A/N: You weren't expecting chapter four so soon, were you? Well, here it is. I'm trying to keep the raciness down since this is a PG-13 fic. But who knows. I may decide to let loose later. Anyway, thanks to those who reviewed. KateM, I think there are so few reviews because of a karma-like thing. I'm sort of behind on my reviewing of all stories that aren't yours. But thanks for the "talented" comment. I appreciate it. By the way, Joan and Adam's wedding day, and thus the beginning of this fic's present, is April 3, 2015. Bear with me. Alexandri.
Notes: I'm trying something a little different with my formatting. Chapters with dates are flashbacks and chapters with titles are the actual present of the story. I probably should have explained that earlier.
Chapter Theme Song: Fever by any of the many artists who've done it. But the definitive version seems to be Peggy Lee's, so let's go with that one.
An arm lay heavily on Grace's stomach. She shifted experimentally beneath it. It tightened around her and a hand caressed her side. Grace cuddled closer to the warm body next to her and sighed. It felt good, right somehow. Gentle fingers skimmed her bare arm and she shivered with pleasure. She pressed a kiss to the body's neck and was squeezed in response. A pleased smile tugged at her lips. What a lovely way to wake up. It wasn't until she realized that she wasn't dating anyone that Grace's eyes flew open.
Slowly, so as not to disturb the person next to her, Grace lifted her head and stared down at the man next to her. Luke lay beside her fast asleep. For a moment, Grace couldn't remember how she came to be in bed with him. Then the events of the night before flooded back: the beer, the conversation, the kiss.
Chagrined at her predicament, Grace looked away to discover that she was naked and so was he. Oh, God, she moaned inwardly. She'd slept with him. What the hell were you thinking, Polk? A kiss is one thing. That can be explained away. A moment of temporary insanity. But not sex. With Luke. Sex with Luke was not so easy to explain away. Grace glanced at him, his open, innocent face, and remembered the way he'd handled her. He'd been assertive, demonstrative, surprisingly creative and, Good Lord, the stamina. Grace blushed and squeezed her eyes shut. Four times?! She was now certain she'd lost her mind last night.
She sagged into the mattress. It wasn't like she'd been plastered last night. She'd only had a couple of glasses of wine at the reception—neither of which she finished—and the beer when she'd gotten home. Not enough to give her a hangover or make her forget the previous night but just enough, apparently, to lower her inhibitions. As various scenes of the night she'd spent in Luke's arms flashed through her mind, she realized just how much her inhibitions had been lowered. What was wrong with her? Luke had been back in her life for one day and she'd somehow been reduced to an impetuous, wanton woman. So what if Luke was the one guy she'd never been able to forget? That didn't mean she had to become emotionally unbalanced.
You're not unbalanced, a voice said as she tried to think of a way out of bed without waking him. You're just not over him.
Therein lay the problem. She'd never gotten over Luke. That was why it took every ounce of her willpower not to throw herself into his arms. That was why all of her past relationships had never even gotten off the ground. None of the guys she'd dated had measured up to him. They weren't sweet enough or smart enough or gentle enough or funny enough. They weren't imaginative enough. They weren't Luke.
Geez, Polk, what are you spouting? You're not over Luke because you were never into him to begin with. You never even dated him.
Whose fault is that? said a little, amused voice in the back of her mind. The same voice that thought she wasn't over Luke. He wanted to date you and, if you're honest, you wanted to date him, too.
So what? Grace demanded of the voice before realizing how crazy it was to lie there arguing with herself. Shaking her head to dislodge her chaotic thoughts, Grace steeled her resolve and shook Luke. She suspected that he wouldn't let her go if she tried to slide out unnoticed.
His eyes popped open and, as a yawn caught him, turned his face into the pillow. Then he looked at her again. For a long time, they simply lay there blinking at each other. He seemed oddly unsurprised to find himself in bed with her. Finally, he smiled—a smile of such blinding purity, Grace's breath caught in her throat. "Grace."
"Yeah?"
His entire expression changed. His jaw dropped. His eyes widened. And a look of such utter shock claimed his features that Grace was on the verge of being offended. He sat up so suddenly, she was forced to clutch the sheets to her chest. Covering himself, however, was not on Luke's mind. Grace found herself treated to an unrestricted view of his torso. How did a science geek get a body like that? she wondered as her eyes wandered helplessly over the long, sleek muscles in his arms, back and chest. Part of her wanted to gouge her eyes out while another, slightly stronger part of her wanted to traced his abs with her tongue. Surely she was going to Hell for that thought.
"What happened?" he asked, disbelief coloring his sleep-deepened (and thus, incredibly sexy) voice.
"Take a wild guess, genius." For some reason, his incredulity made her angry. It was one thing for her to feel that way. She could even be repulsed, but not him. How dare he?
"I know what happened," he stammered. "I just don't . . . How did we . . ." He stopped talking and thrust his hands into his hair like he was mulling over a problem.
Ignoring the way his back muscles rippled, Grace focused on her mounting anger. "Get out."
"What?"
"Get out," she repeated, letting her anger flow through her.
Luke looked at her like she was some curious, new entity. Something to be studied to be understood. "Did I do something wrong?"
"Out!" She pointed insistently at her bedroom door. "Now."
"You brought me here."
"Then call a cab. Just leave."
He shook his head. "We should talk about this, Grace."
She merely glared at him. "Do you really think we're going to have a meaningful conversation right now?"
Luke sighed and got out of her bed. Grace pulled the sheets over her head. This was more for her pride than his modesty. She had a sneaking suspicion that she might do something highly undignified and distinctly lustful if she watched him dressed. She felt the bed move as he sat to put on his shoes.
"Please talk to me," he said quietly.
"No."
"Grace."
"No."
"Fine." He picked up her phone and called a cab. "It should be here in five minutes."
"Good."
"We have to talk about this sometime."
"We really don't."
"Grace, come on."
She pulled the sheets off her face and leveled Luke with a skewering glare. "We are never ever going to talk about this. It never happened. Last night was an alcohol-induced figment of our collective imagination. It meant nothing."
Luke's eyes became shuttered as if he had barred her access to some hidden part of him. He stared down at her with cold eyes. It was all she could do not to shiver under that gaze. "Goodbye, Grace."
Nodding, she watched him walk out of her room, unnerved by the change in his demeanor. She heaved a deep sigh when she heard the front door close. Now that he was gone, she could breathe easier. Grace swung her legs over the side of her bed and winced. She hadn't expected to feel sore. Blushing, she stood and slipped on her robe. At least now she knew what it was like to have spectacular, mind-blowing sex.
It meant nothing.
Grace's words echoed through Luke's mind the entire ride home.
It meant nothing.
How could it possibly mean nothing to her? Last night had been phenomenal. Watching her above him, her hands clasped in his, a sex-drenched smile on her lips. His body tingled with the memory. She'd been everything he'd always imagined she'd be: fierce, playful, sexy as hell. A diminutive, unrestrained vixen fully aware of the power she held over him and not the least bit afraid to use it. He'd never been so out of control in his life as he'd been last night. He'd loved every minute of it.
The only thing better than making love to her was waking up to her. When he'd opened his eyes to find her staring back at him, he'd been sure he was dreaming. It hadn't really registered that he was holding her, could feel her warm, soft skin against his. Seeing her like that—naked, hair messy, a hickey forming at the base of her neck—he'd thought it was a more vivid version of the recurring dream that had plagued him for the last five years. Realizing that Grace Polk had slept with him, and so unabashedly, had thrown him for a loop.
Then the sexy, relaxed woman from last night disappeared and the Grace he was used to—the one who wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot armored pole—was back and telling him to leave. Telling him that last night meant nothing.
As the cab pulled up in front of his parents' house, Luke decided he'd be damned if he came that close to her only to be pushed away. There was something between him and Grace and, if it was the last thing he did, he was going to bring it to light.