Page 78 of Saving Grace

He swallows.

“Mackinlay . . .”

He closes his eyes and cants his head a little, as if his name on my breath is heaven. “Yeah, gorgeous girl?”

“I don’t want to have to ask for you every single time. Not anymore.”

Opening his eyes, he meets my gaze, his thumb brushing over my lips. “This willalwaysbe your choice, Grace. Every single damn time.”

“I know. It is. From this moment on.”

He nods and dots a kiss to my forehead.

“I trust you, Mack,” I breathe. Those words have been impossible for me to say, up until a short while ago. But with Mackinlay, they have never been truer. The mileage we have on our time together is more than most experience in one lifetime. We were both broken. Hell, he could barely tolerate me when I first arrived. Then he bent, and I saw a glimpse of who he really was. It was beautiful.

And now . . .

His jaw feathers. “Good. Because I have wanted to love you the way you deserve for weeks.”

I laugh and kiss his lips.

His forehead drops to mine. “Let me love you, Grace.”

“As long as it goes both ways.”

“See, you’re all heart, Gracie.”

“You love it.” I sink my mouth to his neck, kissing and nipping as I rise on my tiptoes and track a line to just under his ear.

Strong arms sweep me up and I squeal as his mouth covers mine. A heartbeat later, I’m dumped on the bed, and he rushes out the door. A ruckus echoes down the hallway.

“What on earth are you doing, Mackinlay Rawlins?” I call out, propped up on my elbows where I lay.

He returns, arms loaded, and flicks the light off on the way past.

“Close your eyes, gorgeous.”

“What for?”

“Just do it.” He chuckles.

I lie back, cover my eyes with my hands, and my breathing settles. Small thuds. Shuffling feet. A match strikes, and sulfur lances the air.

Oh . . .

A scent of rose fills the room. Something light and soft hits the bed. The bed dips by my hip. Warm hands pry the fingers from my face. I sit up and look around, my mouth agape and eyes wide. Candles on every surface. Pale pink rose petals are scattered over the bed, and across the floor.

“It’s the best I can do with”—he glances at the bedside clock—“four minutes notice.”

“It’s perfect.”

I move from the bed and stand. Mack does the same. I meet his gaze and slip one finger under the shoulder of my dress. Pushing it down, I slow my hand as his breath deepens. I bare the other shoulder and nudge the dress down my chest. Wriggling it over my hips, I let it drop to the floor. The yellow bra and panties are all that cover my trembling body now.

“Sweet Jesus, you’re beautiful.”

I wave my hands in anupgesture and his arms raise. I lift the hem of his shirt past his hard abs, and he tugs it over his head. I trace a finger over his collarbone. Then the other. Palming his neck before dropping my hand to his abs and reducing it to one finger again. I love the feel of him. He’s hard, warm. Sturdy. Grounding.

Home.

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