CHAPTER 32
ERIC took advantage of Marcus’s fixation on Cherilyn’s every movement and slipped his hand around Grace’s and together they snuck out of the secret room.
Making their way downstairs and toward the kitchen, he pushed the discomfort over the recent turn of events toward the edge of his mind. One swift kick and it’d be gone. Yeah. Right. Good luck on that one.
All this worry and exasperation twisted and knotted inside his empty gut and left him with hunger pangs. Or maybe it was just an excuse not to have to think about who he was going to be tomorrow.
Whatever the reason, Eric talked Grace into making a trip to the grocery store. He’d seen one on the way in, not far from the house, and he looked forward to grabbing some supplies for dinner.
Country fried steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, and corn on the cob sounded delicious. Definitely Eric’s idea of the perfect meal. He was surprised how easily he’d talked Grace into tackling the task of cooking dinner.
As he recalled, cooking was never Grace’s forte. And just in case that hadn’t changed, he agreed to help as part of the bargain. He’d learned over the years how to find his way around the kitchen. He wasn’t as gung-ho about it as Marcus, but he knew what he liked to eat and he knew how to prepare his favorite dishes.
Back in the kitchen of Cherilyn’s latest safe house, Eric rolled up his sleeves and took over, delegating the simplest tasks to Grace.
She wasn’t having it. He’d found out quickly that she’d learned a thing or two over the years—like how to effectively pawn off tedious tasks such as peeling potatoes.
Grace settled into preparing the steak while Eric diced the spuds. With a fair amount of expertise, she placed the steak between pieces of saran wrap and scavenged the drawers until she located a meat tenderizer. She proceeded to beat the crap out of the steak, and Eric winced slightly.
“Better keep your eye on your job, instead of mine.” A hint of caution ushered in her warning. “Otherwise, we may find a finger in the potatoes.”
Okay, so that scenario wasn’t appealing. Eric took her advice and focused on finishing his task. Like an old pro, he scooped up the potato cubes and dumped them into the pot of boiling water on the stove.
Trying to hold the smirk in, he leaned against the counter and eyed her with interest. She dipped a hammered piece of meat, first into an egg mixture and then she slapped it around in a blend of flour and spices.
A mischievous laugh rumbled up his throat and he asked, “When’d you learn how to cook?”
Grace burst with a daring, yet playful, concoction of laughter and opposition. “Oh...you’re asking for it.” She stuck her hands in the flour and flicked her fingers at him. A shower of powder rained down over Eric.
“Was that it?” He laughed and slinked toward her. “That your best shot?”
“Eggs?” she asked, picking up the bowl. “You want eggs?”
“No...” He shook his head and took the dish from her. The bowl clinked against the counter and he dabbed his fingers in the mush and then plastered egg over her face.
She looked around surveying the room, seeking anything she could use in retaliation. But there wasn’t anything else. Nothing that’d meet her needs anyway. The only thing left was potato peels and corn on the cob. Those were not retribution items. Grace had nothing left at her disposal. She shook her head, reluctantly accepting defeat.
Her temper brewed as she tapped her foot against the floor, drumming out a tune that rivaled the great dancers of old. “You are so lucky.”
“You giving up already?” he asked with smug repartee.
“Well, I guess I could always bake a pie and shove that in your face.” She ended her counter with a shrug.
“Remind me to keep you out of the kitchen from now on.” Eric latched his hands around her wrists and pulled her to him.
From now on
? She managed to contain the inquiry to just a thought. Did that mean he anticipated a next time? Grace wanted there to be a next time, and a time after that, but she had this little thing called her past getting in the way.
But Eric wanted her. She saw the lust burning his green eyes, and when Eric wanted her, she was powerless to resist.
Her resolve weakened, intoxicated by his drive and her desires. She closed her eyes and murmured his name, “Eric.”
What am I doing
? Her eyes sprang open. Bad idea. Really bad idea.
Eric brushed his lips against hers. Hunger zipped through her and seared against her skin, aching to get out. He released her hands and slid his arms around her waist. Instinctively, she let her arms glide up and around his neck.
“I missed you so,” he said between soft, gentle kisses.
Okay, so maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Just this once, for old time’s sake. Then she could move on. She relaxed, inviting a much more intimate kiss from him. When he reciprocated, she drew a breath and released a slight moan. As if encouraged by her, he pressed harder, ravaging her mouth.
An odd hissing interrupted the mood. A loud whistling and spewing preceded seconds before the potatoes overflowed and water spilled over from the pot.
“Damn it!” She scoffed at the mess on the stove. Reluctantly, she pulled out of Eric’s arms, grabbed an oven mitt and removed the lid.
Steam billowed from the pot. “Careful,” Eric warned.
She eyed him with a not-very-convincing look. “I guess we should concentrate on dinner.”
Do we have to
? But he couldn’t say that out loud, could he? No, of course he couldn’t. No matter how much the desire niggled at him to throw her up on the countertop. He eyed it, considering its potential.
Damn, it was too high.
There’s always the table
. And, it was lower.
Ah, hell
. Cherilyn and Marcus were in the way.
Damn
.
When they got their own place, he’d make it a point to have his way with her in every room.
When we get our own place
? The question breezed across Eric’s thoughts uneasily. He’d promised himself he wasn’t going to go there. But somehow, he’d already arrived even though he couldn’t recall setting out on the journey.
Well, he’d have to see what it’d take to overcome this little setback.
A
t dinner, Eric and Grace ate in silence. They were too quiet to suit Cherilyn. Marcus was quiet too, but it was a different kind of quiet. His silence was born in thought, whereas, Eric and Grace’s was something else entirely.
Cherilyn fought with the urge to let assumptions carry her judgment away. But there couldn’t be any maybes here. She had a job to do, and she’d feel a lot better if her companions’ identities were eradicated by the time they reached the locker at Grand Central Station.
Even so, Eric and Grace’s current disposition dragged her thoughts, momentarily, away from the task at hand. She studied Grace suspiciously, taking particular notice of the dried egg in her hair.
Cherilyn was amused by the thought that Grace could be such a sloppy cook, but the look on her face, as well as Eric’s, forced Cherilyn to draw other conclusions.
Sure, they were both upset over the prospect of losing their identities, but hey, it could be worse. Identities were nothing compared to their lives.
“Grace.” Cherilyn prepared to offer her own special brand of comfort. “I know, from personal experience, that leaving the identity you were born with, behind...” Her words trailed off as she hesitated, feeling the onset of the tiniest bit of pity for the girl. “Well, it can seem like everything you know about yourself to be true, is going to be wiped out in the process. But, you’ll be okay.”
And so will everyone else
.
Considering the look on Grace’s face, that thought hadn’t crossed her mind. Her expression held a more clandestine appearance. One born out of necessity.
If Marcus had to guess, he’d say she’d been otherwise agreeably engaged in some fiery embrace with Eric. He’d seen firsthand the sparks igniting between the two of them. Love at first sight.
Now there’s a subject Marcus knew a little about. He’d not only witnessed it with Eric and Grace, but he’d experienced it with Cherilyn. He didn’t know what might become of “him and Cherilyn”, but it was happening all over again to Eric and Grace. It was etched onto their faces in masks of sheer terror and undying desire. Something major had happened in the kitchen before dinner. Whatever it was had also been cut short, prematurely.
“Grace, dinner was delicious.” Marcus offered her a smile, hoping to settle her insecurities. “You two should relax,” he said to them, “Cher and I will clean up.”
Cherilyn flashed him a condescending stare that screamed,
speak for yourself
. He gave her a wink and her glare softened. “Okay...” She smiled but fought it. Her efforts were futile. “You wash and I’ll supervise.”
Grace rose from the table and dropped her napkin into her plate. Marcus and Cherilyn seemed determined to clean up, and she wasn’t about to argue the point.
Slowly, she made her way up the stairs. Eric’s footsteps echoed close behind. Her hopes for a passionate exchange between the two of them—which were precarious in the first place—had been daunted by Cherilyn’s declaration that losing one’s identity didn’t in any way take away the foundation of who that person was.
But of course it did. How could she anticipate keeping even the smallest hint of who she was if she was no longer Grace?
“I’m going to take a shower,” she said, not necessarily to Eric but as if her thoughts had escaped.
Methodically, she went into the bathroom situated off to the left of the guest bedroom and closed the door between herself and Eric.
He backed into the chair between the bed and the bathroom door, folded his arms across his chest and draped his foot over his knee. Maybe Grace’s shower would give him a little time to figure things out. He had to find something to ponder besides his mounting desire for Grace.
Sure, Cherilyn was only trying to help, but her aid was of little consolation. She may be nothing more than the messenger, but the message was not something that either Eric or Grace wanted to hear.
Desire urged Eric to go into the bathroom. But that was a bad idea. Better to give her some time and privacy and let her have her shower in solitude.
She needed time to think, just like him. Maybe she’d come to realize, all on her own, that nothing mattered except them. Them. Now that was a concept that he’d have to somehow learn to accept.
Making a concerted effort to do just that, he grabbed the remote and switched the television on but it offered little comfort as he found it hard to wrap his mind around any of the programs. He couldn’t stop thinking about Grace.
The game show “Jeopardy” came and went.
She’d been in there an awfully long time. Eric looked at his watch. Half an hour. She’d been in there half an hour.
Fighting to keep the anxiety from flooding his thoughts, he got up and stepped toward the bathroom. “Gracie…” He tapped on the door and it crept open.
The shower’s frosted glass door distorted the silhouetted figure of Grace sitting in the back corner, knees drawn and held tight against her chest with her arms.
Eric hurried across the room. “Gracie?” His mounting fear escaped in his tone.
She didn’t move.
He opened the door and peered down at her. Without a second thought, he stepped into the shower, clothes and all, and pulled her into his arms.
She clung to him, crying.
The feel of her was soft and bittersweet, reminding him of days gone by when she finally got around to grieving for her mother. Trouble now was, Eric couldn’t be altogether certain of what she was actually mourning this time. The possibilities were endless but three options ranked among the top: the loss of
their
relationship, her father, or the thought of losing her own identity.
The reason was actually irrelevant. He supposed when push came to shove the motive really didn’t matter. Whatever it was, just as he’d been there for her regarding her mother, he’d be there for her now.
He turned the water off and grabbed a towel. Draping it delicately around her, he swabbed her dry.
She looked at him, tears pooling around her eyes, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“You don’t need to apologize to me,” he said, continuing to dry her damp body. “Just tell me what’s wrong?” he urged, “and I’ll fix it,” he said, draping the towel around her and leading her into the bedroom.
He grabbed a robe off the back of the door and helped her into it. She layered one end over the other and covered herself. All in all, Grace seemed to make a swift recovery.
She looked at him with a faraway look in her eyes and gave him a sad sort of smile. “I’m afraid that if I become someone else…then I’ll lose the very last thing I had that tied me to you.”
A week ago, Eric would’ve had some brilliant comeback for that. Something charged in the realm of his bitter pride. But today, today he came up with nothing more than the desire to comfort Grace.
His smile started on the inside and burned through to the outside. He swept her damp tresses out of her face. “It doesn’t matter what your name is,” he said. “You’ll always be a part of me.” The urge to kiss her overcame him, but she was in a much too fragile state at the moment. Eric gave himself a mental kick in the rear and reconciled himself to a mere touch and nothing more. He winked playfully, and added, “No matter what…you and I…we will always be a part of each other.”
“You say that now...” her voice trailed off and she turned away, as if she didn’t want him to read her face.
“I say that always.” He followed her, but stopped inches short and avoided touching her.
“You say that now,” she repeated the words, but more forceful this time.
Eric stopped and studied her face. A dark veil shaded his usually prominent green eyes. “Whatever you’re trying to tell me,” he said, “maybe you’d just better spell it out for me.”
Damn his intuition. That’s one of the things she’d always loved to hate about him, and now, she just wished it’d go away.