“But I’ve waited a year. I can wait a little longer,” he says. “I promise, I will fix this.”
Fool that I am, I believe him.
Chapter 13
Duke
The Chicago skyline is tinged pink as the rising sun fights against the grey of another fucking day in limbo. Grace and I didn’t speak much on the flight home last night, but it was still more than I spoke to my evil bitch of a fiancée. I’d messaged her to let her know I was back in Chicago, then promptly rejected her call. If her goons were intending on listening in, I didn’t have the stomach to play nice.
I’d convinced myself that Katarina was a product of her family’s twisted upbringing and that behind the snarls and sharp claws, there was a frightened girl who’d never been shown an ounce of kindness. I’d stupidly thought that deep down, she appreciated my help. And while I was never under the illusion that I should trust Katarina, her threat yesterday had been a sucker punch.
Maybe she is terrified of her uncle recalling her back to Russia. Maybe she hit out because she felt cornered. But maybe I’ve been giving her way more credit than she deserves. The real threat might be Vasili, but Katarina took way too much pleasure in suggesting she could hand himfresh ammunition. I may have to be her lapdog for the time being, but I’ll kill them all if they touch Grace.
“Was this such a good idea?” Grace asks.
She’s sitting in a visitors’ chair across from my desk. Her dark hair is pulled up in a clip with a few loose strands framing her beautiful face. Those deep brown eyes keep flicking between me and the notepad on her lap. Her smooth legs are crossed, one foot tapping in midair, making her emerald green dress slips further up her thigh.
“Duke?”
I recline back in my chair, adjusting my position to allow room for my thickening cock. “Sorry, was what such a good idea?”
She taps her pen against her lower lip then thinks better of it when my gaze goes to her mouth. I shift again. “Scheduling meetings this early,” she replies. “Your mind keeps wandering. I’m guessing you’re not a morning person.”
“Mornings I can do. Not touching you is the goddamn problem,” I grit out. Yeah, I’m still in a mood about being denied one single night with my woman.
After Katarina’s latest move, I’ve blocked out an hour in my calendar every morning just for Grace. It’s so early that even Ed hasn’t arrived and he’s going to be pissed when he finds out I’ve messed around with my calendar, but I need this. I need her.
Officially, this is a project update meeting, one Grace is taking very seriously judging by the discussion points scribbled on her notepad. I haven’t heard a single one. I can’t. Not while Grace and I have this no-touch agreement.
All I can do is devour her body with my eyes. Her dress has buttons all the way down the front. It’s tortuous.
“Eyes up here, Mr. Moncrief.”
Grace’s smile is an angel-soft pink in an otherwise grey world.
“Four weeks, two days until Katarina leaves,” I tell her.
“You’re counting down the days?”
“Aren’t you?” It’s meant to be a playful comment, but there’s a serious question behind it. Is she willing to wait knowing what she now knows about Katarina?
Grace’s face creases. “You’re counting down to things returning to normal, but for me, none of this is close to normal,” she says, gesturing around my office. “Even if I discount the small matter of the Bratva knowing my name, our lifestyles are vastly different. You didn’t have to think twice about buying a fancy-as-hell apartment for me, something I would have needed to save up for a lifetime to afford, and maybe not even then.”
“It’s the least I could do for luring you to Chicago.”
“Which makes me wonder what else you got up to.” She scowls. “You didn’t just force Cameron to sign the divorce papers, did you? You paid him off.”
I guess we’re having that conversation. “I did.”
Twin eyebrows rise in judgement. “Within hours of meeting me?”
When I think back to that night, my cock twitches. Every. Fucking. Time. I straighten up. Stay focused. “I’ll accept it was a little impulsive, but the money meant nothing to me and I knew the house was important to you.”
“You knew it was important,” she echoes, but instead of thanking me, Grace stabs her pen against her notepad. “You also knew the damn address, Duke! Why the hell didn’t you just turn up at my door one day and say, ‘Hey, Grace, by some chance, are you still as obsessed with me as I am with you? Would you like to go on a date? Because, you know, I’m not engagedyetto the spawn of Satan.”
I could laugh at her very fitting description of Katarina, but there’s pain stoking Grace’s anger. I tense, knowing my answer will frustrate her as much as it does me.
“I did turn up at your door,” I confess. “In fact, I parked on your street and stayed there all night. Not once, but twice.”
