Wound Up (9 page)

Darcy clucked, tucking her pad and pen in one apron pocket. “Shamus, make the girl a bacon cheeseburger, extra fries.” Grace didn’t realize she’d massacred another tea bag until Darcy picked up the second cup. “Soda is more suited to a burger and fries than Earl Grey, which, for what it’s worth, isn’t my favorite, either.”

Grace shot her a shy smile. “Thanks. Anything but diet is great.”

“Coming right up.” Darcy whirled away, all economy of motion and kind words as she worked her way along the counter, pausing to ring up a table of truckers heading out.

“Is she always like this?” Grace wondered if the ache in her soul translated through the emptiness of her voice.

“Like what?” Justin leaned around her to watch his mom. “A waitress or a mom?”

“Both.”

“Yeah, she is. She never turns it off, particularly the mom part. It’s why she’s so popular here. People from all walks of life come in and wait for tables in her section.” Pride shone in the son’s words.

A mom.

Justin reached out and laid his hands over hers. “Is she that different than your mom?”

How had he once again managed to ask the one question that could shatter the illusion?

She tucked her hands in her lap under the table. “My mom?”

He settled in his seat and toyed with his straw as he watched her through pale blue eyes. “Yeah. What does she do?”

“She works at Glennmore Canning.”
There. Nice and vague. Could be anything from the CEO to a janitor.

“Okay.”

The urge to ask why he’d just accept her answer nettled her, but she didn’t want to encourage this particular avenue of discussion. Grace didn’t lie about who she was or where she came from, but she also wasn’t inclined to lay it out for dissection by someone who came from a veritable treasure trove of emotional riches. Sometimes it was wisest to simply stick to life’s gray scale.

Picking at a cuticle, she fought to keep her voice level. “How’d you end up in psychology?”

“Long story.” He shrugged as if to say,
Tit for tat.

Glancing around to make sure Darcy wasn’t nearby, Grace leaned forward. “What are we doing here, Justin? How is it I ruin your life but still warrant pie?”

He arched a brow and whispered, “We’re eating lunch, Ms. Cooper. My understanding is that colleagues regularly eat lunch together. There’s nothing nefarious in the offer that anyone, in the office or out, could find harm with.”

“This isn’t just lunch,” she responded on a whisper.

“It’s food in a diner at lunchtime, ergo it’s lunch.”

One corner of her mouth twitched. “Ergo?”

“Ergo. Now if you’ll relax, I’ll throw in that promised piece of my mom’s famed pie for dessert.”

“I have five dollars, Justin. The burger alone is going to be more than that.”

“I’ve got it.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I invited you out on Sunday—prior to our nuclear meltdown—and you agreed. We just changed the day. So relax. This was one of our prenegotiated items.”

Caught completely off guard, Grace grinned. “Deal.”

Justin reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “Deal,” he repeated softly.

“Burgers are up, Darcy,” Shamus called.

And Grace couldn’t help but wonder what, exactly, she’d agreed to beyond pie.

9

I
F
EVER
THERE
was a moment of regret over food, Grace encountered it the second the last mouthful of the best chocolate cream pie in the world slid down her throat. She didn’t want the experience to end. Yes, it was
pie
, but it was
amazing
pie. It was silky and sweet and smooth all wrapped up in the lightest pastry shell with the tallest peaked cream on top. And now it was gone.

Caught between the urge to lick her plate and groan from overindulgence, she glanced up at Justin. “Is it wrong to actually suffer remorse over the passing of a slice of pie?”

“Not when it’s Mom’s pie.” Justin licked his fork before resting it on his empty plate. “She’s a freaking pastry
master
.”

“I want another piece but I’ll die if one more bite of food passes through my lips.” Setting her fork down, she slid low in the booth until her head rested against the bolster. “You couldn’t have eaten like this every day. You’d be in a diabetic coma.”

He huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “Nah. We didn’t get dessert very often.”

“Why?”

“Just the way it was.” He tugged at his shirt collar, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “What about you? Your mom a good cook?”

The idea of her mother in the kitchen was so absurd she couldn’t contain the bitter laugher that sliced through the momentary silence between them. “My mom doesn’t cook.”

Justin’s brows shot up. “At all?”

“At all.” She skimmed her hands down her sides, an electric jolt passing through her when his gaze followed her every move. “Body by Chef Boyardee, baby.”

“Thank you, Chef,” he said softly, gaze locked on her breasts.

Warmth bloomed in her, feminine and decidedly sexual—and entirely unwanted. She shifted in her seat, rubbing her thighs together while she wished madly for some pithy comeback, something that would be funny and right for the moment, something that would leave her with the last word.

He leaned forward and folded his arms on the table. “It’s
so
wrong, what I’m thinking. Decidedly not professional.”

That worked.

Justin reached out and took one of her hands, rolling it over and uncurling the fingers one by one until her palm lay face up and exposed. He gently traced a finger along her palm, first the long lines and then the short.

Her hand spasmed. “That tickles.”

He peered at her through heavily lidded eyes. “I really want to—”

“Do you two care for refills?” Darcy asked, pausing at their table.

Justin let go of Grace’s hand and casually leaned back. “We’re good, Mom.”

“Could a mother have shown up at a worse moment on a date?” Darcy set her coffee carafe down and wiped her hand across her brow. “I apologize.”

“It’s fine, Darcy. Truly. It’s not a date.” Grace settled her hands in her lap but couldn’t stop herself from wringing them. The urge to explain nothing untoward had been happening hovered on the tip of her tongue, but it would be a lie.

Justin had been seducing her. Hell, if she were honest, he’d been seducing her from the moment he’d asked her to lunch. He just hadn’t realized it. How could he? How could he possibly understand what it meant to her to be part of this microcosm of normality, where love and laughter and shared meals were common? How could he even pretend to grasp what it meant to her to experience his raw affection? Things that were so normal to him were nothing less than granted wishes to her, and it put the two of them immeasurably far apart on the scale of have and have-not. He was rich in ways she’d always been poor, and, despite the building sexual haze, it stung.

“It’s probably best we head to the bus stop. Don’t want to be late returning from lunch on day one.” Grace aimed for cheerful but knew she achieved something much closer to a morbid grin.

“Don’t go on my account,” Darcy all but pleaded. “I’ll give you two space. Just signal if you need anything.”

“Really, it’s fine. We have a meeting, and I want to prepare.” She nodded at Justin and forced a smile. “I’ll meet you at the office?”

Darcy absently straightened their table. “I’d like to make this up to you. Have dinner with us Wednesday evening.”

Grace’s chin rose so fast she nearly ended up with whiplash. “Really, you don’t have to—”

“Nonsense,” Darcy interjected. “While I appreciate that Justin brought you to the diner and let me feed you, it’s not the same as welcoming you into our home and sharing a meal.”

Her tone was so firm, so full of that mysterious parental power, Grace wasn’t sure how to argue.

“That’s a great idea.” Justin met her gaze, his guileless blue eyes seeming to challenge her to defy his mother.

“What will you make?” From the wide-eyed glances, Grace’s sudden question surprised everyone. Including herself.

Darcy composed herself first. “Well, I suppose that’s up to you.”

Justin glanced between the two of them. “How do you feel about chicken potpie?”

“Homemade?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never had it.” The admission was somehow difficult.

Justin’s chin whipped round, and he considered her with open curiosity. “You’ve never had chicken potpie?”

“Not homemade,” she said mulishly, wondering what in the world had crawled under her skin. It was as if she was experiencing her own version of
Alien
right here in the diner. Or
The Exorcist
. “No.”

Justin wordlessly considered her as Darcy commandeered the conversation. “That settles it. Justin can pick you up before dinner and—”

“Would you teach me to make it?” Grace’s quiet question stopped the older woman dead in her conversational tracks.

Darcy gave a gentle smile. “Come about an hour and a half early? Say, five-thirty? The girls will be home by then so it might be a little tight in the kitchen, but I’ve always believed a crowded kitchen is a sign of a happy home. And actually Justin makes a better potpie. He can teach you.”

* * *

J
USTIN
COULDN
’
T
HAVE
planned that better if he’d tried, getting Darcy to corner Grace into coming to dinner. Granted, dinner with his family wouldn’t be sexy, but it would be undeniably intimate. And it meant he’d gotten Grace to commit to spending more time with him outside the office. He’d teach her to cook and chat her up.

All forward mental momentum stalled at that particular curve. The expression on Grace’s face when she’d asked Darcy to teach her, the way her voice had almost caught in her throat, it was yet more evidence of Grace’s fragility. “Body by Chef Boyardee,” she’d said, right after she’d laughed bitterly when he’d asked if her mother cooked. Clearly the woman was absent, but how? Why? He wanted to protect Grace from anyone who caused her pain, but right now that included him, so he’d have to tread carefully.

“Justin?”

He refocused on her. “Huh?”

A faint smile played around her lips. “If we don’t go, we’re going to be late.”

“Right.” Standing, he dumped some money on the table. “I’m out, people,” he called.

A chorus of goodbyes rang out and he absently waved before catching the expression on Grace’s face. He paused before glancing over his shoulder to see if something was amiss. Nothing. His brow creased. “What? What is it?”

She shook her head, her gaze locked on the floor.

“Clearly it’s something. Fess up.” Gesturing for her to go first, he followed her out of the restaurant. Watching her pert ass sway under that pencil skirt was certifiable torture.

He let her maintain her silence until they got to the bus stop. “You’re going to have to communicate with me at some point, Grace. Might as well start now.”

When she finally answered, she just stared down the street as if she was waiting for a glimpse of the bus. “I don’t
have
to converse with you over anything but the practicum. The sooner you get that through your head, the happier this temporary work assignment will be for both of us.”

Well, that smarted. “Right. There’s a small problem with viewing things in such a limited way, though.”

Still staring down the street, her answer was uninterested. “Which is?”

Uninterested just wouldn’t do. He spun her around and pulled her into his arms in one fluid movement. His mouth found hers before she could voice her protest. He moved with clear intent and without consideration for who might be nearby. It was irrelevant. He wanted to show her what the moment meant to him. It was like some compulsion that drove him to mindlessly go where his heart led. Let the cards fall where they may.

She made an unintelligible sound even as she fisted his jacket and pulled him forward, closer.

Justin delved into her mouth, the urge to earn her capitulation urging him on like he was a thoroughbred in the final stretch of a high-stakes race. He didn’t wait for her invitation. Instead, he simply took pleasure and sought to give twice as much in return.

Running his hands into her hair, he cupped her head, angled it for better access and took what was so crucial to him. Gave her what she wanted. A dark and demanding desire reared its head when Grace responded, pulling his body more firmly against hers.

Yes. This. More. With her
, his mind purred.
Only her.

Lips and teeth and tongue, he fought to own the moment, to own her. Her breath skated across his cheek on every exhale, scalding him, no doubt branding him. She tasted of chocolate cream pie, presented undiluted temptation, smelled like an invitation to sin.

He slid his hand around her waist and pulled at her shirt, untucking it just enough that he could slip his fingers under the waistband of her skirt. Skin to skin was his undoing. “Grace,” he whispered into her mouth.

“Stop,” she wheezed. “Stop it, Justin.” Pushing at his chest, she stumbled away a couple of steps and dragged a hand across her mouth. Her hair was a riot of loose curls. Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink that told a tale of passion nearly unleashed. Nearly.

Not close enough.

“You said lunch,” she said on a heavy breath.
“Lunch.”

All his blood had flooded to his groin, and his brain wasn’t working. “We had lunch.”

“We’re on the clock.”

Reality blew through him like a bomb blast.

“You preach to me about doing the right thing, about how I’m not supposed to impugn your honor because it’s somehow holy territory.” Her chest heaved. The green of her eyes was wild. “Well, you just violated the code of ethics without blinking, and you did it right after you broke your word to
me
.”

“You’re right about us being on the clock. You’re just as right about me not being fair.” He stepped in closer. “But understand this, Grace Cooper. I want you. I’ve wanted you for years, and now that I’ve had a taste of you, settling for being near you isn’t enough. Not even
remotely
. Lunch wasn’t enough. Dinner won’t
be
enough. I want more than you do, clearly, so my job is to change your mind. Don’t expect me to lie around and wait for you to get on board with the idea because we’re on a tight timeline. I’ll push at and irritate you, no doubt. But in the end?” He curled a finger under her chin and lifted. “You make me lose my mind in the best possible way. I’m not willing to give that up over a little difference of opinion. You...this thing between us...it’s all worth the fight, Grace. As for my ethics? I know what just happened between us, and it was,
is
, bigger than words on paper. Nothing that happens will change my opinion.”

Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly. “We’re technically working together, no matter how short an assignment this is. You can’t act on every impulse you have.”

He planted his fists on his hips and closed his eyes for a second, focusing on slowing his breathing and regaining control of the moment. “You’re right. We’re on the clock. If you want to report me for sexual harassment, I won’t contest your claim.”

“What?” she exclaimed. “No. I just want you to think.
Think
, Justin. And honor what you said you’d do.”

“I never promised anything.”

“You said lunch, as colleagues.” The accusation was small, lacking the force of conviction he would have expected.

“And you’re the one who said there was nothing between us.”

“There isn’t anything between us. When this internship is over, I’m moving to Baltimore. Permanently. I can’t afford to get hung up wondering if this thing between us meant anything, Justin. The only way I can be happy is with a clean break, so this has to stop.
You
have to stop.”

He made a show of smoothing his jacket down, fighting to keep his hands steady at her talk of leaving. “That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t have to accept your word as final on the matter. See, unless I’m mistaken, that was a pretty damn passionate kiss. Should I assume you treat every guy to that particular pleasure?”

“You know I don’t!” She shoved her hair off her face and gazed down the street with clear desperation. “Bus is almost here.”

“This isn’t finished, Grace.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath that strained her breasts against the buttons of her shirt. “It’s over, Justin. Whatever you believe is happening between us? You’re wrong.”

She angled her body to step into the bus before the doors were completely open.

He watched her move to the rear of the vehicle and take the only available seat. That was fine. He’d have given it to her, anyway. What he wouldn’t give her was the satisfaction of hearing him say this was over. It wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

He couldn’t afford to lose his job and he wasn’t going to cost her hers, but he’d never felt this way about any other woman. Two weeks from now she was moving to Baltimore. That meant he had a finite window of time to change her mind. He had to take the risks, ethics be damned. Granted, he did his best in life to take the high road when he could. But when the desired result couldn’t be achieved by following a predetermined route, well, sometimes it meant taking risks and traveling more—even highly—questionable roads to get to where you most needed to be in the end. And in a weird way, the people at Second Chances would probably understand that better than most.