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Then I clap Eric on the back before we dive into a bit of small talk, catching up.

  Eric Mendoza and I were bunkmates during basic training over a decade ago and our sense of kinship had led us to become great friends. The sense of loyalty that grew from friendship had been fostered by our time as SEALs. No matter our differences, we always presented a united front.

  “So, tell me why I’m here again,” Eric cuts to the chase.

  “I need you to look into a guy for me. Real name is Brian Masner but most people call him Brick. All I know is that he sells life insurance in Ravenwood.”

  Eric takes another sip of his beer and eyes me suspiciously.

  “Why do you need me? Can’t you do this on your own?” he asks, knowing we have similar backgrounds in investigative work.

  “Because he hired me a couple weeks ago.”

  “Why are you investigating your client?” he wants to know.

  “I need to know if he’s shady.”

  Eric laughs, obnoxious and loud.

  “Since when has that ever mattered to you? You’re the fucking king of shady.”

  I’m irritated by his words, but only because I know he’s right.

  Before Grace, I would have completed this assignment three weeks ahead of schedule. I should be kissing a fat bonus check right now for my swift turnaround, but instead I’m here.

  “I’ve met the target a few times and something feels off. I wouldn’t feel comfortable turning her over to this guy unless I have solid proof to implicate her.”

  Mendoza’s eyes triple in size as soon as I finish the word her. And I know what’s coming before he even opens his mouth.

  “Holy shit, you’re trying to protect the target.”

  I don’t think about denying it. He’s not entirely wrong. I want to protect Grace until I know for sure. No matter my current field, my predatory instincts always took a backseat to protect those I believed were innocent.

  And this case has brought out the protector within me that I often try to conceal.

  It’s just not making sense. Grace doesn’t seem like the type to pack up her life and start over without good reason. She’s not exactly living a glamorous life in Holly Hill.

  If anything, I think she’s here because it’s safe and she can easily fly under the radar.

  “Are you going to help me out on this?” I ask pointedly.

  I’m none too thrilled to be asking for help on this, especially since it means admitting that Grace has successfully derailed my original plans. I’m not supposed to care about doing the right thing, that’s Mendoza’s role.

  Between the two of us, I’m the bad guy in contrast to his good guy persona. He also has a P.I. firm but everything is on the up and up and it’s a much larger operation than my one-man show. We know our respective lanes and we stay in them without it tainting our friendship or mutual respect.

  Mendoza is the only person I trust to be discreet yet thorough about this. He won’t leave any stone unturned and I need that.

  “Sure,” he shrugs. “But I’d like to meet this chick. She’s done the impossible.”

  “What the fuck are you going on about?” I ask glaring in his direction.

  He’s unfazed by my anger and sporting a knowing smile.

  “I want to meet the woman who was able to break you.”

  “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” I say flagging down the waitress for another round of drinks.

  Mendoza leaves the bar an hour later to head home but we agree to meet up next week and discuss his findings.

  I’m still at the bar, drinking and dealing with the realization of what I could be sacrificing for Grace.

  If I abandon this assignment, I know without a doubt Brick will just hire someone else like me to finish the job and possibly come after me.

  “Can I get you another drink, sweetheart?” the bartender’s husky voice breaks up my thoughts and I look at her over the rim of my glass.

  She’s been annoyingly attentive all evening and it’s only gotten worse since Mendoza left.

  I admire her slim build and simple features. She’s not unattractive. But she isn’t Grace, either.

  Ms. Bartender’s tits are average sized, large enough to palm. And her lips are tinted with red lipstick, while her blonde hair is cut to frame her face.

  But I find her lacking, through no fault of her own.

  Grace isn’t fair competition for any woman.

  Her full tits, tiny waist and round hips are simply perfection.

  Perfection that I shouldn’t be fantasizing about in a bar when a perfectly acceptable woman is willing to fuck me.

  It would be easy enough to take the bartender home and release the sexual frustration I’ve been harboring since I started this case but I won’t do it.

  I have to admit that although I’ve never had Grace, I know Ms. Bartender won’t compare to the real thing.

  “Can I get the check?” I ask after being buried in my thoughts.

  “Sure, honey,” she says, wiping down the bar.

  Moments later when I look at the check I see she’s scribbled her name and number near the bottom.

  With a chuckle, I shake my head and toss cash on top of the piece of paper before walking out.

  *****

  At home, I sit on the edge of my bed scrolling through my phone.

  I contemplate calling Grace but note the time. It’s 1:24 a.m.

  She’s probably sleeping and even I know it would be rude to wake her up for my selfish reasons.

  We haven’t spoken since our meeting on Monday and it’s now Thursday night. Well, Friday morning.

  Still, my dick is in misery after thinking about her all night. The longing is starting to get to me. I need to be buried in Grace soon or I will explode.

  My cock twitches at the play on words.

  I’m in nothing but my boxers since my shower and when I look down I see my penis tenting against the fabric for release.

  Grudgingly, I lower the waistband of my shorts and reach down to fist my shaft.

  Glistening pre-cum is leaking from the tip and I haven’t done anything yet.

  I give a slow, initial stroke and close my eyes as I imagine Grace on her knees in front of me doing the honors. I pictured her saliva slathered along the length, her mouth opened wide to accommodate the thickness.

  My hand moves on its own accord, up and down, the pace quickening as I grow more aroused. With my feet planted firmly on the floor, I expertly jerk off as I settle into the fantasy of her sucking me off before climbing on top to ride me to orgasm.

  Shortly after, I feel my gut tightening and the spasms start surging through every part of me.

  “Ah, fuck Grace!” I shout as I come, white hot spurts of cum hitting my stomach.

  Chapter six

  GRACE CHAMBERS

  Sweat trickles down my chest as I move rapidly on the elliptical machine. I’m exactly forty-two minutes and twenty-three seconds into my cardio session and I want to collapse on the floor.

  But this extra weight I’ve put on since moving to Holly Hill isn’t going to lose itself. I blame my desk job for the expansion of my hips. Back home at the salon, I was on my feet all day helping clients and now I’m trapped behind a desk for nine hours a day.

  During my cool down, a familiar scent permeates my senses. It is masculine and clean and reminds me of Jameson.

  My mouth nearly waters at the thought of him. I haven’t seen or heard from him since our meeting on Monday and I must admit I’m a little miffed.

  Clearly, I’d read too far into his flirty demeanor.

  Deep in thought, I step off the machine and immediately collide with what feels like a brick wall.

  “Ow!” I yelp, grasping for something to maintain my balance.

  Strong arms reach out to steady me.

  Finding my footing, I look up and get lost in uniquely golden orbs.

  “Jameson,” I gasp, thrown off balance again.

  “Gra
ce,” he smirks, his eyes quickly assess me from head to toe as if to make sure I’m okay.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, folding my arms across my chest.

  Like a trained puppy, his eyes follow the movement and rest there for a spell.

  “Working out, what else would I be doing here?”

  “I’ve never seen you here before.” I narrow my eyes skeptically.

  “Coincidence,” he shrugs off my suspicion.

  I realize I’m happier to see him than I anticipated.

  He’s sweaty, virile and arrogant. My knees weaken.

  “This look suits you,” he murmurs, reaching out to tug at the end of the braid I did before my workout.

  I know I’m blushing from the sudden heat in my cheeks.

  “Sweaty, exhausted and turned on. You are a sight for sore eyes, Grace.”

  Turned on.

  I can’t even deny it. The man can read me like an open book. And the strong pulse between my legs doesn’t help my case at all.

  Damn, he has a way with words.

  “What are you doing after this?” Jameson asks next, grabbing me by the arm to move us to an unoccupied corner.

  “Going home. I’ll probably watch TV with my roommate all night.”

  I cringe inwardly at how mundane my night sounds.

  “Have dinner with me,” he propositions.

  I can tell by the determined glint in his eye that he won’t easily take no for an answer.

  Not that I really want to say no anyway.

  “Say yes, Grace. One dinner. I won’t bite,” he grins, displaying those perfect teeth.

  An excuse about not dating clients dies on my lips. I deserve this. It’s only one dinner and sure to be a lot more enjoyable than vegging out on the sofa.

  “Okay.”

  Jameson looks shocked but recovers quickly.

  He asks me to give him fifteen minutes to shower and change then he will follow me home so I can change and drop off my car.

  I stand near the checkin dazedly, wondering how my night will turn out.

  *****

  I’m a bundle of nerves as I look through my closet, frantically searching for something to wear. Luckily, I have Jameson to use as a template.

  He’d emerged from the locker room in blue chinos and a simple, white cotton T-shirt covering his frame. Brown oxfords were on his feet.

  My mouth had watered at how effortlessly he pulled off even the simplest getup.

  I’m staring at the two outfit options splayed across my bed when Stephania opens the door and walks in.

  She’d been busy interrogating Jameson for the last fifteen minutes, but I hope she’s here to help me decide what to wear.

  “He seems okay,” Stephania says grudgingly, taking a seat on the corner of my bed.

  “I have no idea what to wear!” I declare, frustrated.

  Stephania laughs at my frazzled state before examining the choices beside her.

  “Wear the blue shorts and that black lace tank you bought last weekend.”

  I move around the room hurriedly to collect the pieces.

  “Are you sure you’re okay with me bailing on you tonight?” I ask, stepping into the shorts. The fit around my hips is snug so I do a little dance to get them up.

  “I think I’ll manage, sweetie,” Stephania answers, amused. “You deserve a night out and since you won’t let me set you up, I guess this Jameson guy will do.”

  *****

  The motorcycle ride to the restaurant passes in a blur, mostly because my eyes are shut the whole time and I’m solely focused on holding onto Jameson for dear life. It isn’t my first time on a bike, but that doesn’t make it any less frightening.

  Later, as we sit across from each other at the quaint table for two, Jameson seems more focused on me than the menu in front of him.

  “What’s on your mind?” I want to know.

  “I don’t think I can say without you running out of here scandalized,” he volleys back with a passive expression.

  Sleazy images fill my mind’s eye and I’m immediately lost as desire claims my wits.

  I open my mouth to speak but close it as words fail me.

  “What would you like, Grace?”

  You, I want to blurt before I realize he’s asking for my order. A waitress has appeared at our table.

  Training my eyes back on the menu, I pick the first thing I see and close it.

  When the waitress leaves our table, I take a nervous sip from my water glass.

  “So, tell me about yourself, Grace.” He stares at me intently.

  I shift anxiously in my seat. I’m not too keen on talking about myself. My life before Holly Hill was none too pretty and not a pleasure to relive.

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Anything you want to tell me, sweetheart.”

  A bottle of wine arrives at our table and I sigh, thankful for the momentary reprieve and the introduction of liquid courage into the equation.

  Following my first sip, I savor the taste of the full-bodied liquid.

  Jameson’s gaze hasn’t left me once and I know he’s still waiting for me to answer his question.

  So, I start the condensed version of my life, skipping over the bumpy parts and leaving out most of the wretched details that led me to Holly Hill.

  I don’t want to scare him off. A woman with “issues” and a rocky past don’t seem to be on Jameson’s to-do list.

  Chapter seven

  JAMESON WILCOX

  Grace moans appreciatively, leaning back in her chair as we finish off dessert: a giant slice of triple chocolate cake.

  My favorite part is watching Grace indulgently lick the icing from her fingers.

  She’s so damn irresistible without trying.

  “This is why my hips are spreading at astronomical rates,” she groans, draining the rest of the wine in her glass.

  “I love your hips,” I blurt without hesitation.

  I loved her body. Period.

  She’s pure perfection. My straining cock against the zipper of my pants is a true testament to that fact.

  “Hmm,” she hums, lazily acknowledging my compliment and I know the wine has gotten to her head.

  She’s on her third glass and relaxed. Slightly tipsy Grace is even more enjoyable than I imagined.

  I want to tell her as much until a man near the maître d’s podium catches my attention.

  I freeze, feeling my jaw lock and eyes narrow involuntarily.

  “What’s wrong?” Grace sounds worried across the table.

  I turn my eyes back in her direction and try to offer a reassuring smile.

  There’s no way in hell I’m telling her that Brick is in the building.

  I was trained to maintain my cool in the face of adversity and that’s exactly what I intend to do until my exit strategy is in place.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she observes and I say a quick prayer that she won’t turn around to see the “ghost” for herself.

  “It’s nothing,” I lie cautiously.

  My breaths are calculated as I watch Brick being ushered into a different dining room. He never turns directly toward us and I think we’ve gone unseen but I still want to get the hell out of here.

  “Listen, are you ready to get out of here?” I ask and even I notice the arctic chill that has entered my voice.

  She visibly flinches at my sudden shift in tone, before nodding and hurriedly gathering her purse.

  “I’m ready,” she says quietly as I leave a few bills on the table.

  As we walk out to the bike, I feel like shit when I notice the slight droop in her shoulders.

  Even though she hasn’t said anything, I know Grace thinks she’s done something to cause my dark mood.

  “Grace,” I call just before we reach my bike.

  We both stop walking and I face her, studying her features in the final light of dusk.

  She’s fucking breathtaking.

  “Y
es?” she asks uncertainly.

  “I’m sorry about that back there. I saw something that upset me and I didn’t handle it well. I don’t want you to think it has anything to do with you. You’re perfect. Dinner was perfect,” I explain.

  Relief washes over her features and her beautiful smile follows.

  “I wanted to get out of the restaurant but I’m not ready for our night to end. Let me take you somewhere else.”

  “Okay,” she agrees easily. “Where to now?”

  We finally reach my bike and I retrieve our helmets.

  “I have a place in mind,” I say, extending the extra helmet in her direction.

  *****

  As we near our destination, I slow the bike to a crawl, loathe to stop the thing for fear of Grace releasing her hold on me.

  She feels damn good wrapped around my torso so tightly. Even if it is a struggle to breathe.

  “We’re here,” I announce, cutting the engine in a well-lit parking lot.

  “The community college?” she asks and her bewilderment isn’t lost on me.

  “Take a walk with me,” I say extending my hand.

  She takes it without hesitation and falls in step with me.

  “So, are you going to explain why you picked this place to end our evening?” Grace asks five minutes into our walk.

  There’s a tinge of sassiness in her voice and I try not to laugh.

  “Give me a break. This town isn’t exactly full of places to take a date.”

  “A date?” she echoes before humming something lowly to herself.

  “I have a story about this place,” I offer as bait.

  “Do tell.”

  “I dropped out of this place after three weeks of classes.”

  She turns to look at me, stunned by the revelation.

  “You’re telling me you dropped out of community college?”

  “Yep,” I nod. “I never wanted to go the college route in the first place and this was my compromise to get my parents off my back. I told them that I would transfer to a four-year college after two years just to placate them but I knew it would never happen. I hated school. Always had.”

  “Wow,” she says quietly. “I would have never guessed it. You seem so educated and refined.”

  I know she’s teasing me and a grin breaks out over my face.

  “I owe my refinement to the navy. I quit this place and enlisted a week later. My parents were pissed,” I chuckle at the memory.