Too Much Temptation. Lori Foster
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knew he had to. “Hey.”
Her lashes drifted down and she looked at his chest. Morning light blazed through the open drapes over the window, leaving long white sunbeams slanting across the bed, over their bodies.
Grace turned her face, nuzzling him, and one selective beam caught the clean line of her jaw, her small upturned nose, a long lock of tangled hair. It glinted on her stubby lashes and in her dark, mysterious eyes.
At that moment, Noah thought Grace was about the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.
But what the hell was she doing in bed with him?
Shy and hesitant, her hand on his chest opened and she touched him, brushing her fingertips over his pecs, his collarbone. Noah felt that gentle, innocent touch everywhere.
Grace smiled up at him, a smile of awareness, of complete and utter awe. “You are so warm.”
An inferno. Noah closed his eyes, hoping that by not seeing her, he could distance himself enough to figure out what to do.
Her fingertips drifted across his brow, riffled through his hair. “Are you all right, Noah? Do you feel sick? I don’t know much about drinking, but I suppose you have a hangover.”
He remembered guzzling one beer after another with Ben. Way too many beers. Hell, he hadn’t gotten stinking drunk since before Agatha had adopted him when he was a teenage hell-raiser. He’d gotten sick back then, too, and had sworn never to do it again.
Of course, he hadn’t expected anyone other than his brother to share in his drunken foolishness. But then Grace had shown up with a sort of misplaced desire to protect him….
Bits and pieces of the previous night pecked at Noah’s brain. A groan broke loose, and he put one forearm over his eyes to shield himself from the light, the memories, and Grace’s astute gaze. Things he’d said to her, things he’d thought about, whirled inside him, making him sick with self-disgust.
He didn’t like needing anyone. He wouldn’t need anyone. But Grace…last night he’d considered her a lifeline.
He almost hated himself.
“I’ll make some coffee,” she offered while keeping her voice low in deference to his hangover.
Noah dropped his arm to watch her scamper off the bed, then immediately snatch the sheet up and around her body.
Feeling contrary and mean, he said, “It’s a little late for modesty, isn’t it?”
Grace blinked at him. It was an expression she often wore when unsure of what to do next. Noah had been the recipient of that look far too many times. Grace could be busily at work, animated, and when he walked in, she’d freeze while keeping her dark eyes on him warily. He knew Grace didn’t fear him. Hell, he doubted Grace feared anyone.
Had she been wanting him all that time, then?
“I suppose you’re right,” she said at last, surprising Noah. And with a defiant tilt of her head, she flung the sheet back at him. Noah had only a moment to admire her abundant curves in the clinging T-shirt and panties before she lost her nerve and turned, all but running from the room.
The back view she provided was…interesting. Her long, luxuriant brown hair swished directly above her generous, heart-shaped ass. She was barely concealed by white cotton, and her haste added extra jiggle to things.
Noah heard the hall bathroom door close.
“Shit, shit, shit.” His stomach lurched again, and he forced himself to breathe, to lie still until the sickness passed.
Damn it, he’d been hoping she’d tell him he was all wrong, that her sleepover had been innocent. That maybe she’d gotten drunk, too, and they’d both passed out. But he knew Grace didn’t drink.
She also didn’t sleep around.
The more he tried to think, the more his head throbbed. The last thing he could really remember was wanting Grace. Fiercely.
Hell, he wanted her still.
Noah threw his legs over the side of the bed—and almost lost his stomach as the bedroom spun around him. It took him a moment to recoup, and he staggered into his connecting bathroom, shucked off his shorts, grabbed his toothbrush and stepped into the shower. The first blast of cold water made his every ache intensify, and then gradually go numb.
As the water warmed, his head began to clear. He stood there, stiffened arms braced against the shower wall while the water beat down on his neck and shoulders. It was several minutes before he felt human enough to brush his teeth and wash.
First he’d have to apologize to Grace.
Then he’d just have to hope like hell she forgave him.
“Noah?”
Her voice came in through the open bathroom door. Ready to face the repercussions, Noah turned off the shower and stepped out, tossing his toothbrush into the sink. Grace, agog and scandalized, whipped around so fast she half-spilled the hot coffee she’d brought as an offering.
“Hey.” Still disgruntled with the situation, Noah dried off and wrapped the towel around his hips. “Don’t faint on me, okay? I feel so lousy this morning, we’d both end up on the floor before I’d manage to pick you up.”
Grace knelt down to mop up the spilled coffee with a washcloth. Her back still to him, she squeaked, “ ’Kay.”
Noah rubbed his bristly jaw, considering her. “I’m decent, Gracie.”
She peeked at him, then her eyes widened and slid over him so slowly, he felt devoured. She lingered on his abdomen until he cleared his throat.
“Grace? The towel is secure, I promise.”
She nodded and gave him a tentative smile. “I thought you could probably use this.” She stood and held out the now half-empty mug of coffee.
Just by being herself, Grace managed to take the awkwardness out of the quintessential “morning after.” Noah nodded and gratefully accepted the cup.
“Damn, that’s good,” he said after his first sip. About six more cups and he might even begin to feel human. It struck Noah that for the first time that he could remember, his apartment felt like home. Kara had picked it out for him, and a decorator had thrown furniture and stuff around. He spent as little time in the place as possible because it had never really suited him.
But now, waking up with Grace beside him, having her hand him coffee with a smile and hearing her chitchat…it all felt right. It felt like a home should feel, even with all his tension and uncertainty about the previous night’s happenings.
He liked it, but he also didn’t like it. “You can have the shower now if you want.”
“Oh no!” Grace pushed her hair behind her ears, shifting around from one bare foot to the other in typical Grace-like nervousness. “I couldn’t.”
Noah propped a shoulder on the bathroom wall and surveyed her as he downed more coffee. She had great legs, not real long but nicely shaped, with full thighs, cute dimpled knees and small, arched feet.
And now that he was sober, Noah could also see how her waist dipped in, adding emphasis to her voluptuous breasts and bottom. He even looked over her rounded shoulders and the curve of her belly with sensual appreciation. She reminded him of a Grecian statue: Put her in a toga and she’d be a perfect replica.
Gracie had a lot of shape—all of it sexy as hell. “You’re here,” Noah reasoned, pointing out the obvious. “You spent the night.” A night he couldn’t remember, damn it. “Under the circumstances, you can even use my toothbrush if you want.”
Her gaze darkened more and darted to the bathroom sink, where his wet toothbrush lay. “I, ah, I found baking soda in the kitchen and made do.” Holding up a finger like a toothbrush, she demonstrated. “But thank you.”
“Grace,