Against the Rules (Harts of Passion Book 1) Read online

  We spent the next fifteen minutes walking up and down aisles. Micah surprised me. I expected him to go right for the chips and candy, but he thoughtfully selected items like pasta, rice, and spaghetti sauce. It was obvious the kid was picking out things that not only could he cook, but that would stretch a dollar. Nor was he greedy. I wasn't sure if he was trying to work fewer hours or if he was self-conscious of his situation. While he ran ahead of me, I threw in extras of everything he picked, plus a few he didn't.

  I sent my mom a quick text that I was headed her way as we checked out. She responded with an unfamiliar address, followed by a message that she was still with Aunt Julie, whose car had started acting up. I was pick her up at the house which belonged to one of Julie's friends where they had stopped for a visit.

  I glanced at Micah as I pulled the address up on my phone, only to find it was in the opposite direction of Micah's house. Given the extra time I'd already spent today, I didn't feel like driving back and forth so I could avoid Micah meeting my mom. I knew the general area of the neighborhood where I was headed. It wasn't far from Grace's church.

  Grace. Just the thought of her name made my heart jump. What the hell was that about? Why couldn't I shake her from my thoughts?

  As Micah and I walked to my car, I ran my hand over my upper left forearm. My shirt hid my secret, but I could still feel the familiar ridges that crisscrossed the skin. I didn't think of them as often as I used to, but I would still instinctively reach for them when I felt any kind of weakness exerting itself. They reminded me of what it was like to lose control. So craving Grace—all that had disaster written all over it. I'd pick up my mom, and while I was there, I'd cancel my dinner plans with Anne. I'd fought bigger battles than wanting Grace Hart. This would be no different. And we'd both be better off for my efforts.

  "Wow!" I jerked my hand away at Micah's exclamation.

  "This is an awesome car!" Micah ran his hand across the hood of my Challenger, his eyes gleaming in appreciation. "First generation, right?"

  I nodded. "The very first. 1970. You like cars?"

  "I like muscle cars. I like their power."

  I paused to look at him as I opened my trunk. "Power is only as good as the person handling it."

  He brought his bike over, and I placed it in the trunk, grateful it fit, so I didn't have to come back for it.

  "You mean like my stepfather," he answered. His head hung low as he kicked at a pebble.

  "Exactly." I tucked a couple of his grocery bags around his bike and turned to face him. "It's all about knowing when it's okay to open it up and when to throttle it back." Like dialing it back with Grace.

  His eyebrows drew closer as he appeared to contemplate my words. He helped load the last of the groceries into my back seat.

  He climbed into the car and was quiet for the first few minutes as the car purred its way down the street. Then he glanced sideways at me. "Thanks, Jax," he said quietly.

  I figured he'd had enough advice for one day. "No problem, kid."

  About a mile down the road he said, "I thought you'd own some fancy smancy new car."

  I grinned, knowing I had exactly that back in the car bay at my condo. This wasn't the most efficient car to drive around town, but I loved it.

  "It was my dad's. He'd always wanted one, and when I was a kid, he found this one cheap because it wasn't in the best of shape. On his days off, he'd go out and work on restoring it. He taught me a lot about cars."

  And a bunch of other stuff that seemed useless at the time. I'd give anything to stand beside him one more time as he wiped the grease from his hands on an old rag and talked to me. How different my life might have turned out if he hadn't died.

  "So, he just gave it to you?"

  "No. He died."

  His mouth formed an "O."

  "My mom couldn't stand the idea of getting rid of it, and when I was old enough, I finished restoring it."

  "It's your way of keeping your dad around."

  The kid was smart. "Yeah, I guess it is."

  At first, the classic car was a way to keep both my hands and my mind busy. I had to read mechanical magazines and do so much research to learn what to do and how to do it. Then as my knowledge and skill set grew, it became more like therapy. In the quiet of the garage, I worked and imagined what I'd say to my dad and what his answer might be. Often, it was more helpful than the days spent with the counselor my mom had taken me to see.

  After that, Micah loosened up. The fifteen-minute trip was full of questions. Where do you work? What do you do? How old are you? Why aren't you married? Are you going to ask Grace out? My mom's pretty, you could ask her. Will you teach me how to drive? Do you like football? What's your favorite team?

  His constant chatter didn't bother me. It took me back to the days when I'd had to pester people with dozens of questions about rebuilding the very car we were sitting in. The words fell from his lips faster than I could answer, so I was able to pick and choose which ones I answered. I skipped right anything regarding dating.

  I pulled up to a house as directed by my GPS. It was a pretty, white two-story house with dark blue shutters. In the front yard, knee-high boxwoods provided a green background to colorful flowers of varying heights. Baskets of ferns were hanged evenly spaced across the porch. Rocking chairs on one end and a swing on one end completed the front.

  The only thing missing was my mother, waiting for me in one of those chairs. Sighing, I gave in to the inevitable and shut off the engine.

  "Wait here a minute. I'll go get my mom."

  "You still live with your mom?" There was no mistaking the incredulity in his voice, along with a hint of disdain.

  "No, I don't still live with my mom," I parroted. "I was running an errand for her when I got interrupted by your sorry butt. She hurt her foot while she was out with her sister and needs a ride home."

  "Oh. So, this is her sister’s house?"

  "No." I shut him inside the car before he could ask more questions.

  I'd taken about four steps up the sidewalk when a familiar dark blue SUV pulled into the driveway behind another car I recognized as my aunt's.

  No fucking way. My mind raced as it sorted through details: the address my mom gave me belonged to one of Aunt Julie's friends. Anne Hart was Julie's best friend. This house was near Grace's church. Grace has a blue SUV Trailblazer.

  Fuck me sideways. This was Anne's house, and it was her daughter who was pulling into the driveway.

  I paused as Grace swung her legs out of the car and stood. As she turned to open her back door, her blouse gaped, showing a tease of her breasts and the hint of pink lace that covered them. Fortune smiled on me, and a gust of wind caught the material of her skirt as she reached for something. The light-weight material flew up. She smacked it down quickly, but not fast enough to hide that her lace panties matched her bra.

  Most of my blood flowed south to gather in one place as I had a vision of her laid out upon my bed while I peeled that scrap of lace down her long, sexy legs. Every thought I had of staying away from her vanquished. Fucking hell.

  I watched as she shut the car door and glimpsed briefly in my general direction, before focusing on me. Then a smile, a genuine one, blossomed on her lips.

  "A little early for Friday dinner, aren't you, Mr. Carter?" She walked up the sidewalk until she stood in front of me. "Seriously, Jax. You should seek help for this stalking tendency you have."

  Her teasing smirk drew forth a smile of my own. "Hate to burst your bubble, sweetheart, but it's not you I'm here to see."

  Her head cocked to one side. "Then why are you here?"

  "To pick up my mom."

  Her brow furrowed as she asked, "Your mom is here?"

  "Yeah. She was out with her sister and your mom and then twisted her ankle or something. They ended up back here. She asked me to pick her up here since I was out running another errand for her."

  "Oh. I hope she's okay. I guess that explains why my mom asked me to
bring over the crutches that I had when I sprained my ankle last year."

  A knocking noise behind us diverted our attention.

  "Is that Micah?" Grace's voice was full of astonishment as she waved back at the grinning face staring through my car window.

  "Unfortunately," I answered dryly. "I've got to take him home, too. Long story."

  "Sidelining as a taxi service now?"

  "Something like that."

  Her eyes slanted at me while the sassy grin that curled her lips had me thinking of other places I'd like to see them, like around my cock. This girl was going to give me a heart attack the way thoughts of her made my heart race.

  I rocked on my heels, and she played with the crutches in her hands. She cleared her throat. "Well, we should probably—"

  "Have dinner with me." The words left my mouth before I could stop them. I blamed the underwear vision still fresh in my mind for making me forget my resolve to keep some distance between us.

  "I am, remember? Friday?"

  "I mean without an audience."

  "You're incorrigible."

  Seeing the twinkle in her eye, I pressed on. "Oh, big word. Pretty and smart!"

  "Smart doesn't always mean making good decisions," she answered, her expression turning bleak.

  Before I could question her cynical response or cajole an answer out of her, the front door opened.

  "Jaxson, how nice to see you, dear!" Anne Hart's voice called from the front porch. "What a sweet and good son you are to help your mother out like this."

  Grace rested a hand on her hip. "Hi, Mom. Nice to see you, too."

  "Grace Hart"—Anne glared at her daughter—"Didn't I teach you any better than to leave your guest standing outside? Bring your friend on in here."

  Grace's jaw dropped. "I didn't...he's not..."

  I put my arm around her shoulders. "It's fine, Anne. We were discussing dinner plans." Mmph. One of my ribs smarted from a well-placed elbow, but I didn't move. I liked having her this close.

  "On Friday. Dinner plans on Friday that you invited him to, Mom."

  "Jax, honey, is that you?" My mom limped out the door followed by Aunt Julie. They stood next to Anne and studied Grace and me, making me feel like we were part of a line-up. "Why are you standing outside? You both come on in!"

  "I can't stay. You're not the only one who needs a ride today." I pointed to my car.

  "Oh?" Her face fell as she witnessed my other passenger, who picked that moment to hop out of my car to join us.

  "Hey, Jax! What's taking so long? Is this your house, Miss Grace?" He stared pointedly at my arm which was still locked around Grace's shoulders. "She is your girlfriend, isn't she? I knew it! You two get all kissy-eyed when you look at each other."

  "Micah!"

  "Reeeeally?"

  "Oh, my."

  "I told you so."

  "Back in the car, kid!"

  The chorus of simultaneous comments from the adults halted Micah in his tracks. His eyes darted warily back and forth between the adults who were all focused on him. I'd like to think it was my glare that sent him scurrying back inside my car without another comment.

  "Who was that?" my mom asked as the other women stared at Grace and me with renewed interest.

  "Trouble," I answered, looking to Grace for some backup, but her eyes were following Micah with a bemused expression.

  The three older women on the porch exchanged looks. It was like watching something straight out of some alien movie as they appeared to have an entire conversation without speaking. I grew uneasy when they looked between Grace and me and smiled, looking pleased.

  "Oh, he looks adorable," Julie gushed. "Bring him inside and let's visit awhile."

  Why did I drag him here instead of taking him home first again? Right; because I liked efficiency. I just hadn't counted on this clusterfuck of relatives who seemed to have stumbled across the idea of a matchmaking business. "No, thank you, Aunt Julie. I need to get him home."

  "I'm sure you can spare a few minutes, can't you? I have some wonderful homemade pie that I made this morning," Anne called. "I'm sure he'd enjoy some, too."

  Both Grace and I shook our heads. I think she finally caught on to what was going on here.

  I needed to put an end to whatever plot they'd concocted. "Come on, Mom. I'm sure you should rest and ice your foot, so it's better before you and Aunt Julie travel, and I need to take Micah home. His mom is waiting for him." Maybe the kid would serve a purpose after all.

  "Well, if you're sure you can't stay...." My mom gave me one last longing look, but I held my hand out to assist her down the steps.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Carter. I hope these crutches help.”

  “Oh, what a lovely and thoughtful young lady you are. Right, Son?”

  “Yep. Time to go, Mom.”

  Almost sulking like a child denied extra play time, she hobbled down the rest of the sidewalk.

  "Grace, you can stay, right, honey?"

  "I really need to get going, too, Mom." Grace leaned close. "You know what they're doing, right?"

  I snorted. "They're experts. We played right into their hands without suspecting a thing."

  Grace blew out an exasperated breath. "I won't blame you if you don't come to dinner on Friday. Between both of my parents, if I were you, I'd run far and fast."

  Everything in me agreed with her. "I'll still be there." Well, apparently, not everything.

  "You will?"

  I laughed softly. "It wasn't just your mom. I had two conspiring family members to your one. Besides, I might be a little afraid of what will happen if I don't show up."

  To my surprise, she didn't laugh. "I like spending time with you, Jax, but not because you feel forced to."

  My hand thumped across my heart as I took a step back. "Really? This is coming from the woman who forced me to volunteer at the teen center?" I teased.

  "I didn't force you to do that. I just didn't play into your hands."

  I leaned forward, close enough I could feel her stiffen. Close enough I could see the eruption of goosebumps break out on her pretty neck with my next words. "My hands would really like to play with you, though."

  She stepped away from me, shaking her head. "And that's why we'll never work. Relationships, even friendships, shouldn't be about games. And so far, that's what this has been. For both of us."

  "Games can be fun, Ms. Hart. It's just about knowing the rules," I challenged.

  "And whose rules would those be, Mr. Carter? Yours? Mine? Because I don't see either of us breaking ours." A sad smile turned her lips before she turned toward her mom and my aunt who were watching our exchange intently. She gave them a cheerful wave. "I'll see you on Friday, Mama. Bye, Miss Julie."

  She glanced at me. "Bye, Jax. I guess I'll see you Friday, too." She turned toward her car before I could answer.

  As I watched her back out of the driveway, I knew she was right. I was playing a dangerous game. I always played to win; it's why I was a success in the business world. This, however, wasn't a game with the kind of woman I was used to; I didn't know the rules, but I knew mine wouldn't work. Even as I envisioned her spread flushed and naked across my sheets, I struggled to ignore that she was the type of woman who deserved more than a hump and dump. A niggling thought nagged me that if I pursued this, whatever this was with Grace, there might be two losers in the end.

  But there wasn't room in my world for loosing. I'd already lost too much.

  14

  Grace

  "Can we please take a break? We've been at this for hours!"

  I looked up from the notes I was taking. She'd returned home a couple of days ago, but today was the first we'd worked together on the charity dinner since she'd been back. "Ninety minutes, Jade. That's not hours."

  "It's more than one, isn't it? Last time I checked that meant plural, therefore, hours."

  "Why are you so cranky today?"

  "I'm not cranky. I'm also not Martha Fucking Stewa
rt. This is boring. How can you do this all day?"

  "You're kidding, right? This has got to be better than crunching numbers!"

  Jade's eyes bulged. "Numbers make sense. They fit neatly into formulas and columns. This,” – she waved her hand over the table – “is just so...so crafty! "

  I bit back a laugh. Couldn’t she see how contradictory she was? The purple streaks in her hair that matched the print in her Bohemian dress looked anything but the straight and narrow she claimed to love in her numeric world. She might not enjoy working on crafts, but she had a flair for style and drama. Hence, the reason I recruited her to help me scour the internet for ideas for centerpieces for the upcoming dinner. This was my favorite part of the planning process for the events I put together. Balancing budgets was not. So, while I could appreciate her frustration for this not being the way she wanted to pass an afternoon, this was more than her usual grousing.

  It probably had something to do with why she was constantly checking her phone—men, business, parental units—any of it was enough to put her in a grumpy mood. I decided not to poke the bear. I knew asking questions now wasn't going to get answers anyway, so I did the next best thing.

  Shutting down my Pinterest page, I stretched and said, "We've gotten a lot done. Cheesecake fix? We deserve it."

  For the first time all afternoon, her eyes lit up. "That's the best idea you've had, yet." She grabbed her purse and was halfway to the door before I could stand up. Laughing, I followed her. Nothing motivated This girl like dessert, not even numbers. Not even men.

  Thirty minutes later, we were tucked into a corner of a downtown bakery, Just Desserts. It was one of the few storefronts that had survived the downward dip in the economy years ago. Charlotte Garland had been creating and baking our favorite desserts here for as long as I could remember, and it was she who approached our table with a huge smile on her face.

  "Well, good afternoon, ladies! It's been awhile since I've seen you girls in here. How's your mom?" She crossed her hands over her plump baker's belly and raised her eyebrows at me.