Restoring Grace (43 page)

It was only after a huge effort of concentration that she
managed to wonder about Demi, Grace
and Flynn.

*

Grace woke, but didn't
open her eyes, aware that she was
naked and that
there was someone else in her bed. For a nanosecond she was confused. Was it
Edward? Then she realised it couldn't possibly be Edward, not only because
he'd
left her, over two years ago now, but because there was a hand on her shoulder,
and she and Edward had always slept in bed together without touching.

Flynn. It wasn't that
Grace's heart sank, exactly, but the
feeling of 'what have I done?'
flooded over her. He had
been so kind, so
supportive, so rock-like over Demi. And
he'd given them the Rayburn.
He'd become a friend.
Sleeping with him
might have ruined all that, and
although he'd unnerved her to begin with
she definitely didn't want to lose him.

She knew she ought to get
up and check on Demi, but
that would
involve opening her eyes and opening her
eyes
would force her to deal with the situation in which she found herself: in bed
with Flynn.

Why had she invited him into her bedroom? He
would not have crossed the threshold if she hadn't asked him,
she knew that. He wouldn't have made her feel
obliged
to do so out of gratitude. But was that the reason? Was
she just grateful for him being her rock when she
needed
^s
omeone to rely on?
She
allowed her mind to shift from the philosophical
to the physical and
realised she was content. Her body,
though a
little stiff in places, knew it had definitely had
a good time. She smiled and then felt foolish,
lying in
bed smirking while Flynn snored gently beside her. She
had had sex. And what sex! With this realisation,
and her
acceptance of what had
happened to her, she discovered why she had invited Flynn into her bed. She had
wanted
him, and for very good reason.

After Edward left her,
Grace had felt for a long time
that she would never have sex again,
would never want
to have sex again. Finding
herself in Flynn's arms,
wanting to go to bed with him very much, had
been a surprise and a relief. It had meant she was normal, she wasn't a
heartbroken Ice Queen, destined to lie alone in her double bed for the rest of
her empty life.

But now he was still
there, in her double bed, with their
relationship altered for ever.

What exactly had their
relationship been before? It was
hard to say.
It seemed they hardly even knew each other
before he arrived on the doorstep yesterday - aeons ago
- for
the food and wine evening. But in the hours that
followed they'd developed from new friends to lovers,
and while
they had been long, stress-filled hours, it was still a short time to make the
jump from one thing to another. There should, by rights, have been a bit of
courting in between.

Flynn stirred, turned over, and pinned her to
the bed with his arm just as she'd been contemplating slipping out. She shifted
a little, testing to see if she could creep out from under without him
noticing.

‘
Where are
you running off to?' he murmured huskily.
'I'm not running! I want to
check on Demi, that's all.'
He kissed her.
'I'll check on Demi. You stay here. I have
plans.'

‘
She's my responsibility!'

‘
I'm perfectly capable of seeing if she's OK. Possibly
more capable than you.’

She closed her eyes as he
got out of bed and she heard
him pulling on his trousers. She
didn't want to see him
naked, it might
confuse her. She shouldn't have let him go,
of course, but it seemed pointless to argue. Besides, while
he was seeing Demi, she could get up, go
downstairs, start
washing up. But
instead, she stretched and gave her pillow
a thump, grateful to Edward
who had insisted on their bedding all being the finest cotton and goose down.
She
tried to feel guilty about making love
to Flynn in what had
been her and Edward's bed, but she couldn't. It was
her
bed now, and she could do what she
liked in it. Right now
it was very pleasant to lie in the slightly
rumpled cotton
sheets and close her eyes.
While in many ways it had been
a long night, not much time had been
spent in bed, and precious little of that had been spent in sleep.

Flynn came back. 'She's
fine. She's had a drink of water,
and has gone
back to sleep. She's dreadfully embarrassed
about
what happened.'

‘So am I.'

‘Well, it was hardly your fault.' He slid off
his trousers
and got back into bed with a
bounce. 'You didn't give
her the wretched drugs.'

‘I didn't mean that.’

He turned and propped himself up on his elbow.
He seemed very tanned and very sexy and she realised she hadn't really seen him
last night, and he hadn't really
seen her.
In a fit of belated modesty, she checked that the
duvet covered her
breasts.

He noticed her gesture.
'You're embarrassed about
what happened between us?’

She nodded.

‘Why?'

‘Because
! Because . . . I don't
know you very well. We're
not going out or anything . .

‘Did it seem wrong?' He looked into her eyes
intently and spoke softly.

‘Not at the time, no.'

‘But now it does?’

Grace bit her lip,
uncertain how, precisely, she felt. 'Not
wrong,
exactly, just unexpected. Too soon, possibly.'

‘You're not sure you wanted to make love yet?’

She shook her head, still
confused. 'At all! If you'd
asked me say, yesterday morning, if
I had any intention of sleeping with you, I would have laughed.'

‘Oh?' He sounded offended.

‘
Not because
there's anything wrong with you! Nothing
at all! But I didn't think we were that close, just as friends,
even.
I was just someone who fed your cat.’

His eyebrow went up a millimetre and his voice
was softer and huskier than ever. 'You were never someone who just fed my cat.’

Grace swallowed. He'd just made cat-feeding
seem incredibly sexy. 'Well, good.'

‘You've been in my mind constantly, almost from
the first moment we met.’

Grace frowned. 'Have I? Why?'

‘
You're
such an eejit. Why do you think I asked you to
feed the damn cat in the
first place?'

‘I don't know! So it wouldn't starve to death?'

‘
No. My
cleaning lady is always happy to feed her. I did it to get close to you. It was
for the same reason I
gave you the Rayburn.' He frowned slightly.
'Although there were humanitarian reasons for that as well.'

‘But why?'

‘Are you really so unself-aware? You're a very
attractive woman and I – like very attractive women.’

‘Margaret's a very attractive woman.'

‘She is, but in a different way.'

‘Sara Cavendish thinks you're attractive, too.'

‘Are we going to waste our entire morning in
bed together discussing women who think I'm attractive? Because I should warn
you, there are lots of them you
don't know
about, and if I have to tell you about them'
– he kissed her, and brushed her hair back from her face
– 'we
could be here for hours.'

‘You're so vain,' she breathed, as his fingers
moved from her naked shoulder to her breast. Then she sighed deeply, and he
pulled away the duvet.

‘
And you're so beautiful.’

She should have argued,
but he started kissing her and
she forgot.

Grace finally got down into the kitchen at
ten-thirty.
There had been no point in
going down earlier, Flynn had
insisted, because there would have been no
hot water to do the washing up, as it was past nine before Grace remembered to
put the immersion heater on.

‘If I can't get the Rayburn plumbed in myself,'
said Flynn. 'I'll get a friend to do it. This situation is ridiculous.’

They had both had rather
small, chilly, separate baths,
and Flynn had obviously wanted
something deeper and hotter that involved both of them at once.

‘
We can boil
kettles. What would you like for break
fast? I'm afraid the bacon is all
gone, but there are still some eggs. And leftover puddings.'

‘
Do you
want bacon? I could go and get some, and the
Saturday papers.
Croissants, possibly?’

Grace smiled. It was such
a cosy idea: she loved it; but
it seemed more appropriate for city
life than for people buried deep in the country. 'Where would you go for
croissants?’

He named the nearest
out-of-town hypermarket, which
was twenty miles away.

‘You could go if you want, but I'd better stay
here for
Demi. She was still asleep when I
looked last, but I don't
want her waking up and finding the house
empty.'

‘
Better a
stale loaf where love is, than orange juice and
croissants and hatred
therewith,' said Flynn, hunting in the bread bin.

‘What are you talking about?' Grace was
clearing the end of the table of their previous breakfast.

‘Just misquoting one of my favourite bits out
of the Bible, particularly appropriate for my ex-wife and me,
where we always had food of the very highest
quality
but never an appetite.'

‘So what's the quote?’

"Better is a dinner
of herbs where love is, than a stalled
ox and
hatred therewith.’

Grace blushed at the word
'love', so unsure was she of
her own
feelings. She wiped the table and found two
clean plates and mugs, no mean feat in the circumstances,
wondering how she felt about Flynn, who was now
washing
up glasses. Did she love him? She couldn't, it
was far too soon, but if she didn't, what the hell had she
been
doing going to bed with him! She sighed, hunting out some butter and marmalade.
What was love? Was it the obsessive, driven feeling she
had had for Edward, that took up every atom of thought,
every
inch of her body? Or could it be gentler, kinder
emotion, that crept up slowly from behind and embraced
you?
Now was definitely not the time to start
philosophising.
Flynn needed feeding.

‘You're always washing up,' she said, after
they had
enjoyed a companionably inelegant
breakfast of toast and
marmalade, and Flynn took the plates over to the
side. 'You wanted to do it after the wine tasting.' She frowned
a little, wondering if perhaps she shouldn't have
brought
up that sticky first meeting. 'Although you were a bit prickly,'
she added, remembering how he hadn't been at
all
like the stereotyped Irishman, and that she'd thought
of him as the Spy.

‘Prickly! You should talk! You were a veritable
Pear of Prickliness!’

She giggled. 'That is either the most
ridiculous thing
I've ever heard, or rather
poetic. I can't decide.’

‘
Poetic, definitely. It's nothing more than the truth. You
certainly put Mrs Tiggy-winkle into the shade.’

‘
I just felt a bit unsettled by - everything,' she explained.
'I
hadn't had a man in my kitchen who wasn't some sort of workman for years. And
you looked at me.'