Page 37 of Sizzling Desire

I’ve fallen in love with Grace.

And I have no fucking idea what to do about it.

I grip the wheel, staring out at the darkened lot, every excuse I’ve ever made unraveling in my head. She’s complicated. Difficult. She’ll fight me every step of the way.

Butso what?

So will I.

And maybe that’s the point. Maybe we’re not meant to be easy. Maybe we’re meant to burn.

I exhale, my decision settling in my gut like steel.

No more holding back.

No more fighting it.

No more pretending I don’t want her, need her,loveher.

I’m done running.

It’s time to go after Grace.

And this time? I’m not letting her push me away.

Chapter 12

Grace

Iwill not think about Kane.

I won’t think about the way his voice dipped low last night, rough and warm like whiskey, sliding down my spine in a way I hated to admit felt good. I won’t think about the way he stood too close, smelled too damn good, or looked at me like I was the only thing in the damn room that mattered.

No.

Instead, I throw myself into work. Numbers. Spreadsheets. Financial reports. All things that should keep my mind too busy to wander. But then my stomach lurches, and I barely make it to the trash can before I’m dry heaving, again.

God, I hate mornings.

I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing through the nausea, trying to pretend this isn’t happening. That I can go about my day like I’m not secretly growing a tiny human inside me. That my world isn’t tilting in a way I can’t control. That I don’t feel like a liar every time I look at Kane and don’t tell him the truth.

I press the back of my hand to my mouth, steadying myself. After a few deep breaths, the worst of it passes, and I force myself upright, glaring at my reflection in theglass of my office window. My cheeks are pale, my dark hair is a mess, and there are faint circles under my eyes.

Attractive.

I groan and swipe a tissue across my mouth, forcing myself to pull it together. I have work to do. I do not have time to fall apart.

Not over this.

And definitely not over Kane fucking Mitchell.

The second I sit back down, my phone buzzes. I grab it, already bracing myself for whatever fresh hell is about to land in my lap.

It’s him.

Kane: Morning, Gracie. Did you dream about me?

I grip the phone so tight I might break it. I should ignore him. Delete the message. Pretend it never happened. But no. That would be thesmartthing to do. And apparently, I’ve been making somereallybad decisions where Kane is concerned.

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