Close Enough to Touch (17 page)

“Everybody has stuff like that in their lives. Things other
people don’t see.”

Whether it bothered him or not, the story made her sad for him
and she didn’t want him to see that in her eyes, so she put her hand over his
and stared at their entwined fingers. “Maybe,” she murmured. “People never do
look very hard.”

“They don’t. But I like looking at you, Grace. I don’t think
you’re as tough as you seem.”

She chuckled. “That’s not true. Don’t think things like that. I
can’t be soft. For anyone.”

“No?”

“No,” she whispered.

He turned his hand up and folded her fingers into his, and she
felt as if her hand could disappear into his larger one. She wasn’t sure if that
comforted her or scared her to death.

“Why?” he asked.

“That’s a ridiculous question.
Why?
Because people suck. Haven’t you ever noticed that?”

“Not everybody sucks.”

God, what was this? More Old West shit? “No? How about you,
Cole? How do you think I would’ve felt after that first time if I were a sweet,
soft girl? If I’d let you bend me over your couch like you’d paid for me, and
then you threw it all in my face before I even got my clothes back on?”

Blood rushed to his face as quickly as if she’d slapped
him.

She smiled. “Because if I trusted people, I probably would’ve
trusted you not to do that. But I don’t trust people, so I was fine. You see how
it works?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t… You’re right. That was
awful.”

“Sure it was. But we’re all awful, Cole. I’m awful, too. We may
as well have a good time together.”

“You’re not awful.”

“Oh, God.” She laughed. “Really? What that bitch said about me
today, even if that wasn’t true, it used to be. I used to steal things.
Shoplift. I used to take clothes and food and shoes, because I thought I had a
right. I didn’t have anything and those people did, so why not? And I did drugs
when I needed to forget what my life was. When I wanted to pretend I was only
hanging out at the park with my friends instead of living there.”

“That’s—”

“And I’ve told men I loved them just because it seemed easier
than not saying it back. Because it might buy me a few more weeks of not being
alone. But I’ve never loved anyone, Cole. Not the way you’re supposed to.”

“None of that is bad, Grace. You just…”

“It was all bad. All of it.” She laughed to hide the new
huskiness in her voice. “But strangely, I only ever get ruined by the good stuff
I do. Standing up for myself. Speaking up when something is wrong. Trying to
make my life better. So I just want to start over. Reset. Go somewhere where no
one knows me.”

“Are you running away?”

“Maybe. Does it matter? It’s all semantics. I don’t care. I’m
not more or less ashamed of myself because of it. I’ve got plenty of other shit
to be ashamed of.”

“Like what?”

She thought of Scott and felt her throat thicken. Not because
she’d loved him. She hadn’t. But because she’d given up things she’d believed
about herself. Important things. For
nothing.
If
she’d loved him, maybe she could use that as an excuse when she looked back.
Then again, she was awfully glad she hadn’t given him her heart.

She didn’t answer Cole’s question.

“You’re right, you know,” Cole said quietly.

“About what?”

“We’re all awful. If you’ve made mistakes, you don’t have to be
ashamed of that. And you don’t have to be ashamed about being soft
sometimes.”

“I’m not soft,” she said again, but when his fingers slid
between hers and tightened, she had to swallow hard. He plucked the beer from
her other hand and set it on the bedside table. Then his fingers settled on her
cheek and turned her toward him. But she didn’t look at him. She closed her eyes
and pretended he really meant it as he pressed a soft kiss to her jaw, then her
chin, then her mouth.

“Grace,” he whispered.

She wanted to tell him to be quiet. To stop talking and let her
pretend. Pretend he was touching her that way because he knew her and cared.

His fingers whispered over her skin, down her neck and over her
shoulder until he eased her down to lie on the bed. Leaning over her, he kissed
along the same path, then down to her breast. His mouth closed over her nipple,
wetting the thin fabric of her shirt until she could feel his heat through
it.

She arched into the pleasure as he sucked at her gently, then
turned the same attention to her other breast. By the time he pushed her shirt
up and exposed her, she was panting.

His lips whispered against her bare breast. “I love seeing you
like this. Like nobody else does.”

She shook her head as he pressed another gentle kiss to her
nipple. “Plenty of people have seen me,” she growled, wanting to shut him
up.

“Not like this,” he whispered. “Not here or now. Not in my
bed.”

Oh, God. Her throat tightened. His tongue traced her with the
lightest touch and his breath cooled the wetness and made her want to groan.

When his hand slipped down her belly, she was relieved. She
could give up the fantasy that this light, slow touch had something to do with
cherishing her. But he didn’t shove his hand down her panties and get her off.
Instead, his fingers dragged over the cotton, and he simply cupped her heat in
his hand, holding her as he carefully sucked one nipple between his teeth.

“More,” she said. “Harder.”

He paused. She felt him lift his head and look at her, but she
kept her eyes closed and turned her face away. His fingers curled a little
tighter against her, but when he bent his head again, his mouth was just as
gentle. He teased her, tempting her to feel something more than just sexual
need.

His lips slid down to her ribs, lingering over the tattoo he
couldn’t stop asking about. It was as if he wanted to collect details about her
for his own amusement. Why?

“Harder,” she rasped, sliding her hand over his to push his
fingers more firmly against her. “Cole.”

“Shh,” he whispered against her skin. “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t okay. She didn’t want it like this. Even though
the cotton grew wet under his fingers. Even though her skin bloomed with warmth
under his mouth. She didn’t want this.

She pulled his hand higher and forced it beneath her panties.
She wound her free hand into his hair and squeezed her fist tight. “More,” she
ordered.

“No.” He twisted his hand up and captured her wrist.

She pulled his hair tighter until he pushed her down into the
mattress.

Grace turned her body, turning away from him, struggling,
forcing him to treat her roughly. He yanked her back against his body, her ass
pressed to his cock.

When she pushed away, her flesh only pressed more tightly
against his thickness.

She wouldn’t be soft for him. No matter what he thought. No
matter what he asked for.

When he shoved her to her stomach and fucked her, Grace was
smiling. She didn’t need gentleness from anyone. She just needed this.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

H
EAVEN
ENVELOPED
HER
in fluffy warmth, and Grace burrowed into it with a sigh of wicked
pleasure. She curled her legs up and snugged her hands beneath her chin, finding
a perfect little pocket of heat and softness to hide in. Oh, God. It felt so
good that goose bumps chased over her skin despite the delicious warmth.

She felt safe. Cozy.

Then she smelled bacon. And toast. And coffee.

It was too good to be true, and her half-comatose brain managed
to sound an alert.
Something’s wrong.

Her eyes popped open, wide with alarm before she was even fully
awake. She sprang up, ready to fight.

Yes, something was definitely wrong. She’d fallen asleep in
Cole’s bed.

“Oh, shit,” she whispered as she jumped down from the bed and
looked frantically around for her clothes. Her panic twisted higher when she
couldn’t find them. Where were they? She reviewed the night in her mind. Yes,
she’d definitely had clothes on when she’d come over. And then…

Yanking the covers back, she spotted the bright yellow cotton
of her underwear and then the blue of her T-shirt. Thank God. But once she had
those on, she couldn’t find her jeans. Keeping one eye on the corner of the
short hall that fed into the living area, Grace searched the room. She could
hear Cole moving around in there. Heard the clink of plates as he set them
down.

Was he going to feed her breakfast in bed now? Maybe tell her
how special she was and ask what she wanted to do today?

She didn’t know why the idea felt like a mortal threat. She
wasn’t
that
screwed up. She’d had boyfriends. Men
who’d loved her in whatever small way people were truly capable of love. So, why
did the idea of sleeping in Cole’s bed terrify her?

Just as angry tears were pricking her eyes, she dropped to her
knees and spotted her jeans under the bed.

“You up, Grace? Breakfast is ready. Come on out and I’ll feed
you.”

Jeans in her fist, Grace crouched on the floor. Her head popped
up and she glared down the hallway.

That was it. She remembered now. She’d been falling asleep last
night, Cole’s arms wrapped around her, and he’d whispered something. Something
about staying the night. “Don’t go back there. You don’t even have a bed. Stay
with me for a while.”

Stay with me for a while.

A few years ago—hell, a few weeks ago—those words would have
sent a secret thrill through her. Not because of love or affection or desire,
but because those words would’ve offered a reprieve. Another reprieve in a long
line of them. Another few weeks or months when she knew she was okay. Alive and
fed and clothed and warm and not alone. Not really.

The thought scared the hell out of her. She sprang to her feet
and stalked out of the bedroom.

“Morning, beautiful,” Cole said, looking as happy as she’d ever
seen him.

Beautiful.
Whatever her issues, she
didn’t need that kind of bullshit platitude. She had no idea what she looked
like, but she knew it wasn’t beautiful.

She kept walking all the way to the door. “I don’t need to be
taken care of, Cole,” she snarled.

His smile blanked to shock. “What?”

“I don’t need you to feed me or offer me a place to sleep.”

“Okay,” he said carefully.

Her hand on the knob, she took a deep breath and managed a
tense smile. “Thanks for the beer. I’m sure I’ll see you later. I just… I can’t
stay.”

She opened the door and took three steps into the hallway and
nearly walked straight into a man she’d never met before. He was talking to Aunt
Rayleen.

The woman turned with an automatic scowl that quickly pulled
into a sneer when her eyes traveled down Grace’s body. Then she looked pointedly
at the door Grace had just closed behind her.

“Well, well, well.”

Grace rolled her eyes and moved to walk around her aunt and the
man.

“Couldn’t keep it in your pants, huh?” Rayleen snarled. “That’s
because you’re doing it wrong. The pants are supposed to be on your ass, girl,
not dragging along behind it.”

Grace just barely managed to bite back a suggestion about
exactly what Rayleen could do with her opinions.

The man tried to step out of her path at the same time Grace
tried to get around him, and they ended up stepping back and forth several
times.

Rayleen snorted. “Old Cole is pretty popular, you know. You’d
better watch it, or you’ll end up with the clap.”

Grace sighed heavily and stopped to glower at her aunt. “The
clap? Really? What decade is this?”

The man snorted, and Grace threw him a glare. “Who are
you?”

“I’m Lewis.”

“He’s your upstairs neighbor,” Rayleen clarified. “You telling
me there’s a bed you haven’t tried to crawl into? Not that you’d have much
success with this one. Still, I knew letting a woman in here would be nothing
but trouble. You’re using up all the good ones.”

Grace could only assume that meant Lewis wasn’t a good one,
though that obviously had nothing to do with appearances. He was wide-shouldered
and dark-haired with a smile that set the bar for wickedness.

“Anyway,” Grace finally said, “nice to meet you.”

He stuck out a hand, cutting off another attempt at escape.
Grace switched her jeans to her left hand and managed the briefest of
handshakes.

“Okay, you stay right there, and I’m going to…” She kept him in
place with one hand while edging around him and closer to her door. “I’m going
to take my pantsless ass behind closed doors now. Bye.”

“Hussy,” Aunt Rayleen said, not quite under her breath.

“Witch,” Grace responded.

“Ha! Which one of us is slinking through a shame walk? You do
keep your chin up, though. I like that.”

“Years of practice,” Grace muttered.

Rayleen’s laughter followed her through the door. Grace threw
her jeans on the floor and stalked straight to the bathroom to start the shower.
She tried not to look in the mirror, not out of worry for what she looked like,
but out of worry for what she’d see in her eyes.

She used people. It was an ugly thing to see in oneself. That
sometimes people were no more than shelter for her. No more meaningful than a
roof and walls and a warm bed to wake up in. Not always, but often enough.

And it wasn’t just other people. She used herself, too. After
what had happened with Scott, she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Oh, she’d pretended it had been a real relationship. Maybe it
even had been, at the start. But three months after she’d moved into his place,
she’d suspected he was cheating. A month after, she’d known for sure. And as
tough and proud and self-respecting as she’d always imagined she’d been, Grace
had said nothing.

She’d put her head down and pretended not to know. Not because
she loved him. Not because it hurt too much, but because she hadn’t had anywhere
to go.

The worst part, the part that ate her up on nights when she
couldn’t sleep, was that Scott had known. He’d looked at her as if she was dirt.
Less than dirt, actually, because when you walked all over dirt, it wasn’t the
dirt’s fault. But Grace—she’d let it happen. So he’d walked a little harder. And
then when he’d tired of even that horrid little game, he’d kicked her out.

He’d known. And she’d looked straight into his disgusted eyes
and begged him not to break up with her. But he hadn’t needed her anymore. She’d
ruined any chance that she could help advance his career, and his career was all
he cared about.

Grace got into the shower and scrubbed as hard as she
could.

She’d never let that happen again. Ever. She’d never be
dependent upon anyone for anything. And she wouldn’t be so proud that she’d yell
her way out of a job again either. What the hell did she have to be so proud of?
She was nearly thirty, she had nothing, and she could barely support
herself.

Yeah. You’re definitely a kick-ass chick,
Grace Barrett. The coolest of the cool.

The tears that had been hanging around for days finally won the
battle and spilled down her cheeks. But it didn’t count in the shower, did it?
It never did. They weren’t real tears when your face was already wet. So Grace
let the water wash them away.

This wasn’t who she’d planned to be. It wasn’t what she’d
worked toward. After a couple of years of being angry and lashing out at the
world, she’d gone back to school to get her GED, and she’d put herself on a path
to do something she’d really loved. For a while there, she’d been so proud of
herself. She was good with makeup. More than good. She’d called herself a makeup
artist, and she’d meant it.

But then she’d found that the perfect place for her wasn’t so
perfect after all. And the space she’d carved for herself was too small. And the
anger she thought she’d left behind was still in there, bubbling over at the
worst times.

For a while there, she’d been a success. A small one, maybe,
but someone who could be proud of herself. Now she was a failure by any stretch
of the word. A weak person who’d thought she was strong.

But this was the moment. This was her chance. She could make
something of herself, or she could keep being a tragic story. The typical tough
girl who was really bleeding inside, pretending she didn’t need anyone when she
really just wanted to be wrapped up in strong arms.

“Yuck,” she muttered, wiping tears from her eyes. It didn’t
matter. More tears immediately replaced them.

God. She’d come all the way to Wyoming, several worlds away
from L.A., and she was doing the same damn thing. Fighting with people, falling
into bed, letting a man offer a helping hand. Except it was never a hand, was
it?

That thought made her snort with wet laughter, and the tears
stopped.

She was going to do this. She was going to go into work today
and do a great job. She’d kiss a little ass if she had to, because she was
strong enough to do that. She could deal with people who treated her like shit,
because she wasn’t shit. And she could walk away from a man who told her she was
beautiful and tried to take care of her, because being taken care of and lied to
wasn’t love or security or anything but being treated like a wounded bird.

She didn’t need that. Not anymore. She’d pay Scott the money
she owed him. Somehow. And that would be the end of her old life. She was moving
on.

* * *

C
OLE
COULDN
’
T
BEGIN
to
guess what had gone wrong this morning. Well, aside from the fact that he was
sleeping with an incredibly prickly, difficult woman who couldn’t even cuddle
after sex without getting tense about it. So, after standing in the kitchen,
stunned, for a few minutes, he’d figured it out. She’d woken up, panicked at the
idea of having spent the night and she’d bolted. No big surprise, really. She
was more vulnerable than she wanted him to know. He’d already figured that
out.

But then she hadn’t answered the door when he’d knocked on his
way out. And when neither she nor Eve had shown up at the ranch, he’d tried
calling, and she hadn’t bothered answering the phone. Not the three other times
he’d called either.

So not a momentary panic, but something deeper.

But what? It had been good last night. Hot and sweet and
intense. And even after…she’d finally relaxed in his arms and fallen asleep. For
once, he’d been happy for his insomnia, because he’d gotten to see Grace,
relaxed in sleep. Her blackened eyelashes resting on pale cheeks. Her wide mouth
warm and soft.

She’d looked so young, and it made him wonder what she’d been
like as a teen. A runaway, he suspected from what she’d told him, living on the
streets sometimes. It made him feel odd and uncomfortable, imagining that. She
was so small. How in the world had she made it out of that okay?

Or maybe she wasn’t okay. There was that darkness in her
eyes.

Not always, though. Not when she needed him. Not when she was
coming.

At the thought, Cole shifted, telling himself not to go there.
Because just that hint of a memory had blood rushing to his cock, a pleasant,
dull—

“Cole.” A hand curled around his biceps. He hoped it was Grace,
but he knew before he even looked that it wasn’t. She’d never touch him that way
in front of other people. She’d never deign to slide a possessive hand around
his arm as if she were claiming him. But Madeline would.

“Are you avoiding me?” she asked.

Yes.
He looked down at her hand on
his arm, but she didn’t bother taking the hint.

“You didn’t come by last night. I was a little surprised.”

“I’m not your boyfriend anymore, Madeline.”

“I know, but…for old time’s sake?”

“Old times,” he murmured, shoving away from his place against
the barn so that her hand would drop. “But I wasn’t really your boyfriend then
either, was I?”

“Hmm. Are you sure? You felt like my boyfriend.”

“Madeline,” he said, hoping she’d hear the warning in his voice
and back off.

“It’s lunch break,” she said. “Come ride with me.”

His shoulders snapped to instant, utter tension, and his leg
suddenly began throbbing. “I can’t. I’ve got work to do.”

“Work, like holding up the barn? It’s lunchtime, Cole. And I
know for a fact that Easy told you to keep me happy. Isn’t that your job?”

For a moment, he couldn’t hear anything except the blood
rushing in his ears. His heart hammered with twin storms of anger and alarm. He
started to say, “My job is being a ranch hand,” but he cringed away from it. A
few months ago, he’d been the boss. He couldn’t make himself say it. Not to this
woman.

Maybe that was the worst part about all this. If he had to see
this woman again, he wanted to be whole, strong, successful. He wanted to be in
control and he wanted her to know it. But here he was, playing the part of her
crippled errand boy. Her toy again, just as he had been before.