Page 10 of Eight Years Gone

She stopped in her tracks, more than a little surprised when he used her long-forgotten nickname. She turned to face him. “Why did you call me that?”

He shrugged his shoulders again. “I don’t know. I guess you look like a Gracie.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, loving how her name sounded rolling off his tongue. “No one’s called me that since my mom died.”

“It has a nice ring. Gracie Evans.” He cleared his throat as he picked up her pencil, holding it out to her. “Will you study with me?”

She moved to her seat, staring into his eyes as she sat down. “Dumb’s disappointing, Jagger.”

He smiled as he gave his attention to the laptop. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Grace snapped to the present when Jagger gained more speed as he moved down another path deeper into the heart of the park.

“Slow down,” she pleaded to his back when he skirted the next road.

She rounded the sharp curve and blinked when he was gone.

“No.” Slowing, she settled her hands on her waist as she caught her breath, turning a slow circle, then began to pick up her pace again, trying to figure out where he could have gone.

Then she gasped, trying to scream and fight herself loose when someone yanked her into the forest, tightly gripping her back against the front of their body.

“Why are you following me?” he panted out next to her ear.

She closed her eyes, standing rigid as his hand covered her mouth. He felt different—harder and more muscular—but he sounded exactly the same. It had been eight years, but she would have known his voice anywhere. “Let me go,” she said against his palm.

He relaxed his hold.

Turning, she stared into harsh blue eyes and a gorgeous face disguised by two or three weeks of a scruffy beard. How many times had she imagined…? But this was real. Jagger was right here. “Jagger—”

“What do you want?”

She blinked her surprise at his biting tone while she continued to hold his gaze—as he looked at her as if he had no idea who she was.

“It’s Grace. Your Gracie,” she trailed off in a whisper as she grew perilously close to tears.

She’d hoped for a moment like this for so long. But in the numerous scenarios of the chance encounters she’d dreamed up, their seeing each other again never played out like this.

“What do you want?” he repeated.

“I don’t—” She had no idea what to say—how to talk to this cold stranger.

She tore her eyes away from his, glancing toward his sweat-soaked muscle shirt. Taking a step closer, she yanked the damp cloth covering his left pec to the side, staring at the block of puckered scarring where her name had once been.

He yanked the shirt back in place. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

With a last look, she stepped away. Turning for the pavement, she hurried back in the direction she came, trying to find a way to live with the fact that when the man she loved kissed her goodbye for a quick trip across town nearly a decade ago, what he’d meant was goodbye forever.

* * *

Jagger lay in the center of his California King, boxer-clad and restless, staring at the ceiling while rain battered against the windows at The Ritz. He’d been awake for hours, replaying his run-in with Grace at the park.

When he’d stepped out the door at his temporary home, the goal had been a little early-afternoon exercise after two solid days of sleep.

He’d been itchy to move a body that was well used to the grueling workouts he’d paced himself through for nearly a decade. His plan had been a swift six-mile sprint, then a shower and some lunch. Nothing could have prepared him for the rest.

She’d smelled amazing—had felt even better pressed up against him. Her slim, five-foot-six frame had always lined up just right with his.

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