The Rules According to Gracie (5 page)

“I
have
set myself up for failure.”

Emmaline nudged her with a bony elbow. “You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t try, at the very least.”

“Where did all this carpe diem advice come from?” Gracie gave her sister a squeeze. Emmaline was usually the voice of conservative reason, the sister more likely to fulfil Cecilia Greene’s wishes. For years Gracie had seen her older sister as a parrot of their mother, but lately she seemed to be distancing herself.

“I’m realizing that just because something pleases Mother doesn’t mean it’s right.” A strange undercurrent of emotion flickered in her eyes. “I guess what I’m saying is sometimes you have to trust your instincts instead of your head. Instead of your rules.”

Gracie laid a hand on her sister’s arm. “Is everything okay, Em?”

“Yes, of course.” The bright smile was immediately back in place. “I think you should go for it, that’s all.”

Gracie glanced out to the dining table where her mother sat. Cecilia had folded her hands in front of her, a frown pulling her thin lips into a harsh line and her cold blue eyes narrowed at something in the distance. She knew her mother loved her and Emmaline deep down… Unfortunately these days it felt so deep down that the love might not ever see the light of day again.

“You’re responsible for your own happiness,” Emmaline said, talking almost to herself. “Remember that.”

Gracie nodded.

“I think it’s time for some cake.” Emmaline picked up the cake platter and started towards the dining room.

“I have to go.” Gracie sighed. “This was enough family drama for one day.”

Emmaline frowned. “Don’t worry about settling down or about pleasing Mother. You need to please
yourself.
Promise?”

Gracie forced a smile and gave her sister a kiss on the cheek. Emmaline made it all sound so easy but Gracie knew she’d married to keep their mother happy. She hadn’t taken her own advice.

Maybe she wants you to avoid years of being married to someone chosen for the wrong reasons?

After feigning a problem at the office, Gracie caught the tram to the city. She’d intended to go home, but when
First
came into view she experienced the familiar gravitational pull. Des had called her a few days ago, but she’d let it go to voicemail and then she’d listened to it over and over to hear the bone-tingling baritone of his voice.

Gracie,
he’d said.
I won’t apologize for kissing you because I don’t regret it. But I can’t stand not talking to you. Please call me.

She had no idea what to say to him—she couldn’t possibly tell him that she’d woken in the middle of each night, hot with the memory of his kiss. She didn’t regret it either, and that was exactly the reason she hadn’t called him back.

The tram whooshed down the street. She hesitated before jumping up at the last minute to yank the signal chain. A bell
ding
ed and the tram slowed to a stop.

“You’re a mess,” she muttered, stepping off the tram.

The sun beat down overhead.
First
looked full, not unusual for a Saturday afternoon, but this time it made her think twice about going inside. She could see Des through a huge window that ran along the length of the restaurant.

Her heart thudded as she hovered at the threshold. She was in her weekend clothes, her hair in a boring bun and her face bare. If she wanted to leave a positive impression on Des this probably wasn’t the way to go about it.

But she couldn’t leave. Somehow, she’d crossed a line and something told her there was no going back.

You don’t have to do this. You can walk away. You don’t have to come here ever again.

The thought of not returning to
First
and seeing Des again made her stomach plummet. Emmaline’s words swirled in her mind:
don’t worry about settling down…you need to please yourself.

If she was being honest with herself, none of the dates she’d been on in the last year had pleased her. The guys were stuffy, boring. There was no
zing.
No tingle of anticipation, just an overwhelming feeling of
here we go again
. Wasn’t it about time she did something for herself? Hadn’t she earned it?

Tomorrow she could go back to being rule-abiding, responsible, good-girl Gracie. Tonight she wanted to be bad. She wanted to break the rules and throw everything she knew out the window.

Tonight she wanted Des.

Chapter Five

He had to keep his hands busy, and serving drinks at
First
on a Saturday afternoon was the ticket. If he didn’t distract himself, he was at severe risk of calling Gracie again and leaving another gruff, pointless voicemail. Not that it mattered—she hadn’t returned the first one, so why would she return a second?

Reaching for a bottle of tequila, Des poured a row of five shots for a group of girls in matching pink T-shirts. The bachelorette party was already looking messy, and one of the girls winked suggestively at him as he slid the shots over to their side of the bar. The other men ogled the girls in their tighter-than-tight T-shirts and matching skin-tight jeans, but all he could think was how none of them held a candle to Gracie.

“Not your type?” Paul took a not-so-subtle look at the girls.

Des walked over to the shelves where the spirits were housed and shook his head. “Not my type
at all
.”

“Then you won’t mind if I strike up a conversation with the blond one?” Paul was a ladies man, and he liked his ladies forward and fair-haired. Lucky for him,
First
was full of his type over the weekend.

“Whatever you do on your own time is up to you, bud, but you’re on the clock, so don’t even think about it.”

“You’re such a buzz kill.” Paul flipped a bottle of vodka and poured a shot into the cocktail shaker in front of him.

Des often wondered how he and Paul were related—they were chalk and cheese, despite having identical mops of dark hair, darker eyes, and a shared affinity for home cooked Italian food. The younger Chapman brother was his opposite in almost every way—Paul thrived on fast and frequent rotations of the women in his life. He avoided responsibility and seemed quite content to float through life without ambition. He was a good person at the heart of it all, but Des often found himself wishing his brother would grow up and take charge of his life.

“I’m running a business, Paul.” He rearranged the bottles that had been carelessly stacked out of order. “Not a personal pick-up service.”

“Hey, don’t take your frustrations out on me.” Paul said, vigorously shaking the cocktail shaker and putting on a show for the ladies sitting at the bar. “Not my fault you refuse to get laid.”

“Not all of us have the desire to fuck anything that moves.”

Paul put his palm to his chest. “That hurts. You know I only go for blondes.” He opened the cocktail shaker and poured the pink milky liquid into two tulip-shaped glasses. He pressed a wedge of lime onto the rim of each glass and signalled to a waiter.

“Seriously, Des, this is becoming a problem. The staff are tiptoeing around you because you’re such a cranky bastard right now.” Paul clapped a hand on Des’s back. “Let me help you out. I’m sure one of those lovely ladies would be more than happy to help you let go of some of that negativity. You can have the brunette…or the redhead. Or both.”

“I’m not interested.” Des shrugged off his brother’s hand and continued to rearrange the spirit shelf.

“No, because you’re too hung up on that girl who brings all her dates here.” Paul rolled his eyes. “Can’t you see what’s wrong with that picture?”

“I’m not hung up on her.”

“Bullshit. Whenever she comes in you watch her like a hawk and get all moony when she finally gets rid of her guy.” Paul plucked an order from the bar and started working on the next round of cocktails. “It’s pathetic. If you like her, why don’t you take her out?”

Paul didn’t know about his trip to the market with Gracie, which was probably for the best. He wouldn’t understand something more complicated than a screw-and-dash. Paul kept his dalliances frequent and varied but brief above all else.

His younger brother had barely entered his twenties when Des’s engagement had fallen apart, and he had been there to ply Des with alcohol until he forgot. His brother was the one who’d helped him wallow, then pushed him to get back out into the dating field, and had supported his idea to open
First
. He might be the most irresponsible person Des knew, but his brother had stuck by him through a lot of crappy times.

Would he be asking Paul to do that all again if he kept chasing what he couldn’t have?

“It’s not that easy.”

“Yeah it is.” Paul nodded towards the bar. “She’s right there. Ask her out.”

Gracie hovered by the bar. She looked different; her olive skin was clear and glowing, her wild curls restrained into a neat bun on top of her head. There were no dangly earrings, no rose-colored lips, and she wore jeans and a simple white shirt. He’d
never
seen her in jeans before.

“I didn’t recognize you, Gracie.” He sauntered over, enjoying the way her cheeks flushed as he drank her in. The tension he’d been holding in his shoulders the last few days melted away, his chest loosened, and the world felt right again.

“I wanted to talk.” Her dark brows gathered. He got the feeling this was Gracie’s game face, though she still looked cute as hell.

“Shoot.”

“In private.”

Des nodded and motioned for her to come to the other end of the bar. He held the swing door open and let her into the serving area. She followed him to the office. The space felt even more cramped than usual with Gracie next to him; her glorious vanilla scent was intoxicating in the open air, let alone when they were confined in what was essentially a glorified cupboard.

He motioned for Gracie to take the office chair and he locked the door behind them. The last thing he wanted was anyone barging in when he finally had Gracie to himself. Leaning against the desk next to her, he said, “Talk to me.”

“I…” She took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize for the other night, and for not taking your call. I was still processing what happened.”

“The date?”

“Well, the kiss more specifically.” Her cheeks colored again, though this time the blush spread all the way down to the open collar of her white shirt. “And that I took your words out of context.”

“How so?”

“You said we could be ‘right for now.’ I assumed you viewed me as a one-night stand.”

Des nodded slowly, holding his tongue so she had her opportunity to get it all out.

“And,” she continued, “that was me jumping the gun. You never mentioned anything about sleeping together. You only invited me to your place. I don’t know why my mind went there and it was rude of me to say something like that.”

“Gracie.” He leaned forward and placed his hands on her shoulders, the heat of her skin simmering underneath the thin cotton. “I
did
invite you back to my place because I wanted to sleep with you.”

“Oh.” Her mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ and she fiddled with one of her pearl earrings.

Des leaned back, dropping his hands to his lap. “That doesn’t mean I think of you as a one-night stand. But it also doesn’t mean I’ve stopped fantasizing about getting you naked.”

“Oh.” She flamed brighter still, then lowered her eyes as she nodded her head slowly. “Well…at least you’re honest.”

“That I am.” He chuckled. “Perhaps you’re more innocent than I thought.”

“Why do you say that?” Her eyes snapped back up to his and she pursed her lips.

She looked prim as a society wife with her pearl earrings and white shirt. If it weren’t for the high gloss and spike heel of her black pumps, he’d have thought he was looking at another woman entirely.

“Call it a gut feeling.”

She dragged her lower lip between her teeth and Des averted his eyes. Without the wild hair, jangling jewellery, and sassy attitude, she looked younger, more vulnerable. He’d never once suspected she hid behind those things, but seeing her now was like witnessing her stripped back to her essence.

Protective urges flared within him, but he resisted…he had to. There was no way he’d take advantage of a moment of her weakness or insecurity. He certainly wouldn’t start something unless she gave him the okay, even if he was about to spontaneously combust. He gripped the hard edge of the desk, anchoring himself.

“Looks like you’ve figured me out,” she said, her tone even and guarded. “I’m Gracie Greene: conservative, innocent, and inexperienced. My mother is desperate to marry me off because she thinks I’m going to turn into a spinster and all she cares about is amassing grandchildren. I date guys who are wrong for me, and the one guy I do have a connection with has realized what a fraud I am.”

The sting in her words pierced Des’s chest. She sounded downtrodden, as though she expected dismissal.

“You’re not a fraud.” Des reached for her hands and pulled her up so she stood between his legs. “Don’t let your family get into your head, you’re young—there’s nothing wrong with being single.”

“The sad thing is, I don’t want to be single, but as soon as I bring someone home, Mother will be calling the wedding planner and picking out strollers.”

“Then don’t bring anyone home.” He sighed. “Gracie, it’s
your
life. You make the decisions, you call the shots, and you can tell her how it is.”

“It’s not that easy.” She shook her head.

“Yeah, it is.” He cupped her face with both hands. “It’s about time you started doing things for you.”

She closed her eyes and stepped closer to him, until her slender hips nestled right between his thighs. He hardened and cursed internally. It took every ounce of restraint not to tear open her shirt. He wanted to hear the
ping
ing of her buttons as they flew across the room. He wanted to bury his face in that flawless satin skin of hers. But he sat still, daring only for a shallow breath lest he inadvertently rub against her.

“Did you miss the part where I said you were the one guy I had a connection with?” She speared him with one soul-searching look. A shy smile curved her lips at the corners.

“You didn’t explicitly say you were referring to me,” he teased. Her dark gaze scorched him, unblinking as she waited for him. “I didn’t miss it.”

How could he have missed something like that? His cock ached to be inside her. He’d thought of nothing else but holding her tight while he pleasured her over and over. It kept him awake each night, until he tossed and turned himself to sleep.

“What if I said I wanted to explore that connection a little further?”

God help him, he was about to break. “How?”

“With my hands,” she said, running her palms up his thighs towards the section where his erection was clearly pressing against his jeans. His mind swam as her fingertips skated near the spot he wanted her to touch most.

“With my mouth.” She leaned forward and pressed her sweet lips to his neck.

Fire shot through his system, his neck heated by her kiss. He wasn’t going to be able to hold back much longer. Her vanilla perfume and the subtle scent of shampoo in her hair combined to assault his senses.

“With my body.” Her lips brushed his ear. The whispered words pushed him to the edge. She wrapped her hands around his and brought them to her hips, her lashes fluttering as he gripped her tight.

“Last chance to back out,” he said, each word torture as he held himself in check.

She shook her head, and he reached for the ornate pin that held her bun in place. Slowly, as though prolonging their desire to the last possible moment, he slid the pin from her hair and watched it tumble in a glorious mane around her shoulders. He set the pin down and ran his hands up the back of her neck, threading his fingers through the layers that curled and kinked every which way.

He dipped a finger into the waistband of her jeans, tugging out the neatly tucked shirt and running a knuckle across the taut skin on her stomach. She gasped as his hand moved to her zipper, drawing it open and pushing the soft denim down her legs until she kicked off her heels and stepped out of the jeans.

He watched as she stood there, her thighs pressed together and her hands fluttering by her sides. “I want to remember this picture for a long time.”

A smile twitched on her lips. Her nails—lacquered red—caught the light of the lamp beside him.

“Don’t take too long. I might lose my nerve.” She held out her hand and he took it, running his thumb over each ridge of her knuckles in turn. He brought it to his lips and kissed her gently. “No one is going to come in here… Are they?”

“You’re safe with me, Gracie Greene.” He let go of her hand. “Undress for me.”

Her hands came to the shirt button at her collarbone. She carefully pushed the small pearl through its loop. With each button opened, an inch more of her was exposed. Watching the slow reveal of her breasts was the most on edge Des had ever been. His breathing was shallow, his pulse hammering a staccato beat in his chest.

As the refined cream lace of her bra was exposed, Des reached out to run his fingertips along the scalloped edge. “Beautiful.”

He’d never been so in awe of a woman before, yet there was something special about the way Gracie was showing herself to him. She was entrusting him with her body and it was something sacred.

With every ounce of control exhausted, Des pulled Gracie to him and sought her mouth with a burning intensity. As his tongue met hers she sighed against him, her hands threading through his hair and tugging. She tasted of peaches, her teeth nipping at his lower lip between kisses.

Hooking his fingers into the soft cup of her bra, he dragged the fabric down so her breast sprang free. It was perfect; round, pert, and more than enough to spill over his palm. He brushed the hard bud of her nipple with the pad of his thumb, delighting in the husky moan that escaped her lips. Her breath was hot against his cheek and he rolled the bud gently—tweaking, tugging, and flicking at a leisurely pace.

She pressed herself against him, grinding into his parted legs so that his erection strained harder against the fly of his jeans. He wanted her badly, he wanted to throw her down on his desk and make her cry out his name. Except there was the small problem of the hundred plus people on the other side of the office door.