Grady shrugged and swallowed hard before answering. “I don’t need the money. They’re all good causes.”
“I find men who donate millions quietly to charities without wanting people to know how generous they really are incredibly hot,” she said in a husky whisper.
Right at that moment, Grady wanted to donate most of his fortune to charity so Emily would find him even hotter. Christ! If he didn’t get inside this woman very shortly, he was going to spontaneously combust.
Mine!
“Did you actually think I was hot for your friend? Were you . . . jealous?” she asked slowly, as though she didn’t believe it was possible.
“Yes,” he answered immediately. “He might be my friend, but I wanted to tear his head off because I thought you wanted him. Does that scare you?” Honestly, it kind of scared the hell out of him.
I’m losing my fucking mind. I like Jason. He’s a good guy. But one mention from Emily that she admired him, and I’m ready to lose it.
“No. I’ve just never had a guy who wanted me that much,” she answered in a tremulous voice.
“I do,” he growled, grabbing her around the waist and swinging her onto his lap.
“Careful,” she scolded, trying to wriggle off his lap. “You still aren’t healed. Let me up.”
He wanted to tell her she was healing him, and his gunshot injury was doing fine too. “Kiss me first,” he demanded, spearing a hand through her hair, but waiting for her to kiss him because she wanted to be as close to him as he wanted to be to her.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said nervously.
“Then you damn well better hurry up and kiss me, or I’m going to expire right here in this chair.” Shit, he was desperate, and he needed some connection to her right now. His cock was trying to burst out of his jeans, and he knew she could feel it cuddling up to her ass. “Stay here and let me keep your ass warm,” he told her gruffly, putting mild pressure on the back of her head. “Kiss me.”
Emily nibbled on her lip, as though she were considering the risks and benefits. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m dying,” he rumbled. “Kiss me or kill me.”
Emily giggled and boldly lowered her mouth to his.
CHAPTER 7
I’m in love with Grady Sinclair.
Emily knew how she felt about Grady with a certainty that was frightening. There was no wondering if it was true, or any indecision about if that love was the real thing. They’d known each other for such a short time, but he’d had her from the moment he’d helped her up from his porch and cleaned off her glasses for her without a second thought. He’d snatched her heart with that one insignificant but thoughtful gesture, and she’d fallen deeper and deeper as every piece of Grady’s puzzling personality fell into place.
Really, he wasn’t such a great mystery. He was a man who followed his conscience, led his life the way he needed to for his own happiness, and gave to others because he wanted to do it. And he was lonely, not because he wanted to be alone, but because he was afraid he’d never be accepted. He’d felt different all his life.
It made Emily want to give him everything he needed, but she was afraid. If she gave everything over to Grady and things didn’t work out, there would be nothing left, no pieces of herself to put back together. She loved him just that much, and he had the power to either destroy her or make her deliriously happy. Emily knew that with Grady, there was nothing in between. It was all or nothing.
Trying to turn off her own thoughts, she went to the living room and turned on the Christmas tree that she and Grady had decorated together. It was Christmas Eve, and their dinner was warming, everything finished—including the huge turkey Grady had insisted on, telling her he’d eat the leftovers. Neither one of them talked about what would happen after Christmas. It was as though they were both afraid to burst the bubble of happiness that surrounded them right now.
The phone rang, startling Emily with its shrill ringtone. It was Grady’s landline, and it hadn’t rung once since she’d gotten here.
Walking to the kitchen, she wondered if she should answer. Grady had gone into Portland, telling her he had business to attend to, but that he’d be back by dinnertime.
It could be Grady. Maybe he’s going to be late. Answer it.
The number was displayed as private, so she answered, fairly certain it was Grady. “Hello,” she said cautiously.
“Where is Grady? And who are you?” a haughty female voice asked Emily.
“I’m sorry. He’s not here. Can I take a message?” Uncomfortable, Emily shifted from foot to foot, wishing she hadn’t picked up the phone.
“Who is this?” the female voice insisted in a nearly hostile voice.
“I’m Emily. I’m here to visit Grady for Christmas,” she answered hesitantly, not wanting to piss off any of Grady’s friends or business associates. “Can I tell him who called?” she inquired again.
Emily heard a sound of disgust before the woman answered, “I’m Hope Sinclair. Grady’s wife. Get the hell out of my house.” The line went dead with a loud, decisive click.
Her hands shaking, Emily dropped the phone back into the cradle. Her heart hammering so fast she could feel it pulsating through her body, she quickly turned off all the burners on the stove.
I have to go. I have to go.
The need to flee was clawing at her, adrenaline flooding her body.
I never asked him if he had someone. I just assumed he didn’t.
There had never been any talk of Grady having a wife, but what did anyone really know about Grady Sinclair? He kept himself isolated, and maybe she traveled a lot. Or they could be separated. But he should have told her.
Pain sliced through her body, almost making her double over in agony. And with the pain came shame. She’d kissed another woman’s husband, done intimate things with him.
“Oh, God,” she whispered to herself in an anguished rasp.
No. No. No.
Emily couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, wanting nothing more than to get out of the house. She needed air, and she needed to clear her whirling thoughts—none of them good, none of them rational.
“Noooo!” she wailed as she yanked the front door open, jammed her feet into her sneakers, and ran.
There was snow on the ground, but she ignored it, needing to distance herself from the pain that was cutting her to shreds. It was cold, but she’d be okay if she just kept running, just kept moving. Maybe she could outrun the agony of Grady’s betrayal.