early. Grace lived in a neatly kept townhome community. A small, wrought-iron bench sat to the left on her small porch and a Welcome wreath hung on the door. The scene felt welcoming in a way he associated only with Grace.
He heard her footsteps on some kind of hardwood or tile floor before the door opened. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail and wore a pair of baggy jeans and a cute pink T-shirt. He smiled to himself at the way she carefully concealed her curvy body.
He didn’t like that she hid that part of herself. She had the kind of body that he’d always dreamed of holding. And she was embarrassed by it. Her words—that she was made for sin—still lingered in the back of his mind.
Even if he left Grace with nothing other than the school, he’d first make her see herself through his eyes. To see that she was so much more than that long-ago image she had of herself.
“I just need to put on my shoes and change my purse. Do you want to come in for a drink?”
“That would be nice,” he said, catching a glimpse of her decor over her shoulder. The floor was a dark hardwood, probably oak. A coat tree stood to one side, hung with Grace’s coats, and a brightly colored scarf lay draped over a small table.
She led the way through her house. It was elegantly decorated with some homey touches—photos on the mantel, antiques in the hallways. As he glanced around her private sanctuary he realized he was seeing another layer of that private woman. The house suited her.
“I’ve got iced tea, beer and some white wine,” she said, opening the refrigerator and glancing inside it.
“Tea would be great.”
“It’s not sweet.”
“Perfect.” He realized she was nervous about having him here. And he liked that. She was always so confident of herself, moving through life as though nothing really bothered her, that he liked shaking her up.
She got a glass with ice and poured the tea. She set it on the breakfast bar and moved to the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the counter next to the refrigerator and watching him as if she wasn’t sure what to do with him.
“I’m not going to pounce on you now that we’re finally alone again.” Though he wanted to. His arms were empty without her in them. He wanted to kiss and caress her, to keep their relationship on a level that he easily understood, and fit the mold of what he expected from the women in his life, instead of dealing with all the other things that she brought to the surface. The longings for home and permanency that he’d thought he’d shed a long time ago.
“I didn’t think you would,” she said with a tart note in her voice.
“Then what’s up?” he asked, after taking a sip of his iced tea.
She shrugged. “My house is so much smaller than yours.”
He was coming to realize that one of Grace’s major hang-ups was the fact that she was conscious of what other people had and measured herself against them. Why would she think he’d be judging her by the size of her house?
If she knew the truth about him—the fact that he was a fake Bowen—she might not care that his house was bigger than hers. But he knew it was his money, the money he’d earned on his own, that provided the basis for his wealth. He’d taken his parents’ entire fortune and donated it to charities that he knew his mother would have supported.
“I like your house, Gracie. It’s a lot like you.”
“How?” she asked, wrapping her arms around her waist. He had the feeling that if he said the wrong thing she was going to retreat even further into herself and disappear completely.
“Well, this kitchen is bright and welcoming. Your house if filled with photos and antiques, stuff that has a lasting feeling to it.”
She nodded and her arms dropped to her sides. “I always wanted roots. When I was growing up, my father served in a lot of different communities in Texas. We were constantly moving.”
“And you’ve put them down.” He knew she had. The way she spoke about moving made it very clear exactly what she thought of it. He realized that, if there was going to be any real lasting relationship between the two of them, he’d have to change his ways. And he wondered if she would be worth staying for.
She nodded. “The antiques aren’t heirlooms. I bought them at auctions and estate sales.”
“That doesn’t change what they represent about you.”
She bit her lower lip. “I’ll be quick getting ready.”
“Take your time. Do you mind if I explore your house?”
She released a long breath. “Okay.”
Grace enjoyed having Adam in her house. He was the missing piece of the puzzle that she’d created of a picture-perfect life. He’d been the fantasy in her head for a long time, the man who’d make this little empty house feel more like home—and now he was here.
Her fear was that she only liked him because he did fill the hole in her life. That she wasn’t infatuated with a real man. It was complicated and she wanted it to be simple. For a relationship with Adam to be easier than it was.
She’d wasted some time when she’d gotten home, writing down her latest fantasy about him. In her dream relationship, he was completely enthralled with her and her body.
She finished getting ready and then went to find Adam. To her dismay, he was in her home office, sitting at her desk. She knew that her handwritten notes on “Adam’s Mistress” were there. The printed copy of her story was still at work, but she’d been editing a handwritten version of it earlier that day, adding in details from the night at his home.
She noticed he was studying something on her desk. For a second, she couldn’t breathe. She’d die if he’d found that story. In fact, tomorrow she was going to shred the thing at work and destroy this copy.
“You like Viper?” he asked.
For a minute it was as if he were speaking a different language. Then she realized her mouse pad featured the heavy metal alternative band.
“Yes. I do. Their music is different.”
“You know they’re one of my artists. Actually, the first band I signed.”
“I did know that,” she said. She’d checked them out originally because she knew that Adam liked them.
“I can get you an autograph,” he said, with one of those silly grins of his.
“Really. Then maybe I’ll like you.”
He laughed, a full-bodied one that made her feel good. “All the girls say that, but as soon as they get their autograph …”
“I’m not like other girls, Adam.”
He pushed to his feet and came around the front of her desk. It was a cheap one that she’d gotten at a scratch-and-dent sale. He leaned against the front of it, legs crossed at the ankles, arms resting on either side of his hips.
“I
