Grace was so furious with herself, she felt like spitting. The near-torrential rainfall didn’t slow her down as she splashed her way up the sidewalk to Noah’s building, her every step punctuated by a passionate rage. Eight days. Eight hellish days she’d been away, probably when Noah had needed her most. She’d expected to come home to a list of things yet to be done for the wedding, because Agatha did love to give her lists.

      Instead, she’d come home to the tail end of an uproar.

      She swiped away a tear of fury that mingled with the rain dripping down her cheek. It was always that way. Hurt her, insult her, and she was fine. She’d summon up calm dignity and deal with it. But let her get really mad and look out—she cried like a baby.

      Damn her car for breaking down, damn Agatha for being a hardheaded matriarch, and damn everyone for ever doubting him.

      Poor Noah. Poor honorable, loyal Noah.

      He needed her.

      Spurred on by her convictions, Grace hurried on. She slipped as she jerked the foyer door open and bounded inside onto slick marble tile. She’d have landed on her well-padded behind if it weren’t for Graham, the doorman, catching her arm and wrestling her upright.

      “Here now!” Graham said with some surprise, maintaining his hold on her arm as Grace started to dart past.

      It took him a moment to recognize her with her hair hanging in long, sodden ropes in her face and her clothes saturated through and through, making them baggier than usual. When he did recognize her, his old eyes widened.

      “Ms. Jenkins! What in the world are you doing out in this storm?”

      Grace forced herself to slow down. “Sorry, Graham. Is Noah in?”

      “Yes, ma’am. He’s with his brother.”

      Thank God. Grace would rather have had her visit with Noah in private, without Ben as an audience, but at least Noah was home. Besides, she should have known Ben would be close at hand. He very much respected his brother, and always offered unconditional support.

      Grace was relieved that Noah hadn’t been all alone during the ordeal.

      “My stupid car broke down a few blocks from here,” she told Graham. “I’ll call triple A from Noah’s.”

      “Should I announce you?”

      Noah had a standing rule that his family was always welcome. Grace was in no way a blood relative, but as his grandmother’s personal secretary, Noah granted her the same importance. She’d known Noah for three years. She’d loved him just about that long.

      Not that she would ever tell anyone, especially not Noah.

      “No, I’ll go on up. But thanks.”

      The doorman shook his head as she turned away, probably thinking she had less sense than a turkey to go running through the stormy weather. But she simply hadn’t possessed the patience to wait in her car for a cab. A little rain wouldn’t melt her, and since hearing what Agatha had done yesterday, how she’d treated Noah because of the breakup, Grace had been filled with a driving urgency to reach him, to let him know that at least one person still…what? Still believed in him, still trusted in his innate honor?

      The elevator moved so slowly, Grace couldn’t stop tapping her foot, which jiggled drips of rainwater from her body onto the elevator floor. She now stood in a puddle.

      The second the doors opened, she leaped out, then had to leap back in when she realized it was the wrong floor. The woman getting on the elevator gave her a funny look but said nothing, even when she had to step around the soggy carpeting.

      Grace chewed her thumbnail. It was a disgusting habit—as Agatha had often told her—but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

      This time she checked the floor before getting off. Every step she took caused her feet to squish inside her pumps and left damp tracks across the carpeting. When she reached Noah’s door, she drew a deep breath to fortify herself, pushed her long, wet hair behind her ears, and rapped sharply.

      Nothing.

      She knocked again, and even pushed the doorbell a few times, but still there was no answer. Refusing to give up, Grace tried the door and found it unlocked. She crept inside, calling out, “Noah?” but no one answered. And then she heard voices coming from the balcony.

      Grace hurried through the apartment, noticing empty beer bottles everywhere, as well as pizza boxes and chip bags thrown about. A mostly empty, dried-up container of sour-cream-and-chive dip was half tucked into the sofa cushions.

      The cleaning lady would have a fit.

      Grace wondered if Noah had thrown a party, if he had actually celebrated the breakup. It seemed unlikely. For many years now everyone had expected him and Kara to marry and then be blissfully happy in their picture-perfect lives. The breakup had naturally thrown everyone for a loop, Grace especially.

      She finally located him.

      Noah sat on the covered balcony with his brother, and together they made such an impressive sight they stole Grace’s breath. Oh boy, there were some outstanding genes running through those two. No wonder Agatha had put her pride aside and sought out her deceased son’s illegitimate offspring. Noah was a man to make anyone proud.

      The two brothers were talking, oblivious to Grace’s presence, and she studied them. Their large, bare feet were propped on the edge of the railing, getting rained on. Both of them lounged back in chairs, Ben with his tilted on its back legs.

      Noah had a long-necked bottle of beer dangling between his fingers, his other hand resting limply on his hard abdomen. He wore faded jeans, a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, and nothing else. His silky, coal-black hair was rumpled, his face shadowed with beard stubble. His entire body bespoke weariness.

      He was the sexiest, most appealing man she’d ever known.

      Even from where Grace stood, she could see the lush length of Noah’s sooty lashes, sinfully long, too extravagant for a man. They lent a striking contrast to an otherwise hard-edged presence.

      Grace sighed.

      “To hell with all of ’em,” Ben said. His words were slurred and thick and angry.

      Grace tucked in her chin. Uh-oh. Ben sounded…drunk. Really drunk.

      Like Noah, he seldom imbibed, so this must be a…commiseration-drinking binge? She didn’t really know men well enough to know what their habits might be, but it seemed feasible.

      She looked behind her, and this time counted the empty beer bottles littering the apartment. Oh Lord!