Chapter 9

Grace

On Friday morning, I receive an unmarked package on my doorstep. For a long moment, I wonder if it's from Brad and if I should simply leave it where it sits and hope it gets rained on. But then I decide that I'm simply too curious, and I bring it inside to open it.

It's a gorgeous little black dress with a sleek silhouette, long sleeves to suit the cooling weather, and a pretty, off-the-shoulder design. I stare at it with my mouth agape, as Lucas bounces around me asking if he got a present too.

Brad didn't… No, surely

he didn't buy me this? Why would he? He's never bought me a thing, except for the obnoxious roses from the other day. This doesn't make any sense.

But then I notice a small card tumble from the luxurious material, and I pick it up to read the elegant, handwritten cursive script.

Dear Pookie Wookie Pumpkin Pie,

I saw this and thought it would look beautiful on you. But you're lovely no matter what you wear, so don't feel obliged if it's not to your liking.

Looking forward to seeing you tonight,

Oli.

I can't stop thinking about the dress for the rest of the day, or the man who went out of his way to buy it for me simply because he saw it and thought of me.

***

"Good grief, Gracie, I haven't seen you look this hot in years!"

Ella and I sit on the couch at her house, with Rho upstairs tucking the twins and Lucas into bed while I wait for Oli to come and pick me up for our fake date.

"I don't know," I mutter, tugging self-consciously at the hemline. "I haven't worn something this short since my twenties."

"You're stunning. Oli doesn't stand a chance."

I scrunch my nose. "Against what? It's his ex we're supposed to be impressing—or rather, annoying—tonight." After thinking about it all day, I've come to the conclusion that that's why he gave me this gorgeous outfit. So she'll take me seriously as his ‘date', and back off.

"Girl!" Ella throws up her hands. "As if you'd dress like that for another woman! You're wearing lipstick—I haven't seen you glammed up since Mr. Thailand left. Just admit it, you've put on the world's hottest outfit and decided to seduce our resident flirt."

"First of all, I didn't choose the dress," I mutter.

"What d'you mean?"

"Oli left it on my doorstep this morning."

A devious smile slides across her face. "I hope you don't think he goes around buying four-hundred-dollar gifts for just anybody."

My jaw drops. "How much?"

"I've seen that dress at Persephone's Boutique. I've been convincing myself not to buy it for a month now, despite my huge belly."

My mouth is still hanging open, not knowing how to process why he would spend that much on a fake gift for a fake relationship, when the doorbell rings.

"God, please don't make me stand up," Ella groans when I don't immediately move, since all I can think is four hundred dollars? on repeat. "Answer the door and head straight out, don't worry about us here. Rho has everything under control."

Shaking myself out of it, I grab my clutch and clip across the hardwood floors in my heels, which I'd only just run out to buy today. I haven't gone out in years, having been so worn-down working from home and looking after everyone, that I didn't even realize I no longer owned a pair of nice pumps until today.

"Alright Lucas, mommy is leaving now!" I call up the stairs, since I can still hear my son giggling and running around. "Goodnight!" And I swing open the door.

The first thing I notice is how much more suave Oli looks in a slick, black evening suit instead of the ones he wears to work. His broad shoulders are crisply defined against the barely-there light of the sunset behind him, his dark horns polished, and the slightly longer hair around them stylishly disheveled, as a perfect strand falls into his eyes. Tall, strong, and handsome, I can't help the way my eyes rake over his body as he stands before me with one hand in his pocket.

The second thing I notice is the way he's looking at me.

"Beautiful," he whispers as if he isn't even aware of it, his face a little slack as his eyes roam over me from head to toe. He's staring as if he's stumbled across a goddess, his eyes burning a trail along my curves that I can almost feel, lingering at my breasts and hips. It sends a shiver of heat through me. "You're even more stunning in that dress than I imagined."

My cheeks heat, and I fiddle with my clutch. I haven't felt beautiful in… god, I can't even remember.

"Horsey!" A patter of feet accompanies the happy squeal behind me, and I turn just in time to see Rho scoop Lucas up by the waist before he can run down the stairs. "Horsey, come tuck me in!"

"Sorry, little goblin," Oli replies smoothly, his face pulling into amusement as he turns his gaze to my son. "We have a reservation, but I'll take a raincheck on that."

"What's a remesation?"

"It means we're going to be late," I say as I step out.

"What's a raincheck?"

"It means I'll tuck you in another time," Oli replies, leaning past me to shut the door. "Goodnight!" I catch a glimpse of Rhokar hauling a wriggling Lucas over his shoulder, and then the door is shut and I'm standing before the most handsome man I've ever seen, feeling awkward for some reason.

I clear my throat. "Thank you for the dress, but you shouldn't ha—"

"It's my pleasure, Grace," he interrupts, and I let my words trail away as he smiles and offers me his hand. I should tell him this is too much, too expensive to spend on me for no reason. But the thing is, I've… I've never actually gotten a real gift from a man before. I haven't been in many relationships, and I was the one buying things for Brad. He-who-must-not-be-named never spent a dime on me either, he was always saving up—presumably to fund his relocation to Thailand. Something deep inside me, something girly and suppressed, is responding to the gesture. It feels so nice to know that he thought of me and went out of his way to buy me something beautiful, and…

I shake my head and move to walk around him. "I'll pay you back for the dress, honestly, this is—"

"You will do no such thing." He sidesteps to block my way. "You will accept my gift, take my hand, and allow me to escort you on our date."

Damn, he must really be set on sending a message to this Sera person. I eye his upturned palm suspiciously as I place my fingers in his grasp, and he tucks my hand into the crook of his elbow and walks us down the driveway.

"Is this your way of circumventing the ‘no touch' rule?" I ask, wriggling my fingers against his jacket. "By getting me to touch you first?"

"What do you take me for?"

"A cheat and a scoundrel."

His chuckles. "Well, nobody can say you aren't honest." I feel my awkward nerves melt away as we slip into our familiar, teasing back and forth.

"Honest to a fault, I'm told."

He gives me a considering look as he pulls out his car keys and opens the door for me. "I'm convinced you don't have any of those."

"What, faults?"

"Mm," he hums in assent, helping me lower into his Mercedes before shutting my door and heading around into the driver's seat.

I eye him as we begin to drive. "You must go to the dentist often." When he sends me an odd look, I elaborate. "All that ridiculous sweet talk that falls out of your mouth can't be good for your dental health."

He lets out a long, chesty laugh, shaking his head and sending me several more side-eyes. "Grace Davis, I'm beginning to suspect you haven't ever

dated somebody worthy of you, if you can't even handle a compliment."

"Uh-huh," I reply, layering as much sarcasm into my voice as I can, even as I can't help but smile in response to his warm laughter. "And I suppose you're the man to fill those shoes?"

His smile doesn't exactly slip, but something in his expression changes, and he remains silent for several long moments.

Finally, he quietly says, "I don't date."

I nod, since this basically just confirms my suspicions about him. "See, that's why I can't let you charm your way between my legs. You're a dangerous man, Oli. All the more so because I quite like you."

He doesn't respond, and I shuffle in my seat to look at the pretty lights as we turn a corner onto Main, which is lined with the quaintest old-fashioned lamp posts that flicker on in the dusk as I watch. I've already forgotten our conversation by the time we loop all the way around the street, which is essentially one big circle around Heartwood Grove, and take a side street which is lined with bars and restaurants. We park in the lot down the far end, and I unbuckle, but Oli remains in his seat, staring at his keys.

"What is it?"

He shakes his head and turns to me with a smile. "Nothing. Are you ready?"

I grin. "Let's go make a bitch jealous."

He takes us down the street to a jazz bar and lounge that already looks fairly full in the now dark, night air. It's getting chilly, and a prim, ewe-faced hostess leads us towards the sitting area in the courtyard section out front. When I wrap my arms around my midsection and sit, wondering if the long sleeves of the dress will be enough to keep me warm out here, Oli notices and asks for the outdoor heaters beside us to be turned on. In no time I'm leaning back in the comfortable two-seater wicker sofa, a cocktail in one hand and Oli sitting opposite me with a glass of whiskey. He's thrown his jacket over the back of his seat and has his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, exposing his strong forearms.

"So, what's the plan?" I ask, taking a delicious sip of my fancy pink whatever-it-is that I ordered, finally tearing my eyes from the soft down of fur that covers a few distinct veins on his arms. A girl's allowed to look, after all. "All you said was that it's my turn to help you with Sera. Did you stalk her and discover she had a reservation here, or am I making her jealous with my presence by way of the incredible gossip network this town has?"

"First of all," Oli says, lifting a finger, "I'm not trying to make her jealous. I don't want to hurt her, thank you. Just like you, I'm hoping to… discourage her persistence. Her office is one street over, and she comes here for after-work drinks on Fridays. I hope that if she sees me with another female, she'll better take the message that my words apparently don't give her."

"What actually happened between you two?" I ask, as I have another sip. "You don't date, so I'm going to guess that you two were supposed to be no-strings, but she started getting a bit stringy? So to speak?"

He leans back. "Am I that predicable?"

"Am I wrong?" I counter.

He sighs and props his glass on one knee. "She approached me," he murmurs, running his free hand over a horn. "Said she was looking for something purely physical, told me she hoped I understood what that meant. Of course, I told her I did. I don't date, I was very clear on that. Never will. I very specifically told her I wouldn't budge on that front. I don't want to settle down, have children, or do any of the things that being in a relationship eventually leads to."

"And she was all for it, until she suddenly wasn't." I finish for him, wondering vaguely what that must be like, hopping from one emotionally disconnected dalliance to another all your life. Something about that feels lonely to me.

He shrugs hopelessly. "I was very

clear, Grace. I have no desire to lead females on about my intentions. I don't want to use anyone, or hurt anyone. Not like my… well, anyway, it's a messy business. Manipulating someone into believing you want more than you do seems dirty. Whoever I might choose to spend time with, my intention is only ever to make them feel good."

I take another sip. "So noble."

He shrugs again and quirks a half smile. "I want to leave someone better off than they were when we met."

"But you still want to leave."

He blinks, his warm, dark eyes darting all across my face as if he's trying to read a book but doesn't quite know the language. Still, his silence is answer in itself. I take another sip of my cocktail, and fall back against my couch, too.

"See, I have the exact opposite problem to you," I sigh. "Apparently, I latch on to the first pretty idiot I see, give him my heart, and ride on through past thousands of red flags until there's nothing left of our relationship to burn. And even then…" This time I take a heartier gulp of my liquid candy, and belatedly realize I've finished my martini glass of deliciousness. "Brad had been cheating on me for a year, probably even longer, and I still didn't break it off when I found out. I clung on to us for nearly a month more, trying to make it work, believing him when he promised to be the man he was when I'd first met him, and what did he do? Continue cheating, that's what. I think somewhere in the back of my mind, I even knew and just refused to believe it." I dump my empty glass on the low table before us, and then dump my chin in my hand and my elbow on my knee, flicking absently at the loose waves of hair that fall over my shoulder.

I flag a waiter down for another cocktail, and Oli cocks his head as he watches me.

"Maybe you just need to try something different?"

I roll my eyes, but amusement starts trickling through me again. "Let me guess… you?"

"Well…" He smiles cheesily and stretches an arm out over his backrest. I allow him to steer us back to our lighter flirtations, because it's fun and I'm tired of feeling weighed down.

"Please," I scoff, chin still in my hand as I mirror his smile. "I'm sure your ego doesn't want to hear it, but you're just like the rest of them."

"First of all, how dare you," he mutters.

"A handsome, charming, sweet-talking fuckboy," I continue, feeling a bubble of mirth try to escape me at his affronted expression, as the waiter deposits another cocktail before me, and I take a sip. "Self-proclaimed, I might add, so don't go giving me that face!"

"I'm forty-nine years old," he huffs, "you can't call me a fuckboy . "

"Uh-huh…"

"Look, no matter what happens between us, I would never do to you,

or to anyone,

what that wet potato did." And I snort, because wet potato? Where the hell is he pulling these descriptors from? But his brows lower, and though there's still a hint of a smile on his lips, his eyes are turning serious.

"Okay fine, I'll bite," I say. "What did the ‘wet potato' do?"

"Lie," he says with certainty. "He lies to you every time he opens his mouth, I don't even need to know your history to know that. He lies, cheats, uses you—and arguably, even worse—doesn't see how incredible you are. He speaks to you as if he already owns you and isn't impressed with what he's got."

"Ouch," I whisper, because that's my last four years in a nutshell, and I allowed it. Like I always do .

Oli abruptly leans forward, resting both elbows on his spread knees. "I have never lied to you, and I never would. I'm an open book, Grace. I want you." His deep brown eyes are intense, and he places his tumbler on the low table between us with a quiet click. "You're incredibly beautiful, I itch to run my fingers over every inch of your gorgeous body. And you have a sharp mind and a tongue like a sledgehammer, which I find to be quite sexy, by the way."

"You like it when I insult you?" I raise my brows, trying to ignore the fluttering in my stomach at his words.

"You're never really all that insulting."

"Sounds like a challenge."

"Lash me with your words, sweetheart," he rumbles. "I'll take anything, if it's coming from you."

I let out a puff of air. "Oli…"

"You could keep telling me you're not interested, and I'd continue to respect that," he says quietly, leaning just a little further forward as he spears me with his gaze. "But know that I would never break a promise to you."

I find myself captivated by his intense gaze, by the quiet depth in his voice, and all I can do is stare back and try not to forget that I'm still holding a martini glass.

"And I promise that if you trust yourself to me, I will do everything in my power to make sure you're beyond happy with that decision. I'd put you before myself. I'd lavish that sinful body of yours with every lick of attention it deserves, and I'd never, ever forget how gods-blessed lucky I am just to have you near."

My lips part as I stare at him, unable to look away. His eyes are flaring with desire, and I have to wonder if he's been suppressing it this whole time, or if I simply wasn't paying enough attention.

"If you ever let me touch you, Grace…" He trails off briefly, his tongue darting over his bottom lip with a wet flash as his eyes rake across my figure. "I would do everything in my power to satisfy you. I dream of tasting you, of feeling your thighs squeeze my face as I lavish pleasure on you over and over until you're begging me to stop. I want to learn your body, play you like an instrument until you sing for me."

Goosebumps race along my skin in a wave of tingles, and the space between us suddenly feels like it's shrinking. I try to say something, but when it's clear that I'm incapable of speech right now, he smiles softly.

"You dominate my thoughts when I should be focusing on everyday tasks." His voice is low and silky, and his broad hand plays with the tumbler before him, fingers lightly tracing the rim as he twists his glass back and forth. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about your lips on mine. I'm desperate to know what you taste like, what sounds you make in the throes of your pleasure, how it would feel to hear my name on your lips when you moan. I'm a male obsessed, and if you tell me not to speak to you like this again…" He takes a small breath and blinks, as if coming out of a trance himself. "I swear this will be the last you'll ever hear it. But I wanted you to know, I've never felt desire for anyone this intensely before. You are uniquely alluring, and I can't get my mind off you."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Olistaire." I take a huge gulp of my cocktail, trying to cool my suddenly overheating body—and then I take one more for good measure, and put down my once more, empty glass.

I feel incredibly drawn to him right now. And I don't know how good that is for me in the long run.