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What the hell?
Who would do that? The movers? Had they hit it by accident?
No, because another three were pried loose and discarded on a lower shelf.
A thump and scrape outside had me scurrying to the front of the house and around the corner to the hallway. I could only hope Blake hadn’t seen me.
My chest heaved as I flattened myself against the wall. Minutes ticked by and the room darkened, shadows lengthening with the setting of the sun. Without the sun, the house cooled off quickly. When the door didn’t open—and my frozen toes and girly bits couldn’t take it anymore—I finally gave up and snuck back to my workshop.
There was no power in the house except where my little generator reached. I’d been conserving gas, so it only lit up my worktable and a tiny sconce near my bed. It wasn’t full dark yet, but the temperature was dropping. I debated a shower, but decided I was too damn cold. I yanked a sweater off the shelf above my bed and pulled it over my overalls before I slipped under my covers.
I was hungry and really wanted a damn coffee.
But I also wanted to know why Blake chose now to come to the house, and why the hell someone had broken pieces off of my grandmother’s bookcase? It seemed cruel to deface it.
I tucked my hands under my arms for warmth and burrowed under the covers. Now I couldn’t chance going out for something to eat. Who knew if he was still out there lurking?
Okay, so maybe not lurking since it was technically his house, but I sure wasn’t going anywhere.
Goddamn Blake Carson.
Three
“Make yourself come. Do it now, Grace. Do it now.”
I couldn’t catch my breath. My body wouldn’t cooperate. He filled me up, demanded everything. He even barked orders for my orgasm.
I wanted to give it to him.
I wanted to give him everything.
The roughness of the half wall, the strength of his body behind me, the insane height difference that had me on my tiptoes—none of it mattered. All I could do was reach for that blissful end. I wanted it so very badly. I wanted to lose myself in that piece of madness that existed in the tiny spaces between our skin.
I loved that little pocket of time.
I wanted to wrap it around me.
I reached for it. Reached deeper inside myself and couldn’t find it.
The ache was pervasive. Frustration and need poured over my senses and bled into the chill of the pearly light.
That wasn’t right.
I wasn’t on the rooftop and he wasn’t inside me.
I rolled over onto my belly, my hand slipping down between the bed and my aching skin, but my overalls were in the way. And I was alone.
My breath came in pants and I screamed into my pillow.
Dammit.
Goddammit.
My body was on fire. The rooftop was a nightmare and a fantasy all wrapped into one. Blake. Goddamn Blake. I’d gone to sleep cursing his name. Was it any wonder that I woke with a raging orgasm snatched away into dreams of him?
I flipped onto my back and palmed my breast under the bulky cable knit sweater. The scratchy wool just made things worse. I struggled out of it and curled into myself. My breasts were tender and my nipples were so tight I could barely stand it. My thighs quivered with the need to go over. All I needed to do was reach down and stroke a few times to ease the ache.
Would I forever be calling out his name as my body betrayed me?
