Nicole Helm - Too Close to Resist

She frowned at his assessment. “If I wanted to stand out I’d get one on my neck or get a sleeve of them. I got mine because— Nope. No way, you’re not turning this around on me. You’re going to tell me one way or another.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re pushy and obnoxious?”

She grinned, her pretty face brightening with humor. “I live for those kind of compliments.”

Kyle let out a breath. “It’s a compass.”

Grace furrowed her brow. “A compass? Like north, east, west, south?”

“Yes.”

“Why a compass?”

He wasn’t going into this. Not with her. “I don’t know. I was sixteen with a fake ID. I didn’t put a lot of thought into it.” Liar.

“Of course you did.” She shook her head so the tips of her rainbow-colored hair bounced out from under the layer of brown. “If you didn’t care what it was, you would have gotten something stupid like barbed wire around your arm or Bugs Bunny on your calf. But you got a compass on your shoulder. It means something.”

Kyle leaned back against the countertop, gripped it with his hands. He should walk away. He sure as hell shouldn’t tell her why he’d gotten it. Why he kept it. It was none of her business and he was all too afraid it would be another notch in the already too-long “things we have in common” list.

“Let me see it,” she demanded, pushing the bucket of water and mop to the edge of the kitchen. She leaned the mop against the wall, ignoring the little puddle she’d made when water sloshed over the side.

When she started walking toward him, he held out a hand. “Stop right there.”

“Just let me see it.” She batted her eyes. “Pretty please.”

It took every ounce of effort not to smile at her. “Go to hell.”

She snorted. “I’m beginning to think you’re not as stuffy as you pretend.”

Any threat of a smile vanished. “Yes, I am.”

She cocked her head. “If you don’t show it to me, it’s going to be my mission to see it. Which means I might have to jump in on you when you’re in the shower.” She waggled her eyebrows and grinned as though she might even enjoy it.

Either he was going to have to show her or things were going to get strange, and at the moment showing her a small piece of himself seemed much better than delving into that strange.

Doing his best to scowl, Kyle pulled the collar of his shirt over his shoulder so the tattoo was visible. “There. Happy? Can you leave me alone now?”

She most certainly didn’t leave him alone. Instead, she touched the tattoo lightly, with just the tip of her index finger, but he felt the force of that touch everywhere. A punch of awareness that had no business being associated with someone like Grace.

“I like it.”

“Fantastic.” His voice lacked the biting edge of sarcasm he was going for.

She traced the outline of the intersecting lines and he was painfully aware the simplest, most innocent touch from Grace was giving him an erection. Since he was no longer sixteen, it pissed him off. “Do you mind?”

“So why the compass?” She finally withdrew her hand, and his heated skin managed to cool enough that he could think rationally.

“What do you care, Grace?”

Her eyes met his, soulful and honest. “I don’t know. I think there’s more to you than you let on. You were nice to me last night. I think...” She tilted her head. “I think there might actually be someone I’d like to get to know under all that surface stuff.”

He swallowed down the jolt of emotion. It was because she was curious, because it was a mystery, things Grace never let go. It had nothing to do with him. Surface or under the surface. People didn’t care about him enough to get to know him. That was how he preferred it. Life wasn’t messy that way.

“Just give me one reason why you chose a compass and I’ll stop annoying you.” She poked him in the stomach, a friendly jab. Certainly not a lover’s caress. His dick didn’t seem to know the difference.

If he told her, she’d go away, and right now he wanted that more than his next breath. “To remind me to follow true north.”

She frowned. “What does that mean?”

“You asked for one reason. That was it. Good night, Grace.” He turned and walked out of the kitchen, using every ounce of control not to break into a run. Grace was requiring a lot of self-control on his part.

CHAPTER FOUR

GRACE STOOD IN front of her easel, frowning. Somehow the idea of painting the river below on a sunny day had morphed into something dark and violent.

She’d had another nightmare last night. Was it a nightmare when you were replaying an actual moment in your life? When it was just reliving a night that was supposed to be a simple third date but had turned into the culminating moment of the next seven years?

Grace squeezed her eyes shut. Seven years. This wasn’t supposed to keep happening. At this rate, she’d have to go back to therapy, and she really didn’t want to do that. Therapy had been great for her. It had helped her leave the house again and trust people again. Well, mostly. It had worked.

If she went back, it would be admitting defeat. Barry would win. If she had to have someone help her out of this pit of fear again, seven years were wasted.

She didn’t want to remember, but the dream, the actual memory, crept back into her mind, infiltrated all those defenses she worked so hard at. Even the paintbrush in her hand and desperate pleas of her mind couldn’t shake it away.

You think you can break up with me?

She could still remember, dream or no dream, the exact sound of Barry’s voice when he’d said those words. Cold. Detached. Creepy because he’d been so absolutely incredulous. As if it were so unheard of. He was in disbelief.

And then he’d gotten angry. Quickly. His expression had gone from wide-eyed incredulity to squinty-eyed fury.

You don’t get to break up with me, Grace. I’m in charge here.

The first blow had hit her face before she could even brace for it. It had been so unexpected, so out of the realm of her expectations she couldn’t even flinch away. His fist had just plowed into her face.

Pain and shock and fear. So much damn fear. Maybe she’d held up her arms trying to protect herself. Maybe she’d tried to fight back. The rest was really a blur. His fists. Pain. Crying. Yes, she’d definitely started crying because she didn’t know what to do, or how to stop it.

Then blackness descended. She couldn’t see, she could barely breathe. Every inch of her body was on fire with a sharp, blinding pain. Something connected with her rib cage, sending another shock wave of agony through her body.

Nausea coated her stomach and she could feel the sickness rising, but she couldn’t move her head, couldn’t speak, couldn’t cry. Both in the memory and in the present, she was paralyzed with the fear and pain.

Suddenly the pain left, replaced by a shocking cold nothing. You’re dead, her mind said matter-of-factly, and for a moment she was glad. So glad the pain was over. What did it matter if she was dead?

But other people’s voices began to silence her own. Don’t leave us, Gracie. Mom’s voice. We love you, Gracie. Dad’s voice. Fight. Fight for it. We need you. Jacob’s voice.

The pain rushed back, so quickly she couldn’t breathe, but when she did manage a strangled breath the pain was soothed by their words of love. It was what had brought her back, those words. She knew that for sure. And there was a slight comfort in that, but it was a kind of comfort that had her sobbing in the here and now.

She could hear the fear in their voices, and she hated being part of the reason they’d been afraid. Hated that Barry had given them this kind of gut clenching pain that seven years hadn’t erased.