20. Grace

Chapter 20

Grace

Christmas Day

A loud slam jolted me awake. I lurched upright in bed, pulse racing.

In the dark, I made out the silhouettes of my couch, my bookshelf of social work textbooks and romance novels, my windowsill of plants.

I looked at my phone: 3:38am, December 25.

Christmas.

Another loud crash outside my window triggered a second jolt of fear.

Maybe it was a car backfiring — although this neighborhood was too nice for crappy cars, my truck being the exception. Maybe Terry and Carol came home for Christmas, not leaving that giant house unoccupied for the holiday.

Or maybe Santa's sleigh landed and reindeer prancing on my roof.

Quiet voices carried from outside so I peaked my head around the curtain. My fear gave way to astonishment at the taxi in my driveway. The driver handed a suitcase to a dark-haired man in a long wool coat.

Why the frick was Alexander here? He'd left five days ago, as unexpectedly as he arrived, without texting me or Mallory or even his parents. We all assumed that he'd gone back to San Francisco..

I half-ran-half-fell down the stairs and ripped the door open, gaping at what had to be the Ghost of Christmas Present messing with me. Heart thumping and limbs tingling with adrenaline, I exhaled, "What are you doing here?"

"I won." He lifted a hand to mimic raising a glass and listed slightly. "The acquisition is complete, nowhere to be until January second."

"You took a cab from New York?" Calculations sprang up: Three bucks a mile times 200 miles from Manhattan each way …

"I'll bill it to the firm." He waved a hand dismissively. Standing in front of me, close enough to see the drawn lines on his forehead, puffy bags under his eyes, and every grain of stubble on his jaw, he slid his hand in his pocket. "Now are you going to let me in, Grace?"

I stepped backwards — no, stumbled. With a swift motion, he kicked the door shut. The narrow entryway felt claustrophobic with his giant body, his rolling suitcase and his leather work bag.

I wanted to say something sexy to make up for my flannel pajama pants and oversized hoodie. "Is this how Santa gets inside when there's no chimney?"

Nope, that's childish. I didn't even use a raspy Eartha Kitt voice, all ‘Hurry down the chimney tonight.' My 3am voice sounded like a pack-a-day smoker.

"Oh God, is today Christmas? What time is it?" His unfocused gaze aimed at that way-too-fancy watch.

"That's so complicated I can't read it even when I'm fully awake."

He chuckled, a soft rumble. "Half the time I can't read it."

"So why do you wear it?"

"Honestly?" his head tilted. "It seemed important at the time."

He unclipped the watch and dropped it next to my car keys, which felt incongruous given that it was worth more than my crappy truck.

Then I felt those cobalt eyes lock on me, a hawk sighting a mouse. "Ask me again why I'm here."

I closed my eyes to muster courage. "Why are you here?"

"There's something that I wanted for Christmas," he stepped closer, closing the distance in my too-small entryway. Tucking a flyaway behind my ear, he brought his palm to my jaw, "and I couldn't get it in Manhattan."

He lowered his head slowly, giving me plenty of time to escape, but I didn't back up. My heart rate, already rapid from his unexpected arrival, pulsed like I'd raced a 5K.

When his mouth was inches from mine, he whispered, "Is this ok?"

My brain was short-circuiting from his breath on my cheek, so all I could manage was a nod. He halved the gap, a hair's breadth between our mouths as he said, "I'm gonna need you to use your words."

"Yes, please ki—"

His mouth was on mine, fingers tangling in my hair. His touch sent a chain reaction through every nerve ending in my body, leaving me breathless.

I ran my hands under his overcoat, trailed them up his chest, and pushed the coat off his shoulders. It dropped to the floor and he kicked it away, never lifting his lips as his erection pressed into my belly. My breath quickened, shallow and uneven, as my hands fisted in his button-down shirt.

One hand, assertive and possessive, pulled me tightly against him, while the other cradled my cheek with delicate tenderness. He skillfully glided his tongue between my parted lips, desperate and hungry.

I could tell last week that he'd been holding back, but now I knew that Alexander Clarke kissed the way he lived: relentless, unyielding, and filled with unwavering determination. I lost myself in every movement of his hips, every lick of his tongue, every caress of his fingertips, every beat of his heart.

Eventually, I pulled away. When our lips parted, he kept me securely tucked in his arms, melting over me. He buried his face in the crook of my neck and inhaled deeply. When he exhaled, his breath came out ragged.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," he murmured.

I loosened my grip on his shirt. "You've known me less than a month."

"Longest month of my life." Softly, he pressed his lips where my neck met my shoulder, sending shivers down my spine.

"So what's the plan? How long are you staying, and when do you —"

"Grace," he cut me off. When his eyes opened, they weren't half-lidded with desire; they were narrow slits of exhaustion. "I slept about three hours a night this week. All I want are sleep, food, and you, not necessarily in that order. Can logistics wait until I've had at least two of the three?"

I threaded our fingers and led him up. At the top of the stairs, he wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling my back into his chest, but I swatted him off with a promise. "Tomorrow." He muttered about me being a party pooper, but didn't have the energy for a full sulky complaint.

I slid off his rumpled suit jacket, then started on his shirt buttons. His forehead dropped to mine and he watched my fingers undress him until his eyes drifted closed. When I reached the bottom button and slid his button-down off his arms, his eyes reopened and he purred, "Pants, too? "

"And you told me I was the optimist." I laughed and guided him by the shoulders towards the bathroom, and holy heck, I wonder if he peed all week. He emerged in just his undershirt and boxers, and without thinking, I averted my eyes. He chuckled, planting a kiss on my temple. "You're so fucking cute. Do you have an extra toothbrush?"

I found a backup and held it up triumphantly … only to find him passed out face down like a starfish in the middle of my bed. Typical, he even manspreads when he's sleeping.

I sat on the couch and unfolded the throw blanket when his low voice said my name. He hadn't moved, but one eye was open. "I didn't travel all night to sleep alone. Get that sweet ass over here."

When I climbed in, his arm wrapped around my waist, drawing my back into his chest, aligning my hips with his. He let out a bone deep sigh into my hair and murmured, "Fucking finally," pressed his lips into my neck, and moments later, he was snoring.

When my alarm buzzed two hours later, I wondered if I'd slept.

He'd crashed, snoring into my shoulder. He still smelled like peppermint and pine, but traffic exhaust and B.O. clung to his skin. His arm was a heavy weight around my midsection.

I wondered why he was here. If he should be here at all.

After the self-defense class wrapped up last Sunday, Kate pulled me aside. "Does Mallory know about you and Alex?"

I'd glanced at the door where he'd left after his gorgeous maybe-girlfriend snapped her fingers and he'd disappeared. I stacked equipment to avoid her curiosity. "There's nothing to know."

"Not what it looked like from here," she said skeptically, lips pursed.

I let my confusion shine through. "I'm not sure what I would tell her."

Kate scanned my expression, then dropped her shoulders. "Fair. I won't say anything. But if she found out there was something between you two and you didn't tell her …" She made an explosion gesture at her temple.

Kate had been right. This was Mallory's brother, not some guy I could casually hook up with — not that I excelled at that, either. I'd reconciled myself with the fact that I'd never seen him again .

Then he appeared in the middle of the night and kissed me like he'd been suffocating and I was pure oxygen.

Would Mallory forgive me if I hooked up with her brother? Or was I risking the most important relationship in my life for kissing?

Then again, he was a really, really good kisser. I'd never felt this molten desire with anybody else like I had with Alexander Clarke. I'd dated Shannon for years, lived with her, planned marriage and kids with her … and I'd never been so turned on with her as I was from his warm breath on my cheek, a trace of his fingertips along my bicep.

I slid out from under his arm and he rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in my pillow with a snort. I went through my morning routine, expecting him to crack open an eye for commentary, but he didn't stir. I ate breakfast, showered, put on makeup, blowdried my hair … not even a twitch.

Not until I tried to leave a note next to him did those sapphire eyes crack open halfway. "Come back to bed." When I hesitated, he added, "Please."

I slid under the sheet and he closed the space between us, wrapping a large hand around my back and dragging me closer. His hand slid down to my hips and around to cup my butt as his legs intertwined with mine. He let out a gross morning breath sigh into my face.

"You didn't brush your teeth last night," I said.

"I was a little busy kissing you, and I don't remember you complaining."

"You fell asleep too quickly to notice."

"It was a long week," he sighed with a frown. At such close range, I saw every wrinkle. "Where are you going?"

"Work."

"On Christmas?"

"You didn't even know it was Christmas."

"I do now."

"You didn't tell me you were coming, so I couldn't plan around that." And it still wouldn't have stopped me. I always work on Christmas.

"So you're gonna … go?" he asked. "On Christmas? "

"Mental health doesn't stop because it's a holiday. Honestly, it's worse for a lot of people. Plus, I volunteered to cover Thanksgiving and Christmas so I could get time off to go up north with your family."

"But I want you here." Then he started singing … or attempting to, anyway. " I don't want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need. "

Wow, his voice was … terrible. I tried to restrain a wince, which only encouraged him, like he knew he couldn't carry a tune. " I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree … "

No way was he faking it. A good singer couldn't pretend this badly.

Plus, he was smirking.

"Please stop," I said calmly, putting my index finger over his mouth.

He kissed my fingertip and said, "Make me." Then continued his torturous negotiation: " Make my wish come true … " Oh my gosh, he was warbling.

I kissed him. I had to. Because I couldn't listen for a second longer, and the jerk knew it.

We kissed for a few minutes, then he pulled away. "Why do you always work Christmas? Too many bad memories?" His perceptive blue eyes searched mine. I hadn't told him, but he'd figured out a lot about that day seven — no, eight. Eight years ago today.

I nodded. His eyes flashed with emotion as he pushed me on my back, hovering over me. "Is this like Feliz Navidad?" He asked with another soft kiss. "Can I help you replace the bad memories with something more pleasant? I've got time to make it up to you."

Now he had time. Now, when it was convenient for him to roll into my house at 3 am, he had all the time in the world. But I didn't.

"I'm going to be late." I rolled away, but our legs stayed intertwined.

"When will you be home?" Home, he said, as if he lived here with me.

"I planned to go straight to your parents' house for Christmas dinner. And if this is going to —" I waggled a finger between our chests, and his mouth twitched into a grin, "I need to get the ok from your sister."

His smile faltered. "She's the last thing —"

"If Mallory suspects something between us before I have the chance to talk to her …" my voice tightened at the thought of betraying my best friend.

"We don't have to tell her," he whispered as his thumb caressed my jaw.

Oh hell no. I'd read too many stories of trans women being a quick fling, a conquest for straight men to cross off the bingo card, then being discarded.

"Yes we do," I said with an edge in my voice, pushing away from him and rolling out of the bed. "I won't risk my friendship with Mallory for… whatever this is. I won't be your dirty little trans secret."

He scrambled out of bed. "You can't possibly think —"

"Don't tell me what to think," I snapped. "You disappeared five days ago with a woman Kate said was your girlfriend. Mallory said you started dating when she was still in high school ."

He looked annoyed, surprised anybody would recognize her … as if she weren't unforgettably gorgeous. "We broke up four years ago, but we still work together. It's complicated."

"So she shows up out of nowhere, and within seconds you're gone."

"My job was on the line, Grace," he said gruffly, "I couldn't —"

"She made that clear. But you didn't call or text me or your sister, you just … disappeared." My hand made a poof gesture. His face showed it hadn't occurred to him that either of us would be mad. "Then you showed up unannounced and scared the crap out of me. Did you think about how it would feel for me to wake up to two men talking outside my house?"

His mouth fell open. Clearly he hadn't.

"And you won't tell me what you want from me, except that it's shameful enough that you want to hide it."

As much as it pained me to say it, I crossed my arms over my chest and forced it out: "I think you should go."

His eyebrows shot up. I wondered if he'd ever been turned down for sex in his life. I'd be kicking myself well into the nursing home, knowing that I had the hottest man alive in my bed and I declined.

But there was too much on the line.

He threaded his hands behind his head. "I told my boss I wasn't going back until January. I left Manhattan in the middle of the night because I want to be here with you." His voice cracked. "And you won't give me a chance because you're afraid of my sister? "

"I'm not afraid of her," I said, even though I totally was. "But she's not prepared. At her solstice party last week, she kept trying to set me up."

He stiffened, his jaw clenching. "She did?"

"She had mistletoe hanging all over the studio, hoping I'd meet somebody." She invited Dr. Tran, hoping we'd hit it off. She called it ‘Operation Mistletoe: Get Grace Laid.' She threatened to print t-shirts.

"You didn't stop her? Tell her about —" he replicated my finger waggle.

"Tell her what, exactly? ‘Hey Mal, I sort of had a thing for your brother.'"

His discomfort disappeared under a cocky grin. "You have a thing for me."

"Had, past tense," I said sternly, tempering my reaction to that grin. "She'd ask what happened, and I'd tell her: I forced your brother to dress up as Santa and he got tricked into kissing me. When I told him I was transgender, he ran out like his hair was on fire. I scared him off with a PTSD flashback, and he came over because he pitied me. He left suddenly and I assume I'll never see him again."

He reeled like he'd been slapped. " That's what you think happened?"