Saving Grace (7 page)

As if sensing my dilemma, he claims my lips before I can
think of pulling away. He is demanding, plundering, silently ordering me to
respond. The kiss is wild, tinged with a desperate desire. It is all I can do
to grab his shoulders and hang on as the world tilts. Part of my brain
registers movement and I realize he’s picked me up and is moving to the
bedroom, though his lips are still sealed to mine. He kicks the door open and
strides into the room, following me down when he lowers me to the bed. Propped
on his elbows, his torso pressing mine into the bed, he stares into my eyes.
His gaze is hot, carnal.

“How’s your leg?” he whispers.

Would a complete jerk ask? I try to shrug but he isn’t
giving me enough room for the action.

“Okay. I won’t be doing any back flips any time soon,” I
joke.

He flashes me a quick grin. Message received. No acrobatic
sex tonight.

He catches my lips again, tugging at the bottom one with his
teeth to get me to part them. This time when he takes my mouth his tongue is a
slow firm thrust he matches with a rocking movement of his hips, an action designed
to make me beg for more. I moan against his mouth when he pinches the nipple of
one breast. He breaks the kiss and slides down my body. Pushing my shirt and
bra up, his teeth close gently over the hard tip of my breast and he sucks it
into his mouth.

When I hold his head in place and arch more fully into his
mouth, he growls and bites me. I gasp. If I wasn’t so turned on already, it
might hurt, but instead it adds to the lust building in my body. He grabs my
hands and holds them above my head while he sits up, straddling my hips. His
face is tight, the strain of holding back evident in tight lines etched around
his eyes and mouth and my pussy gets wetter. He quickly strips us both then
resumes his place between my legs.

“I hope you’re ready. I don’t think I can wait.”

His cock slides into my wet heat and he groans, holding
still.

“Damn, baby.”

I wrap my legs around his waist and dig my heels into the
small of his back. Forcing him deeper. Filling me so I’m not sure where he ends
and I begin. My thigh will punish me for it later, but for now it is the best
feeling in the world.

He kisses me again, a supple teasing meeting of lips,
feather soft and heating as he starts moving inside me. His tongue and his cock
match rhythm as the pace increases. Little explosions of arousal go off through
my body, quickly building to orgasm as his cock thrusts faster and harder in my
pussy.

It sweeps through me sooner than I expect and every muscle
in my body clenches as the pleasure takes me, Walker’s thrusts slowing to a
sedate rocking while I ride it out. I slowly came back to earth and open my
eyes to see him staring at me intently. He is still hard and firm inside me.
Lifting my hands off his shoulders, he wraps them around the iron bars of the
headboard.

“Hang on,” he grunts.

Once he assures my grip was firm, he picks up the pace.
Harder. Faster. Swiveling his hips in a way that drives me crazy. He finds my
clit with one hand, grips the nape of my neck with the other, and claims my
lips in a brutal possessive kiss all the while working his pelvis against mine.
His kiss swallows my cry when I come again, but he breaks the contact a moment
later with a roar in his own.

I lie beneath him panting, fighting the swell of sudden
emotion that threatens to overwhelm me. He rolls off me and pulls me up under
his shoulder breathing hard. I move to my side to look at him. He has an arm
flung over his eyes and his lips are slightly parted. I watch as his breathing
evens, enjoying the rare opportunity to just look at him. The man is built like
a Greek god and he has the soul of a modern day outlaw. And I am in love with
him. How am I going to live without him? How can I live with him? I barely
manage to keep from jumping when he speaks, arm still concealing half his face.

“You’re thinking about it too much.”

“Thinking about what?” I ask cautiously. He can’t know I’m
thinking about him. Us.

He chuckles and lowers his arm, rolling his head on the
pillow to look at me.

“Us. This thing between us. It is what it is. What’s the
point in fighting it?”

I sigh. Days ago, I would have balked at the suggestion but
after the week I’ve had my defenses are low.

“Go to sleep, baby. It’ll still be here in the morning.”

I smile. The man is perceptive, knowing I view it as a
problem and will worry over it at the first opportunity. Letting go of it for
now, I roll to my side and he follows, spooning behind me, wrapping his body
around me, his heat around mine. Protecting me, comforting me whether I want
him to or not. I smile again, and letting exhaustion take me, drift off to
sleep.

Chapter
Eight

Grace

I wake slowly, squint against the sunlight streaming through
the window and stretch my arms high over my head. Judging by the amount of
light pouring in the room, it is late morning. The house feels empty, still and
quiet, but I smell coffee. I should get a couple cups and find Walker. I almost
laugh. How domestic. The urge isn’t like me at all. Then again, I am in
uncharted territory here.

I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, looking
around the Spartan room. It is small, filled to bursting with his king sized
bed and one long dresser. My gaze stops at it and I smile. He brought my things
in at some point before he left.

I dress in a hurry in the first thing I pull out, cutoff
jeans and a tank top. I retrieve a gun from an inside compartment. It is in a
small pancake holster that clips to the back inside of my shorts. After tugging
the shirt on, I look over my shoulder in the mirror to make sure it isn’t
visible. The relief is immediate. I still haven’t shaken the feeling of being
hunted, and I am glad I’ve kept up my pistol practice up even if I rarely carry
anymore.

Leaving the room, I go in search of the coffee pot. In the
kitchen, I find a clean mug, pour a cup of coffee, and look out the back
window. With a grin I reach for the door handle and step onto the new deck. The
last time I was here, at Christmas time, I asked Walker why on earth he doesn’t
have a deck bigger than three by three feet. His back yard is shaded and
overlooks the water. Seems a waste not to take advantage of it.

He obviously decided to take my advice. The new deck
stretches the length of the back of the house, mirroring the front deck. He has
a grill area outside the kitchen door and a table and chairs in the center. I
pull one out and sit. The porch railing is low and I can easily see over it.
Movement catches my eye in the brush down by the water and I watch it half
interested not quite fully awake, wondering what kind of wildlife lives in
Walker’s backyard. Squinting against the glare I shield my eyes and walk to the
top step leading down into the yard. What the hell?

“Grace?” I hear the front door slam and Walker call out.

“Back here,” I holler through the open kitchen door.

I hear his heavy footsteps as he walks through the house,
stopping inside the door. I stand still, not quite believing what I’m seeing
down by the river. Finally, he comes out, mug in hand.

“Um, Walker…”

He sets his cup down on the table and comes up behind me,
putting his hands on my hips and leaning in to nibble my neck.

“You have a gator in your back yard.”

“They don’t call ‘
em
Alabama yard
dogs for nothing,” he murmurs, dropping a line of kisses up my neck.

My body strums, but the tension isn’t sexual. There is a
freaking alligator. In his back yard. I step out of his reach, grip the railing
and lean over to look again. Yep. Definitely a gator
.

“I needed some new boots anyway,” I mutter under my breath.

He laughs and grabs my hand, yanking me back into his
embrace.

“Roscoe is harmless. Don’t go shooting the endangered wild
life, okay?”

I feel my eyebrows fly into my hairline.

“Roscoe? You named the gator?”

I don’t even try to keep the disbelief out of my voice.

“Roscoe P. Coltrane.”

A gator named after an inept cop. Given the Graham brothers’
prior relationships with law enforcement, I shouldn’t be surprised. As if my
life hasn’t taken enough strange twists the last few weeks. Walker apparently
has a pet gator named, of all things, Roscoe. It is just too much. I laugh. I
laugh until my sides hurt and tears stream down my face. Blindly, I grope
behind me for a chair and pull it over, sinking into it and wiping the tears
from my face.

“What makes you think this, um, Roscoe is so harmless?”

“Remember the Flying Purple People Eater?”

“The one eyed, one horned, flying purple people eater?” I
ask, arching an eyebrow. I’m surprised he knows that old song.

“Yeah.” He grins. “What you got there is a one eyed, one
armed, pretty slow alligator.”

For some reason that sends me off into another fit of
laughter. Who knew Walker is a comedian? I sober quickly though. Gators are
really nothing to joke about are they? And yet, I can’t seem to stop the
chuckle the bubbles up.

Walker pulls a chair around and sits in front of me so close
we are knee to knee. When I calm, he lifts a hand to caress my face.

“You look much more relaxed today,” he says softly.

“Yeah, well I got you and Roscoe out there for comic
relief.”

He grins.

“Glad to oblige.”

He picks up his mug and downs the coffee in one swallow.

“Listen, I have to get back to the garage. You got mail. I
left it on the kitchen table.”

“Thanks.”

He leans in and kisses me. It is hard, possessive, and over
all too quick. Then he stands and walks back in the house. He pauses inside the
doorway, craning his head around the corner to speak.

“Oh yeah, Lynn and Trace are coming over for dinner. I
figure you’re gonna want to talk to both of us anyway. Might as well get it
over with.”

He clenches his jaw, and I know he doesn’t want to talk to
me about his past, but after last night he knows I’m not giving up. He’s in
this now and he won’t back out.

“Okay.” I nod. I’ll take what I can get. “Thanks, Walker.”

He doesn’t answer, just holds my gaze a long moment before
opening his mouth to speak. He snaps it shut without a word and disappears in
the house. I hear the front door slam behind him a few seconds later.

Sighing, I pick up my empty coffee cup and head inside. The
box of files I mailed is waiting for me on the kitchen table. I open it, pull
the Beaumont files out and start reading again. A few hours later I toss the
papers down and stand, arching my back in a stretch. It is no wonder the case
is unsolved--half the criminal element in Birmingham apparently wanted to kill
Hugo. Of those, most have alibis and the ones who don’t can’t be placed at the
scene. Except for Walker, who they can prove was in the house but not at the
time of the shooting. The murder weapon was never recovered. Reading between
the lines, no one tried very hard to find evidence and make an arrest.

I start a fresh pot of coffee and consider my next move.
Another trip to Birmingham doesn’t hold much appeal, but I need to speak to the
principals involved in the case and it is best to do that face to face. You
miss the nuances of facial expression, body language over the phone. Lynn and
Walker will be easy. Well, not easy, but it will be easier to talk to them here
than go back to the place where I know someone is trying to kill me. The
detective--Brady--I will call. After I get a fresh jolt of caffeine. I pour
another cup and grab the cordless phone from the wall mount. Dialing the
number, I wait through several rings then sit on hold a few minutes before
Brady picks up his extension.

“Ms. Monroe,” he drawls. “How are you?”

“Fine. You?”

“Same as usual. No word on your car or purse, I’m afraid.”

I blink. I haven’t even thought about either, but I’m
surprised the SUV at least hasn’t shown up yet. Or pieces of it.

“Okay. That’s not why I was calling actually. You said I
came to see you before I was shot, right?”

“That’s right.” He sounds cautious now, no longer the
helpful voice on the other end of the line. What is it about this guy that
makes the hair on my arms stand up in warning?

“Can you repeat that conversation again?”

“Sure. Wasn’t much to it really. You wanted to know who we
suspected in Beaumont’s murder and I gave you a list of names. All of which
were cleared.”

“Right. Was Walker Graham one of those names?”

There is a long pause. Why does he hesitate? Because now he
knows we’re involved and he didn’t before? Have I given myself away then?

“Yeah. He was.”

“Did you know, um, that we were involved?” I give myself a
mental slap but can’t resist asking.

He chuckles.

“No ma’am. You have one
helluva
poker face. I didn’t have any idea until he showed up at the hospital.”

“I see.” I sigh the response and want to kick myself. This
is so not me. Yet the instinct to protect Walker if I can is incredibly strong.

“Did I speak to anyone else at the police station?”

That has been bothering me. Brady isn’t very forthcoming,
but someone sent me copies of the police files.

“Not that I know of. Listen.
Miz
Monroe.” Brady pauses. I can hear the tension in the deeper drawl in his voice
and expect him to try to put me off. He doesn’t disappoint me. “I understand
you’re being paid to find Hugo’s killer, but
we
couldn’t. And this
guy...he was not a good guy. Maybe someone did us all a public service.”

“Right.” It’s not like it is a sentiment I haven’t heard
before and even experienced a time or two, but his response gets on my last
nerve. Maybe I have more naivety left than I believed. “But justice is blind,
right? No one should get away with murder. No matter how bad the victim may
have been.”

“Even if that someone is your fiancé?”

I don’t answer, not even to correct him. How can I? I’m sure
Walker didn’t kill Hugo Beaumont, but without someone else to point the finger
at will I ever really know? Will there always be some shred of doubt hovering
in my mind? If I don’t find out, that cloud will always follow Walker. And me.
But if I do discover Walker killed Beaumont, I don’t think I have it in me to
turn him over to the Birmingham PD.

“Walker didn’t kill Beaumont.”

He huffs a short laugh.

“Can you be so sure?”

Can I? I squeeze my eyes shut, ignore the vice around my
heart. I don’t believe it, won’t allow myself the doubt.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.”

He sighs deeply and icy fingers skitter up my spine.

“It’s your funeral. I understand he’s changed his life, but
what’s going to happen when your professional ethics clash with his past?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. What if he is right?
No. No, he isn’t.

“Not going to happen,” I say firmly. “Walker didn’t do
this.”

We chat a few more minutes, but the conversation isn’t going
anywhere so I end it as soon as possible. God, I wish I could go for a nice
long run and pound out my frustration. It isn’t possible with my still
recovering leg so I wander into the living room and look through Walker’s DVD
collection. Maybe mindless entertainment will help.

I can’t help but smile. One thing we have in common at
least. The man’s OCD tendencies show here. He has the movies separated by
category and then organized alphabetically. Walker definitely has a thing for
order. I find the science fiction section and pull out a Star Wars movie. I
snicker. Nothing like Luke and Han battling an evil empire to put things in
perspective.

And maybe...yeah maybe there really isn’t. Walker is not the
ultimate bad boy any more than Han Solo is. Renegade, sure. Neither want to
live by someone else’s rules. But Walker does have his own code of honor just
as surely as Solo does. He might kill someone. With the right provocation. But he
isn’t a murderer. If I’m wrong about this...well, I’m not. I can’t be wrong
about this. I’m just working around to accepting that he is part of my future.
I can’t be so wrong about such a big thing--I don’t think I’d ever recover from
it.

He’s hard. He’s rough around the edges. But he makes me feel
more alive than anyone ever has. Nick, even in the good times, didn’t mean
nearly as much to me. That has to count for something, right? My instincts
can’t be so wrong. Well they were with Nick. But I was snowed by his looks, his
charm. His bad boy reputation. I grind my molars together. God. Was I hung up
on Walker even back then? Does it matter? I’m older and wiser now. I hope.

Picking up the remote from the top of the entertainment
center, I walk to the couch and hit play. I’m not going to solve that problem
today, so I might as well settle in and get lost in
The Empire Strikes Back.

Walker

We close the shop early and I make a quick trip to the
grocery store to pick up
steaks
for the grill. When I
walk in the house, I find Grace curled up on the couch sleeping. She looks like
an angel, blond hair falling around her shoulders, hands pressed together
between her knees. I drop the bags inside the door and ease it closed, careful
to avoid making noise. I walk over and kneel next to Grace. Brushing her hair
out of her face, I drop a light kiss on her lips.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.”

“Hmm,” she mumbles.

Smiling, eyes still closed, she stretches her legs out and I
groan. Her shorts ride all the way up her thighs and moving just showcases
their slim length. I run one finger from her knee to the edge of the denim and
she shifts, spreading her legs a little in invitation. Fuck, I want to take her
up on it. Unfortunately, there is no time. Trace and Lynn are due to arrive any
minute. A kiss though. It never hurts to spare a minute for a kiss. I press my
mouth against hers, running my tongue along the seam of her lips.

“Open, Grace,” I growl.

She opens her eyes and smiles at me, wrapping her arms
around my neck.

“I’m not always going to let you have your own way, you
know.”

My heart slams in my chest. Is she finally accepting we have
a future together?

“But right now you are,” I whisper.

I bend back to her lips, tracing them with my tongue before
delving inside. She sighs, her body melting against mine, and I move, shifting
off the floor and onto the couch, covering her from shoulder to feet. She lets
her thighs fall open and I find my hips cradled against hers, my cock hard and
throbbing and begging for mercy.