The doors whisked shut just as he cleared his shoe heel. Julia stared up at her husband with a mix of horror and relief. Seemed to be the story of her life these days. Nothing but mixed emotions, misery and confusion and a desperate need to shut them out. Grant panted, catching his breath from the short sprint. Julia tightened her arms around herself, hating how much she wanted to wrap them around him instead.
Don’t turn to him. He’ll hold you, but it won’t be real. It wasn’t ever real.
Not that the pep talk did her any good. How could one man look so good and so horrible at the same time? He’d lost weight since the accident, but even more since she’d left him. His thick black hair fell over his forehead, overgrown by a full three inches. Unbelievably, streaks of silver had grown in at his temples, something that had never been there before. He hadn’t shaved in days, his stubble darkening the strong line of his jaw and somehow making his gray eyes seem to glow.
Another couple of days and it would be a full beard. She liked that look on him best, discovering it only after Autumn was born. The baby had seen to it that they’d had neither time to sleep nor the ability to take more than passing care of themselves, and Grant hadn’t shaved until he’d gone back to work. He never seemed to notice what a day’s stubble did for his appearance. Made him rakish. Sexy, in that rumpled, never-left-the-bed kind of way. Given his lack of a tie, the neck of his gray shirt not even fully buttoned, and his black jacket seeming more of an afterthought than a planned choice, she rather thought Grant hadn’t been leaving his bed much at all lately.
Against her will, she remembered being there, snuggled against him in the blankets. Saturday morning sleep-ins, when she’d try to read a book and he’d pretend to read a newspaper. It always ended the same. Grant’s hand sneaking up the hem of her camisole skirt, easing the silk up over her backside with a tickle and a tease. Caressing the fold where her thigh met her bottom and following it with his fingertip. With his mouth. A nibble…a kiss…a lick. Eight years together and she had never finished a book when he was around.
She’d read twelve in the last two months.
And she didn’t remember a word of any of them.
“What are you doing?”
“Following you,” he replied, his graveled voice more rumbly than ever. His fingertips grazed her cheek, smoothing a loose lock of her hair back. Her skin warmed with just that tiny touch. A rough thumb traced the wet track of her tears. “Making sure you’re all right.”
Hurt lanced her, startling a brittle laugh out of her. She hadn’t been all right for almost a year. Not since that rainy night last January. Not since the second the wheels of the car lost contact with the road, lurching them sickeningly sideways and into the metal girder that should have kept them on the road. Should have…
She jerked out of his loose hold. Another twenty seconds and they’d be at the lobby. She’d be free. Alone. Until then… “I’m not. But that’s not your concern.”
“You’ll always be my concern. You know that. Anything you need, I’ll give.”
“Not anything.” He’d support her, take care of her, tell her he loved her. But he would never give her what she needed from him. A partner in mourning. The sense that she wasn’t alone in this agony. Every time she cried, she could feel him bracing himself against it. Could feel his impatience with her for not letting it go, month after month. Until she couldn’t bear that flinch. The flinch that told her the last eight years were a complete and total lie.
“No,” he agreed, his voice little more than a breath at her nape as he stood behind her. She could feel the heat of him through her clothes. All she had to do was lean back and he’d wrap his arms around her. He’d take her pain on his broad shoulders and give her nothing in return. “Anything in my power, though, is yours.”
She nodded, but only because she needed to. If she didn’t, she’d say things she’d regret. She had to swallow the words back down. The ache, the accusations that he’d left her all alone in this, that he’d lied. Lied to her, lied to Autumn.
She could still see those pudgy baby hands, dimpled at the knuckles, clasping his whole head while he blew raspberries on her round baby belly. She’d looked so much like him, except for her auburn colored hair. When she was born, it had been his idea to name her Autumn, because her hair was the very first shade of fall. A perfect middle between his dark ebony and her own too-pale gold. Julia had fooled herself, had wanted to fool herself, that his avid interest in their surprise daughter had been love. She hadn’t wanted to feel that she’d trapped him.
Honesty was a bitter pill.
“I miss you,” he murmured, his hands settling on her arms. His head nuzzled against hers, almost as if he were breathing her in. “I miss you so damn much, Jules.”
She shook, tears already blinding her. “Grant, no—”
“I know, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” But he didn’t move away. If anything, he was closer.
A sob tore through, though she tried to stifle it with her hand.
“Don’t end us, Julia. Not like this. Not—” His head lifted at the same time that she realized it was happening again. That sickening swirl of the whole world suddenly spinning, lights flickering before going out altogether.
“Grant!” Her urgent whisper turned into a scream just as the elevator lurched to a screeching stop, knocking them both to the floor in an awkward sprawl. But the swaying movement didn’t stop. If anything it grew stronger…as if the elevator car were suddenly swinging like a pendulum.
No, not the elevator.
The building.
“It’s only an earthquake,” Grant rumbled from the darkness beneath her. The sway continued, a giant groan of metal against metal sounding around them.
Her breath came in pants that rasped in her ears until the rolling finally stopped. Opening her eyes slowly, she realized she didn’t have to worry about suppressing her need to touch him anymore. She was squeezing him so tight, her face pressed to his chest, it was a wonder he was breathing, much less talking. Only an earthquake. Leave it to Grant to marginalize an act of God. But then she knew what he was really telling her. They weren’t in the car. This wasn’t the accident.
A metallic clicking began overhead, until soft bluish lights came on, illuminating the small space. Emergency lights.
“A five-six, five-seven, I’d say. What do you think?” Practical question. Grounding, even.
But it didn’t really work. Julia still couldn’t unclamp her fingers from his shirt. “That didn’t feel like a five-seven. More like an eight.”
“That’s because we’re in a skyscraper. Extra sway so the building doesn’t fall.”
“Sure, because you learned that in medical school.” She closed her eyes again, guiltily relaxing against his body. She was already here, after all. And he felt so reassuring. Strong, familiar. Part of her heart sagged with relief to be back here, where for so long she’d thought she belonged.
“Can’t remember where I picked that up, actually. Thought it was common knowledge here in Cali.” He didn’t seem in any rush to get up. One of his hands lay on the small of her back, a heated weight she’d missed these last months.
“I grew up here, too. I always thought tall buildings would feel it less.” His shoulder hitched beneath her. Under her ear, his heartbeat pounded out an even rhythm. That was Grant. Never shaken.
That realization was enough to get her to sit up. Better not to think about it. She sighed, looking around, wishing there were more than polished metal panels and golden rails to talk about. All around them, there were only reflections of the last thing they should talk about—each other.
Grant sat up next to her, running his hand through his black hair and brushing it out of his eyes. “You all right? Nothing bruised? Nothing broken?”
Just her heart. She took stock, just in case, but there was nothing. Eventually, she had to meet his gaze again. It was a mistake. She realized that as soon as he dipped his head and claimed her lips. She should have pulled away. Should have pushed him off.
But she didn’t. She placed both hands on the sides of his bristly cheeks and let herself have one more taste of heaven. One more moment to feel his firm mouth beneath hers, his flavor when his tongue swept into her mouth. Passion, sweet and drugging, flooded her senses. Only Grant could do that to her, reduce her to simple sensation with a single kiss. But this was so much more than a kiss. This was demand. Desperation. Need. He devoured her, drank her in and held her as if he were trying to take her inside. How could she stop that, when she wanted the exact same thing? One more moment. Just one last taste…
