Chapter 20
Grace
Noah props himself against a table in the middle of the open concept office, arms folded over his chest, ankles crossed. “It’s been a strange few weeks,” he says, addressing the dozen staff present, although I suspect the comment is directed at me. “The Moncrief account has been particularly challenging, and I don’t see that changing. I’m afraid Rory was involved in a car accident yesterday morning.”
I sit up a little straighter. “Is he OK?”
Noah looks surprised that I hadn’t heard. “Minor cuts and bruises apparently.”
Why didn’t Duke tell me? I know we were barely civil with each other yesterday, but he should have said something. I can only imagine how triggering it would have been after what happened with Ewan.
“Rory’s taking a few days off,” Noah continues, “but it shouldn’t affect our ongoing projects. Unlike losing an architect.”
“Do we know when Olly will be back from Alaska?”asks Petra, the young architect who’s been tasked with covering some of his work.
Noah rolls his lips. He’s looking at everyone but me. “I can’t answer that until we know exactly what he’s there to do. Duke was vague about the emergency, and Olly’s only just got off the plane. We’ll know more in the next day or two, but I’m hoping he’s allowed to return safely to us soon.”
I press a hand to my cheek and feel the burn. I’d thought Duke had been joking about sending Olly to Alaska. I was already feeling bad about using him as a pawn. Olly’s a genuinely nice guy. A bit of a man-whore by his own admission, which was why it was easy enough to set up a last-minute date, but still. He’s been sent to the back of beyond because of me.
I should be angry with Duke. Iamangry with him, but I’m feeling so many other things as well. I’m worried about how he’s dealing with my rejection, and Rory’s accident too. I’m still annoyed that he’d cleared an entire hotel bar because he didn’t want to be seen in public with me, but he’d done it so he could kiss me. And to tell me he loves me. Another goddamn woman is wearing his ring, but Duke Moncrief loves me. How fucked up is my life? And how fucked up is Duke’s?
The one thing I am clear about is that leaving the hotel last night was the right thing to do. Max had offered to give me a ride home, but I’d already booked an Uber. It had arrived promptly, but before I could reach it, the concierge had told the driver it had been cancelled.
I’d turned on Max, who was obviously behind the move. “Fine, I’ll walk home.”
I was preparing to run again, but Max’s horrified expression made me stall. “Please, don’t,” he said. “I’m already in trouble for even suggesting I let you get an Uber.”
I’m not sure if it was his puppy-dog eyes or the fading burn on his cheek that made me give in. I’d scowled at him as he led me to the waiting car. “You were never going to get into trouble with Duke,” I said as Max opened the door for me.
“Normally I’d agree, but not where you’re concerned,” he replied. I was slipping into the passenger seat when he added. “He loves you.”
“He has a funny way of showing it.”
“No, Grace, he has a reckless way of showing it,” Max replied and his pained expression sent a chill down my spine. “He loves you more than life itself.”
I knew that, and had almost said it back to Duke. But I didn’t want to breathe life into those words if I was going to ultimately lose him. My heart couldn’t bear it.
“Is he going to be OK?” I asked.
“I’m too old to pretend life holds any guarantees, but I do know he’s never going to stop putting other people’s needs in front of his own. That’s just who he is.”
The worry in Max’s eyes still haunts me as I sit through the rest of Noah’s update and pretend I’m not the root cause of all the fires my boss is currently fighting. I’m the reason Duke took over the Brimstage project, and why Noah had no say in where my office base should be, what meetings I should attend, and who has been allowed to work with me.
I’m just surprised Duke hasn’t sent another decree demanding that I return to the satellite office at the Excelsior, or that I accept his meeting requests. Except there haven’t been any new requests since we met last night. Duke is staying true to his word.
When Noah retreats to his office and everyone else gets back to work, I stare at my keyboard, fingers poised. I want to send Duke an email. I want to know he’s OK, and Iwant him to know I still care. But the reason I can’t put my feelings in writing is the reason I shouldn’t speak to him at all. Katarina.
We’ve talked about waiting. We’ve made promises about not kissing, or touching, but we’ve stepped over nearly every line we’ve drawn. We could have stepped over another one last night, and I’d been so damn tempted. The way he kissed me in the bar had almost been my undoing. Almost.
Leaning over my desk, I drop my head into my hands at the same time I squeeze my thighs together. My body doesn’t just remember him, every fiber of my being longs for him. I miss the weight of him on top of me, the sound of his skin slapping against mine, the brush of his sharp breaths against my cheek, my ear, my neck as he fills me. Over and over.
The release I could have enjoyed yesterday coils in my belly, tormenting me. Or am I tormenting myself? I could go to him right now and–
A hush descends over the office that makes my heart skip a beat. It’s as if no one dares to breathe, and there’s only one person I know whose presence can have that effect.
A shadow falls across my desk, but I don’t dare look up while my cheeks are still flushed. Duke will know I was thinking about him.
I take a steadying breath, but instead of the scent of citrus and cedar, it’s a woman’s perfume that assaults my senses with all the force of a Russian nuclear missile.
