Page 12 of Grind
I lean back in my chair, putting a little distance between us.
“Seriously, Connor. We don’t need any more shit than we’re facing right now, and that especially means staying clear of the Stacy family. You know the history.”
I do know the history. The Stacy clan has old, bad blood with my father and they’ve rained down misery on us every chance they gotten. But there’s other history I know too. Our family history, that we don’t let brutality against women go unanswered. And we definitely don’t leave a woman in trouble to fend for herself.
Just the thought of it pisses me off.
He can clearly read me like a goddamn book, because his eyes go to a framed picture of our family. My father, my brothers, and our closest cousins – including Claire – grin at the camera from decades in the past. Fuck.
“I can’t leave it,” I say, my voice a deep growl. “But it’s not going to blow up. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”
He looks unconvinced, and we finish our drinks in silence. “Look, sorry to barge in here so late, man. Get some sleep.” I head for the door, knowing that he’s not getting any rest tonight either.
Back in my apartment, I stare the bedroom door. Those protective instincts are stirring, making me feel restless. Seeing Ava’s face, just for a second, just to prove to my lizard brain she’s safe… Finally, I go over and try the knob. It opens easily.
She didn’t lock it. I thought for sure she’d lock it.
I’m just going to check on her, I tell myself. There’s a faint light cast from the clock, and she’s sound asleep in the bed. The huge comforter practically swallows her up, but she’s as far to one side—my side—as she can get. And she’s even more beautiful than I remember.
Stepping back, I close the door and head toward the guest bathroom to change before heading for the couch. Almost wish I hadn’t turned that second bedroom into an office, but this way I’ll be closer to Ava.
It’s going to be a long fucking night.
5
Ava
Light streams in from the window, hitting my eyes. I toss a hand over my face and nestle deeper into the warm bed.
Connor’s bed.
I shoot up into a sitting position in a panic and my pulse hammers in my throat. Clutching the blankets to my chest, I look at the clock. Ten in the morning. I can’t believe it. I haven’t slept this late or this soundly in ages.
Not since before Brooks. Not since I lost my mom.
I collect myself and take a deep breath. Running my fingers over the silky surface of the bedspread, I imagine for just a second what it’d be like to feel Connor’s weight pressed next to me. The rise and fall of his chest. Those huge, muscled arms wrapped around me. His hot breath on my ear whispering promises. My breath catches in my chest and my stomach twists. But not from fear. From something elsethat hasn’t touched my life in a long time: desire.
The bed smelled like him, a pleasant light cologne and something more primal. On some level, that comforted me last night as I tried to rest.
“Get it together, girl.” I can’t afford any more asthma attacks. Still, I don’t want to break the magic of this moment. The feeling of safety. Like I’m finally where Brooks can’t reach me.
But I’ve already stayed too long. I lean over and bury my face in Connor’s cool down pillows, taking in the scent of him one last time before climbing reluctantly out of bed. I touch the card he’d left on the nightstand.
God, was that really just last night?
Tugging the hem of the Red Sox shirt down, I crack open the bedroom door. Last night seems like a dream. But I clearly remember the beautiful apartment, which is more stunning in the daylight. Dark wood, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a very manly aesthetic fill the loft. I imagine Connor across the living room, sweaty in jeans and a T-shirt, up on a stepladder installing the track lighting. Who doesn’t admire a man who can build things with his own hands?
The heat rises to my face as I imagine Connor’s hands, when his breathing sounds from the couch. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and black boxers. That’s it. My mouth goes dry at the sight of his broad chest rising and falling.
His face looks relaxed in sleep. A different man from the intense, driven one I’d met last night. Now, Connor has a hint of that boyish charm his smile promised.
Every part of me is drawn to him – it’s a magnetic force - though my brain screams at me to stop, I slowly cross over to the couch. With trembling fingertips, I reach out and brush a lock of his dark hair back from his forehead.
His eyes pop open, flashing momentary confusion. I gasp as he grabs my arm hard and spins me onto the couch. In one move, he’s shifted and positioned his body over mine.
Shit.
The whole thing took just a few seconds, and I’m pinned there, his hard body hovering above me. My heart races and I press my hands against his chest.
