It was progress, she thought. Just like him reaching for her this evening had been.
But progress toward what?
In her heart, she wanted more of him. All of him.
And the desire was getting stronger as she got to know him better.
At first, she'd wondered whether he had another side, something to offer other than aggressive charisma. Now, she knew there were different, less harsh parts to him. He kept most of them hidden behind his mask of control but they came out in his actions, as simple courtesies that proved he was aware of others. Aware of her.
That breakfast was just one example of how thoughtful he could be. He never left the bathroom a mess. He'd made a point of being nicer to Kat. He cooked his own meals, cleaned up the kitchen, and somehow didn't track mud all over her white carpets, even on rainy days.
They were small things, but they meant a lot to her. They were also unfamiliar. Having a man in the house who didn't require constant attention or have a long list of demands was a new experience. Ranulf had expected her to organize their social calendar, make sure the penthouse was properly staffed, attend to his needs small and large, and entertain dinner guests nearly every night, even though she was working full-time and he wasn't. And all of this was done without thanks from him because, in his mind, it was her duty.
She was never falling into that trap again.
Grace looked down at the diary and the date she'd written at the top of the blank page. In the morning, she was turning thirty. At 7:05 a.m. to be precise.
Feeling whimsical, she wrote: All I want for my birthday today is John Smith. In my bed with a ribbon around his neck and nothing else on him.
Laughing softly, Grace pushed the book and the pen aside. She was being ridiculous, of course, but it was fun to fantasize. Certainly better than a lot of what her mind had been cooking up lately. Staring out at the night, she imagined things that made her blush. Eventually, she drifted back down the hall, pausing at the open door to Smith's bedroom. She toyed for a moment with going inside and finding him in the dark but forced herself to go to her own room.
The next morning, she took a shower and then went to find Smith. They'd fallen into a morning ritual. She'd go first and while she was getting dressed, he'd take over the bathroom.
"Smith?" She peeked in his room. The bed was made, as always, and there was no clutter around. The heritage of a military man, she thought. When she turned away, she saw a black bar in the doorway to his bathroom. A chin-up bar. So that was how he kept in shape.
Heading into the living room, she found him facing toward the morning sky. After days of gray clouds, the horizon was a pale blue and the sun was coming up over the city.
"Shower's free."
He showed no surprise at the sound of her voice even though she'd been quiet in her approach. She was getting used to his uncanny senses and the fact that he always seemed to know where she was. He was looking at her reflection now in the glass door.
When he didn't say anything, she cleared her throat. "Er—the shower?"
She pointed behind her with a thumb.
He didn't reply, just continued staring at her in the glass.
Her skin prickled in awareness as he remained silent. There was something different about him this morning, she thought.
When he finally turned around, his expression shocked her. There was heat in it, the kind of burning intensity she hadn't seen since the night she'd stopped him. She thought about his body against hers and what it had felt like to be touched by him. His eyes focused on her lips, as if he was thinking about the same thing.
When he crossed the room in long strides, she felt herself bracing for contact with him, ready for it.
“I’ll make it quick," he said as he came up to her.
The letdown was tremendous. She'd been sure he was going to take her into his arms and she tried to cover her disappointment by smiling nonchalantly.
But then he paused on his way by and bent his head down to her ear. "Happy birthday, Grace."
His breath brushed against her neck and she felt him run a forefinger down her cheek.
Electricity jolted through her and she gasped.
To her frustration, though, he just continued down the hall.
Feeling like she'd been tackled from behind, Grace sat down in a chair, wondering what in the hell all that was about. And why he hadn't followed through on what his eyes were promising her.
She frowned. How had he known it was her birthday?
Her eyes restlessly moved around the room as she tried to deal with her confusion. And then she saw, face open on the couch, her diary.
Oh, God.
She went over and looked at what he must have read.
Yup. Her little birthday wish.
Grace grimaced, feeling like a fool.
A wrinkle in time, she thought, closing the cover. That's what she needed. So she could go back to three o'clock in the morning and remember to take the thing down the hall with her.