Chapter 72

He felt a distinct sense of disgust as the woman approached. It wasn't strong enough to make him shove her away or create a scene, but he decidedly disliked her proximity. Holding another woman in his arms felt vastly different from holding "her."

Arriving at the rental apartment, he squatted, retrieving the spare key from under the doormat. He knew she kept it there, claiming it was a precaution in case she forgot her key on her way to work. He would have to break her of that habit; it was dangerous. While he was in the apartment, it wasn't a concern, but when she was alone…

He pushed open the door. The room's lights illuminated her slender figure, seated at the table. Half her upper body rested on the table, her head tilted to the side as she slept.

He watched her sleeping face in the soft light. Her skin was smooth, her expression serene. Her peaceful appearance seemed to slow his own heart. He raised a hand, gently twirling a strand of hair that lay across her cheek, brushing it back, his fingers barely grazing her skin. It was so soft.

More beautiful women existed. Hell, the women at the club he'd just left were actresses and daughters of the city's wealthiest families. They were perfect. But none possessed the same effect on him as Grace. He could look at her endlessly, a sobering thought.

A moment later, he bent down and carefully lifted her from the chair. Despite his gentle efforts, she woke.

"Jay…" She opened her eyes, dazed. Her hazy almond eyes crinkled as she smiled.

"Yes, I'm back," he said. "I'll take you to bed, and you can sleep."

He carried her toward the bed, her head resting against his arm. Half-asleep, half-awake, she snuggled closer. "You smell… nice… perfume…? Where have you been?"

"Something happened today, so I went to a bar. I probably picked up the smell there." He laid her down. "Go to sleep. I'll wash it off."

Her eyelids fluttered closed. He appreciated that about her—no accusations, no arguments. She trusted him.

After covering her with a blanket, he changed into clean clothes and went to the bathroom. He showered, washed his hair, and thought about the woman asleep in the other room. No doubt she'd fallen asleep at the table, waiting for him. He'd probably worried her.

Drying and dressing, he opened the bedroom door. The light from behind him illuminated Grace, highlighting the curve of her face and the delicate shape of her lips. He watched her sleep for a few minutes.

Then, stepping into the room, he bent down, his nose nearing hers, inhaling her scent.

"Grace," he whispered, "when should I reveal my identity? Or should I let you continue to depend on me until you can't leave me?"

Even in her sleep, she stirred toward the sound of his voice, instinctively seeking him.