Page 29 of Against the Rules (Harts of Passion 1)

"I don't say things I don't mean." I decided to change the subject. "So, where are you kidnapping me to?" We were on the outskirts of downtown, near several medical buildings. I was surprised when she turned onto a drive that led to the hospital.

"You're about to find out." She grinned at me and pulled into a parking lot near the front door of a single floor building that looked like it had seen better days. A small sign above the door said “Kidz Klub.”

I frowned, wondering what fiendish plan I'd been lured into. Childhood didn't hold fond memories for me, so anything to do with kids usually made me want to turn and run in the opposite direction.

Still grinning mischievously, Grace got out of the car and headed around to the back of it. By the time I'd followed her, she'd already popped the rear hatch and was bent forward, reaching into the vehicle. Her ass wiggled in a pair of jeans that molded to her curves as she struggled to pull on something. Biting back a groan, I stuck my head inside to help her grab stacks of poster board and a box that contained bottles of paint and glue and who knows what else.

I lifted an eyebrow at her as we both pulled the materials from the Trailblazer. "Are we crafting today? I kind of thought I left elementary school activities behind years ago."

She didn't appear the slightest bit perturbed by my sarcasm. "I want you to meet some people," she answered, ignoring my scowl.

I grabbed the box from the back and trudged behind her into the building where we were greeted by shouts of, "Hey, Ms. Grace!" I cringed as I saw a room full of kids, mostly young teens if I were to guess at their age.

A blond man looked up from where he was stacking pieces of wood in the corner of the room. His face lit up when he saw Grace. He promptly dropped the boards and walked over to us, pulling Grace in for a warm hug. I fake coughed to mask my scowl at seeing both his hands on her as well as her smiling response and returned embrace.

"Thanks for helping us out today, Grace. I see you recruited some help." He held his hand out. "I'm Shane. I run this place." He tipped his chin at the kids goofing around. "At least, when they let me."

"Jax." I shook his hand and focused on Grace. "So, what exactly am I volunteering for?"

I bet if I searched her head, I'd find little devil horns. I had made it clear to her in my office I had no interest in mentoring the teens she'd mentioned. She had me over a barrel, and she knew it. Surprisingly, I wasn't as pissed off as I would have expected. I admired her in a way. Not many people were able to pull anything on me, and I suspect she knew it given her smug look.

She grinned and turned to Shane. "Jax is making a very generous contribution to our fundraiser, but when he saw me today, he was very insistent that he join me this afternoon, so feel free to put him to use wherever you need him."

She beamed at me, still with a gleam in her eye. "Meet the teens you're helping, Mr. Carter. As you can see, this building isn't in the best of shape, nor is it big enough for the programs we’d like to implement. These kids know we're organizing a fancy fundraiser to help them, but they didn't want to be left out. Since they can't afford the dinner tickets, they wanted to do something fun. They thought of a carnival to raise money. It will be open to the public. Today, they're working on making signs for the games and advertising around town."

I had to admit I was impressed by their desire to have ownership of a project to help meet their needs. Not willing to back down from her challenge, I spread my hands. "Not sure what all I can do, but show me what you need, and I'll try."

Shane looked a little sheepish. "I don't suppose you're any good at building things? I've got this ticket booth the kids want. It looks simple enough in the picture, but now, I have no idea what sizes to cut or how to put it together."

We were back to speaking my language. "Show me what you've got." I followed him to the corner, glancing back over my shoulder at Grace. She was staring back, not bothering to cover her impish grin. Feeling childish, I stuck my tongue out at her, making her laugh out loud. A funny warmth seeped into my gut, and I gave up my pretense of being angry and chuckled, too.

While I hammered and nailed, I watched her from the corner of my eye. I was captivated by her kindness and enthusiasm as she moved from table to table to watch and encourage the work of the teens. Occasionally she offered suggestions as they explained what they were doing, but she let them take the lead.

They obviously liked her as well. I had to hide a smirk as a few of the older boys tried to flirt with her. They had to know it wouldn't go anywhere, but I couldn't blame them for trying. Her smile was infectious, as was her charm. I wanted her to share that with me, not these young upstarts. And if helping out at this teen center is what it took, then I would cut and paint and nail boards, even if I'd rather be nailing her.

Less than an hour later, I stood back and surveyed our efforts with pride. It had been awhile since I'd done any hands-on work, and I had to admit it felt good, familiar. My stomach, however, was unhappy. I'd promised Grace lunch, but her plan to sidetrack me had worked.

I looked around and saw she was busy with a group of kids at a table, engrossed in both paint and laughter. I suspected there wouldn't be any pulling her away from her task. I'd known a lot of women, but I hadn't come across one that, short of a court-mandated order, would spend her free afternoon working and joking with teenagers. The ones I knew would have preferred combing through the latest fashions at upscale boutiques, and that was after they'd spent an hour or more doing their hair and make-up just to walk to the living room. I thought I liked how they took care of themselves and wanted to put their best face forward. Now they came across more like plastic Barbie Dolls without a thought for anything other than being more beautiful or current than the other women in their group.

Then a startling thought crept its way into my mind—is that how Grace saw me? Was I part of the plastic group as well? I'd spent all of my adult life trying to rise to the top, to own the best money could buy; I was always reaching for the next best thing or more of it. But more of what? Money? Awards? My next fuck? Grace, in her casual clothes and modest car and home, was happier than anyone I knew.

My phone chimed. I glanced at the screen and saw a text from Noah, one of the few people I called "friend." Relieved to have an escape from my revelations, I opened it up.

Noah: What r u up 2?

Me: U wouldn't believe me if I told u

Me: Hey, what do kids like to eat? Specifically, teens

Noah: WTF? Teens?

Me: Don't ask

Noah: I don't know. Pizza? What did you like at that age, or r u 2 old 2 remember?

Me: f u

Me: Talk later. Gotta order pizza.

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