When I heard the click of the shutter, I rubbed the back of my neck. "Can I see?"
She ignored me, pulling the camera away so she could look at the digital image on the back. Her lips curved in a secret little smile.
"What do you see?" I asked.
Her chest expanded on an inhale. "Frustration." Her eyes met mine. "Want."
Words lodged in my chest, and I couldn't tear them loose.
I held my hand out and she passed the camera to me. With a rough swallow, I squinted at the tiny viewfinder once it was at eye-level. Grace came into my eye line, holding my gaze with such directness that I fought the urge not to throw the camera across the room simply because it was between us.
It was her turn to ask. "What do you see?"
My finger pushed the slick button on top of the camera, and her mouth curled in surprise that I took a shot.
I pushed the button again as she took a step closer.
"You're not answering me," she said lightly.
"Because I can hardly think straight when you're looking at me like that." My admission was rough and hard, out before I could stop it.
She took another step, within reach now, and one of her hands slid up my forearm.
One more picture, the sound of the shutter snapping between us like a shot.
Somehow, I set it down on the counter without smashing it.
"You can't lie to a camera," Grace said quietly, watching her hand on my arm before the other landed on my heaving chest. "It captures things as are they are, good or bad or ugly or beautiful."
I slid an arm around her waist and tightened my grip until she was flush against me. My other hand pushed up the back of her neck and into her hair.
"This is insane," she breathed, dropping her forehead onto my chest.
"No, it's not."
Grace lifted her head and pinned me in place. "Tucker, seventy-two hours ago, I hated you. You can't tell me this doesn't feel a little nuts."
I couldn't stop my smile. "You didn't hate me. Not really."
One eyebrow lifted. "Wanna bet?"
Extracting my hand from her neck, I covered hers and slid it up my chest until it was over the space where my heart was trying to thrash its way out of my body. Her throat worked on a swallow.
"Hate feels like a lot of things, Grace, but it isn't this. This might not make any sense to anyone else, but it does to you and me. And that's what matters." Her fingers curled into the material of my shirt, searching for an anchor, no matter how small it might be. "Do you want to know what I saw through that camera?"
She nodded.
Lifting the hand that was covering hers, I traced the features of her face, slowly and carefully, like I'd shatter them if I was too rough.
"I saw fear." My thumb traveled her forehead when it wrinkled in confusion.
"I'm not afraid of you, Tucker."
I hummed. "I know." My fingertip traced the line of her nose and her eyes fluttered shut. "But this, this you're afraid of, and I don't know why."
"Aren't you?"
Taking both hands, I cupped the sides of her face until she looked at me. "No," I insisted. My thumbs swept her cheeks and dipped to the edges of her soft lips. "You said you saw want, didn't you?"
Another nod.
"Do you know what I want?" I told her, brushing a kiss on her forehead. She shivered.
Grace tightened her hold on me, bringing her hips flush to my body, and I had to grit my teeth when she hummed at what she felt pressed against her. I could control a lot of things, but that was not one of them. It was painful, how hard I was for her. "I think I can take a guess, big boy."
Grinning, I shook my head, and when she smiled up at me, my heart cracked clean in half.
I turned us, sliding my hands down over the curves of her ass and boosting her up onto the island. I took hold of her chin and ran the edge of my nose down hers. When I spoke, I let the words come out so close to her mouth that our lips brushed with each letter. "I want to taste that smile, Angry Girl."
For one breathless beat, our eyes locked, the thread snapped, and then her mouth was on mine.
Chapter 42 Grace
I used to think that kissing was a tepid prelude to the big show.
I'm sure that years of tepid interactions with tepid men only served to reinforce that belief. Obligatory kisses, tongue touching tongue, heavy petting, lather, rinse, repeat, until they reached the desired level of physical interaction. And when all you've experienced is lukewarm, bland, and blah, it only takes a millisecond to recognize when someone is about to reframe your entire friggin’ universe.
For me, that millisecond was when I knew that Tucker Ames Haywood was schooling me on the art of the kiss.
From the moment he walked through the door—taking up all the space, the oxygen, my brain cells—we danced around this. He knew it and I knew it. So, when he slid his hands down my backside, lifting me easily onto the kitchen counter, I had absolutely no doubt that my world was about to get rocked. And that was before I put us out of our collective misery and sealed my mouth over his.
The millisecond was all I had with my hands wrapped firmly around the reins. Then Tucker gripped the sides of my face, those big, warm, calloused palms against my cheeks, and he tilted.
It was the tilt, ladies and gentleman, that had me seeing stars.
This was nothing tepid. It was a blaze that I felt down into the curl of my toes. His lips were warm and his tongue
