimate ache in her tone…I gritted my teeth, feeling the walls I’d meticulously built threatening to crack. I stood and looked away, gazing out of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the skyline that had just witnessed my robotic attempt at the YMCA.

Christ. What the hell was happening to me?

What the hell was she doing to me?

“In my world, it’s hard to distinguish genuine affection from calculated interest,” I said and slowly turned back to her. “Even marriage is more often than not tainted with ulterior motives. Love becomes a commodity, traded and bartered for wealth and power.”

Grace stood, her expression pained as she folded her arms over her chest. “But not everyone is like that.”

I watched her, something sharp twisting at the center of my chest.

“Maybe,” I said, unable to stop some bitterness from creeping into my voice. “But when you’ve been burned once, you learn to avoid the flame.”

Her eyes widened, and I swallowed a curse. I’d said too much—revealed too much.

“Generally speaking,” I added roughly and walked over to the window, resting my forearm on the glass.

The moment sank into silence, weighed with unspoken words. I wanted to pretend like I’d succeeded in erasing the slight revelation about my past, but when I felt the soft press of her hand on my arm, I knew I’d failed. The warmth of her touch sent a shiver down my spine.

Our eyes locked, the space between them charged with electricity.

“Not all flames burn,” she whispered. “Some bring light. Warmth.”

Like her. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if Grace was the exception to the rule, a fire that wouldn’t destroy me.

But as quickly as the moment arrived, I pulled back, my familiar walls sealing up the crack those thoughts had slipped through.

“Maybe,” I replied curtly and strode over to my desk to unpack my briefcase. “But it’s a risk I’m not willing to take.”

Grace stood there, a mix of disappointment and understanding in her eyes, until I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Your turn, Miss Johnson,” I said tightly.

“Why this job?” My focus heightened on her.

Every move. Every breath. Every beat of her pulse.

And every ounce of color that drained from her face as I continued, “You were a business major. Graduated at the top of your class along with being valedictorian. You were pursuing an MBA until you dropped out of the program, and now, you’re working for a dating site that caters to rich assholes. That’s quite the departure.”

Her expression shuttered and then quickly recovered into rigid neutrality. “Are you researching me? Should I be flattered or creeped out?”

I chuckled and echoed her words from earlier. “I like to be prepared.”

Grace hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I realized academia wasn’t for me, that’s all. I’m exploring different avenues until I find the one that fits.”

A lie. I could see it in the way her eyes darted momentarily. But I let it slide. The question served its purpose: to change topics. What the truth was was none of my business.

“Is that all for today?”

My words were like a cold whip that snapped her back into action. “Yes, I think so.” Her skirt swished around her legs as she moved around my office to pack up her equipment. “We’ll pick up tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday.”

She straightened and shot me a stony stare. “I assumed you’d want to get this over with as quickly as possible.”

I hesitated for a split second before nodding. “I do.”

“Then when and where would you like me to meet you tomorrow?” she clipped. “We have a few more segments of questions to get through. Not filmed. And then I’d like to get a sense of how you spend your time outside the office.”

My jaw pulsed, and I reached for a piece of emblemed note paper and scribbled on it, setting it on the desk for her to take a second later.

“My address and the code to get up to the penthouse.”

She loaded her bags onto her shoulder and took the slip. “Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

I watched her ass sway all the way to my door before calling after her. “Grace.”

She turned, and the urge to stride over there and kiss her hit me like a punch to the gut. I couldn’t be in closed quarters again with her. She was too…tempting.

“Wear sneakers.”

Her head tipped, and I watched the urge to question me sparkle in her eyes.

“That’s all.”

Her lips pulled into a tight smile. “Of course, Mr. Crown.”

And with that, she spun on her heel and left.

I stood there, unable to move while I could still hear her footsteps in the hall.

“Dammit,” I muttered, my eyes catching on the box of doughnuts left on my desk.

I’d demanded her answers to the interview questions because I thought it would make her more guarded. Instead, I was the one left wanting to know more—to know everything about her. Including why she lied to me.

Grace Johnson was a challenge, a mystery, and, if I wasn’t careful, a flame worth risking the burn.