Page 3 of If You Claim Me
His shrewd gaze doesn’t leave my face as his tongue drags across his delightfully plush bottom lip. He seems to be assessing my level of honesty.
I’m not used to seeing Connor off the ice or outside of the arena. This version is in distress and out of his element. Like a cheetah who has escaped its enclosure, he’s exotic, beautiful, and potentially lethal. Despite knowing how much Flip despises him, my girl parts appreciate Connor’s hotness, which feels like a betrayal to my best friend.
Connor holds out his hand. “Give me the list.”
I pass it back to him, unsure where we’re going with this.
He pulls a pen from his pocket and scrawls something on the back. “This is her address, and this is my phone number. Message when you’re on the way. You’ll bring the books?”
“I promise.” Like I need this hot, entitled douchebag wreaking havoc on my ovaries two days in a row with his furrowed brow and expectations. But curiosity has gotten the better of me. Also, I want to see for myself that Lucy really is okay.
He passes me back the paper. “You better mean it.”
“I won’t let Lucy down.”
CHAPTER 2
DRED
I’m clearly in full-on denial mode about the impending loss of my home. This explains why I’m standing outside the Grace mansion while my life is at risk of falling apart. Also, I’m horribly curious, and I need to know who Lucy is outside of our library encounters. In addition, I’m unreasonably eager to peel back another of Connor’s layers. And finally, being here means a delay in dealing with the shitstorm of my life, if and when I choose to acknowledge it.
I focus my attention on the property around me.This is next-level. I know this for sure, though I can barely make out the house’s peaked roofline and turrets—the place has freakingturrets—through the perfectly manicured gardens obscuring my view. Victor and Everly would be so impressed. Maybe I can sneak a few photos.
The grounds are protected by a ten-foot wrought-iron fence. I stand in front of the ornate gates like a peasant hoping to gain favor with the queen. It’s not far off the mark. Lucy is important, at least to Connor. And me.
I press the intercom button. A man who is not Connor answers. “Grace Manor, how may I be of assistance?”
“Hi, uh, I’m Dred—Mildred Reformer.” Itseems more appropriate to use my given name over my preferred nickname. “I’m from the Toronto Central Library. I’m here with Lucy’s books.” It sounds utterly preposterous.
“Oh wonderful!” His voice lilts up. “She’s expecting you. I’ll meet you at the front door.”
I glance up at the camera trained on me. “Sure thing.”
The gates open. As soon as there’s enough room, I slip through. It’s another five-minute walk up the winding interlock driveway. I take pictures of the gardens lining either side. When the house—mansion—comes into view, it’s like something straight out of a fairy tale.
I don’t have a chance to sneak another photo, because a man dressed in a full suit is waiting in the open door for me as I huff my way up the steps. His gray brow furrows as he looks past me to where a Rolls-Royce and another expensive car are parked.
“Were you dropped off, Ms. Reformer?”
“No, I took the bus.”
His frown deepens. “I would have come down to pick you up.”
“It’s a nice night, and the gardens are beautiful.” I point to my feet. “Besides, these work just fine.”
He makes a sound and steps back, ushering me inside. “Come in. I’ll fetch Mr. Grace.”
“Sure.” I feel like I’ve stepped into the pages of some kind of period novel with the butler who uses words likefetch.
He rushes off. I stand in the massive foyer, taking in the sheer opulence. It feels more like a museum than somewhere a person should live. The ceilings must be twelve feet high, and the trim itself is a work of art. The whole room is. The floors are tiled in an intricate mosaic design. Each recessed wall panel tells a story with custom wallpaper. In the middle of the room is a table with scenes carved into the perimeter. A massive vase of fresh flowers sits in the center.
I knew Connor’s family was rich, but it hadn’t really computed that they werethiswealthy until now. It’s difficult toprocess. And I understand a little better why my best friend Flip, who attended the same hockey camp as Connor when they were teens, has harbored such deep loathing for him all these years. Flip has fought for every step he’s taken up the financial ladder, whereas it seems Connor has always sat at the top.
This also reframes my feelings about Connor’s place in the hockey world. He plays not because he needs the paycheck, but because he loves the sport. And the world has twisted him into someone to regard with disdain and disapproval.
Except Callie doesn’t. She sees something else. Something good. I’m pretty sure Lexi sees it too.
Footfalls pull my gaze toward the arched doorway, and my stomach twists. Angry, guarded, covered in art, Connor Grace’s broad shoulders are rolled back, brows a dark slash, beautiful face a mask of stunning arrogance. And based on our interaction earlier today, he’s just as fragile as the rest of us.
