Unbound (14 page)

His words are like a cold shower. That only has a brief effect. Because it’s true, I realize. I’m not just a bit tipsy, it’s much worse than that. I’m completely plastered. My head feels as though it’s stuffed with cotton—I’m slow to take in my surroundings, and need longer than usual to focus my gaze. “I guess so,” I admit, noticing how slurred my voice sounds. “But only a little.”

Jonathan doesn’t seem to believe me because he doesn’t withdraw his arm, but instead holds my shoulder more tightly. Which is a good thing because suddenly I’m not sure whether I can hold myself up in my seat without him. I let my head fall onto him with a sigh. I suddenly feel really weak but it feels nice to have him there. I’m pretty sure I’d never dare to do that if I were sober. But, luckily, I’m not sober anymore, I think, with a contented, carefree smile, breathing his familiar scent in deeply. I would really love to bury my nose in his shirt.

“Grace,” he hisses at me, but I can’t get it together enough to sit up again and pull away from him. I want to stay here. Then, under the table, I suddenly feel his other hand on my upper thigh. Since it was warm today and I’m wearing a knee-length dress but no pantyhose, I can feel his grip against my naked skin. It’s not a tender touch but a further warning that I should behave myself. And it’s having an effect all right. Just not the one he intends.

Because now, finally, I can’t think of anything but him and it’s not the alcohol making these waves of heat rise up inside me. I open my eyelids, which are suddenly very heavy, and look up at him. But he’s looking at Richard and Tiffany again.

“Grace hasn’t been feeling well all day,” he says. My head is leaning against his shoulder, so I can feel his deep voice vibrating in his rib cage. I haven’t been feeling well? I’ve never been better! “I think I’d better take her home,” he explains.

Home, I think, without really understanding what he’s saying. My eyes fall shut again and I can hear Richard laughing quietly from the other side of the table. It sounds a bit spiteful, but perhaps I’m just imagining things.

“And I thought she was your assistant.”

I shake my head, without opening my eyes again. “I’m not his assistant,” I murmur, with a sigh, nestling even closer to Jonathan. “I’m a nobody. I’m completely unimportant.”

And I would very much like to be important. At least for these few stolen moments, I can allow myself to take what I’ve been wanting for so long. I’m drunk after all. He said so himself.

“Your father will be delighted, Jonathan. Arthur’s been waiting for this for a long time.”

I open my eyes again, because I don’t understand.

“Waiting for what?” I ask and look to Jonathan for help. Now I suddenly wish my brain wasn’t working so slowly, because I have the feeling what they’re talking is important to understand.

Richard smiles smugly. “For Jonathan to finally get married and sire an heir,” he explains, grinning at Tiffany, who smiles and nods. But she does that whenever he says anything.

“Well, he’s going to be waiting forever,” Jonathan growls, quietly but with unconcealed anger in his voice. If Richard really wanted to provoke him then he seems to have succeeded.

“The two of you make such a lovely couple,” Tiffany chirps. Her words wake me rudely from my trance. A couple? I look across the table at the two of them, almost shocked. And I finally realize what they are talking about: Jonathan has his arm around me. And that’s why they think we are together.

At first I want to protest, shocked, but then I’m somehow too weak. And far too unwilling to give up being so close to Jonathan; something I’ve been longing for so much. Well, let them think that. It would be lovely. It’s a really lovely thought.

But Jonathan puts an end to our embrace, at least briefly. “We must be going,” he says, and lets go of me, but only in order to stand up, after which he immediately threads his arm beneath my armpits and helps me up. Now the full extent of my alcohol consumption becomes clear, because I’m swaying on my feet and can only stay upright because he puts his arm around me again right away and holds me up. Tiffany gets up too and takes my purse, which was propped against my chair leg. But she hands it to Jonathan, and not to me. He nods at her. “Please excuse us. I’ll get the waiter and sort out the bill.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Richard explains magnanimously. “I’ll take care of that. You look after your …assistant.”

“Richard, Tiffany.” Jonathan nods at the two of them. His voice sounds tense. “See you next time.” Although he doesn’t sound as though he really wants to.

“We’ll see each other at Lockwood Manor,” Richard answers.

Jonathan turns around almost abruptly and leads me through the tables out to the door. He keeps a firm grip on my shoulders as we walk and I can walk better than I thought, because I surrender completely to his lead.

“He does,” I shout back over my shoulder when we’ve already almost reached the exit, because fatso Richard’s remark has only just entered into the convolutions of my brain and I suddenly feel the need to defend Jonathan. “He looks after me very well. He even got me …”

My deposit back when I thought I’d lost it,
I want to shout.

Because he did. After Jonathan’s police report, the fake Will Scarlett was quickly caught and he really did give me my money back. Which was only one of the many acts of heroism that come to mind right now and that smug Richard needs to hear about. But I don’t get the opportunity to say anything more because Jonathan has more or less carried me the last few steps and we’re already out the door. He clearly can’t get out of the restaurant fast enough. It’s subtle, tastefully-lit sign reflected in a puddle on the sidewalk. It must have been raining while we were having dinner, and it’s now noticeably cooler. I’ve only got my knitted shrug on, and suddenly I’m freezing.

“Where’s Steven?” I ask, looking around for the limousine, which is nowhere to be seen. The big car usually waits right in front of the door whenever we come out, and I’ve gotten used to getting in right away.

Jonathan takes off his jacket and hangs it over my shoulders. It’s much too big but it’s warm and envelops me in his scent. Then he puts his arm around me again. Unfortunately, it’s not because he really wants to hold me, but he probably thinks I’ll fall over if he doesn’t.

“He’ll be here shortly. He wasn’t supposed to be here till ten. But we’ve had to leave early,” he growls and it sounds like a reproach—but I’m too dizzy to think about it. The cold night air is clearing the fog in my brain a little but not enough to think clearly. Which I want to do. Because then I would be perfectly capable of standing up on my own, and Jonathan wouldn’t have to hold me up. I wrap my arms around him and snuggle closer and he lets me, but he still keeps only one arm around my shoulders.

“I wouldn’t have been able to stand that idiot and his moronic girlfriend for much longer anyway,” I murmur into his jacket collar.

Jonathan looks down at me, surprised, then he laughs quietly and I can hear the rumbling in his chest. His muscles relax a little; making me realize just how tense he was before. “You’re impossible, Grace. I should fire you.” He laughs, and I stare at the little missing corner of tooth and find it unbelievably sexy.

“But not yet, not tonight,” I say, lifting my face up to his. “Wait till tomorrow. Tonight, you should kiss me again instead.”

He grows serious again and stares at me. His eyes grow dark and something flits across his face. But it’s gone too quickly for me to interpret, and then he’s looking at me with that unapproachable expression again, which I have learned to hate so much.

“Steven’s here.” He turns me toward the street and I have to focus my eyes again. The limousine really is parked by the sidewalk.

I stumble the few steps to the door and let Jonathan help me in. When he sits down next to me, I automatically scoot closer. At first he doesn’t react, but then he puts his arm around me again with a sigh and lets me use his chest as a pillow.

“Grace, this really isn’t a good idea.”

“Why not?” I ask sleepily, shutting my eyes.

My hand is resting on his chest and I can feel his heartbeat. “Why are you making this so hard for me?”

I know that I shouldn’t speak to him like this but right now I couldn’t care less. I just have to know.

“Because you would never be able to play by my rules,” I hear him say close to my ear.

“Try me,” I answer, without lifting my head.

He doesn’t answer and the silence between us seems to go on forever as the car glides through the night. The slight rocking motion, together with Jonathan’s body heat, makes me drowsy, and I forget my question as I’m starting to doze off.

“Where’s your key, Grace?” His voice forces me to open my eyes again, but only for a brief moment, because now everything is spinning.

“No idea,” I murmur. Isn’t it in my purse?

Jonathan disentangles himself from me and I sink onto the seat, wrapping his jacket around me, which cocoons me like a blanket. There is a sound of leather squeaking, and I hear Jonathan talking to Steven, while I go on dozing. I’m not listening to what they’re saying.

At some point, the doors swing open and it’s cold all of a sudden. I frown reluctantly when someone takes hold of my arm. I struggle, because I don’t want to wake up, but he has a strong grip.

“Come on, Grace,” I hear Jonathan’s voice in my ear and allow him to pull me out of the car. And then I can’t feel the ground beneath my feet because he’s lifted me up and is carrying me. I slit open my eyes and see a brightly lit, very elegant city house with a front door made of beautifully-polished, dark wood. But the light is blinding me and everything is still wobbling far too much, so I quickly shut them again. I have no idea where we are, but I’m not at all scared because Jonathan’s with me.

Reassured, I let myself fall back to sleep, since sleep just won’t let go, and I sink into a pleasant darkness.

When I wake up again, the first thing I see is a white lattice window. I stare at it for a moment because I don’t recognize it. The sun is shining in, so it must already be morning. Where am I?

I look around, a little dazed, and notice that I’m lying on a wide, wonderfully soft bed in a large bedroom with white wallpaper. There’s a massive dark wooden closet, a dark dressing table against the wall, and a dark shiny wooden floor. A few thick white rugs lie around like islands. The only spot of color in the room is an angular red chair, with a dress on it. It’s green with very delicate white dots and looks somehow familiar. I’ve got a dress like that. And there’s a white knitted shrug and I can see the cup of a brassiere, white, edged with lace. I’ve got one like that too …

Suddenly my fingers claw at the white cover and an icy shock shoots through me when I realize that those are my things lying on the chair over there. Those are the clothes I had on yesterday.

I look down at myself immediately and I’m not naked, I’m wearing a plaid shirt, which is way too big for me. It smells good and somehow familiar, of—Jonathan!

I turn onto my back with a groan and clutch at my forehead, as I remember yesterday evening. The dinner with the Earl of Davenport, the wine and the champagne, the ride in the limousine …Oh God.

I screw my eyes shut in despair and try to wish the images away. But the effects of the alcohol have dissipated and ugly, uncomfortable reality is staring me in the face; refusing to go away.

I was drunk. Really drunk. So bad that Jonathan had to hold me up when we left the restaurant and later even carry me. I can still remember the feeling of his arms around me, holding me. But where did he take me?

Is this his bedroom? The decor suggests that it could be. Everything looks high quality, expensive, and big. You can only afford something like this in London if you’ve got money. But if this is his bedroom, why am I here? Why did he bring me back to his place? And where is he?

Where’s your key, Grace? I suddenly hear his voice saying again. He asked me that in the car, I remember. But I didn’t know and I didn’t care. Did he look for it and couldn’t find it? Did he ring the doorbell of the apartment and find there was no one there? Or did he bring me straight here?

I sit up and pull the covers up to my chin because I suddenly feel so defenseless. I’ve got no idea what happened last night. Only one thing is certain: Jonathan obviously undressed me and then put one of his pajama tops on me. Which means that he’s seen me naked. A hot prickly sensation extends over my chest and neck and spreads to my cheeks, because the thought is so shocking, and yet so arousing.

But did he find it arousing too? Or was he really annoyed with me? After all, I made a total fool of myself. Which isn’t exactly surprising, because I seem to have been making a habit of it ever since I set foot on English soil. But this time I didn’t just harm myself, but Jonathan as well.

I have a sudden vision of that revolting guy Richard and his scornful expression when he suggested that Jonathan and I are a couple. Which made Jonathan extremely angry. He even said he should maybe fire me—and I replied that he ought to kiss me instead.

I bury my face in my hands, with a groan, wishing I could take it back. I’ve ruined everything. And maybe he’s serious—he’s going to throw me out the moment he sets eyes on me again.

I would love to lie back down again, close my eyes, and try to fall asleep once more—and wake up to find that everything was just a nightmare. But unfortunately the chances of that are pretty slim, as I’m all too aware.

Own up to your mistakes, Grace. That’s what Grandma Rose likes to tell me and I can see her now, looking at me hard, with her strict expression. She’s always insisted that Hope and I take responsibility for what we do—and deal with the consequences, even when they’re unpleasant.

I look down at myself with a wry smile. It’s a good thing she can’t see me right now. I’m guessing she would be pretty horrified if she knew that I’m sitting here semi-naked, in the bed of one of England’s richest bachelors, and I don’t even know what happened last night.

But at least she’s imparted me enough backbone to get up now, ready to brave my fate.