Free Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) by Jacie Floyd Page B

if trying to grasp an invisible object just
outside her reach.
    “That last
piece looked passionate as hell.”
    Instead of
laughing as he’d hoped she would, her lips compressed into a disapproving line
while she moved around the work area, cleaning and storing her equipment.
    Most other
women would’ve shot back a flirtatious response, but he’d already noticed that
Gracie wasn’t like other women. She held her own in any conversation, but there
wasn’t a drop of coyness about her. She wouldn’t put up with any foolishness.
Was that her natural response or a defense erected after the breakup with the
boyfriend?
    He peeked
into the cold, empty kiln. “This is a pretty elaborate set-up for someone
without talent.”
    “My mother
was the artist, not me.”
    “Are those
her pieces displayed in the house?” Fabulous examples of freeform and
traditional pottery decorated every room of the B&B.
    “For the
most part.” Pride radiated from her eyes as Gracie rinsed out her bucket and
sponge.
    “They’re
excellent.”
    “See?
That’s what I mean about passion. She breathed emotion into the clay as she
shaped it.”
    “How long
since she died?”
    “Nine
years.”
    Obviously,
the recent death of his own mother made him sensitive to Gracie’s pain. Nothing
else he could think of explained his urge to take her into his arms and comfort
her. The stiffness of her spine informed him that she’d reject any but the most
impersonal expression of sympathy. He crossed his arms and refrained. “That
must have been tough for you.”
    “Tougher
for her. She was only forty-two and still had a lot of living she wanted to
do.” Gracie soaped up her hands and arms like a surgeon, rinsing and re-rinsing
until the muddy residue washed away. Reaching for a towel, she turned toward
him. Her denim shirt held very few clean or dry spots. Streaks of dry clay
decorated her cheek.
    He took the
towel from her, dampened one corner, and then tilted her chin up. “You missed a
spot.”
    “I usually
do.” She stood still while he ministered to her as if she were a
chocolate-smeared child.
    Her gaze
met his across the scant inches that separated them. Another impulse to hug her
came upon him so strongly that he had to lean back to keep from pulling her
against him. He’d never seen eyes so clear and easy to read, so completely
lacking in artifice. They were deep and warm, honest and... vulnerable?
    The tension
pulled taut between them until Gracie blinked and broke the moment. Before she
could turn away, he replaced the towel on her cheek with his thumb, pretending
to scrub at a particularly stubborn spot. She had the softest skin he’d ever
touched.
    “This stuff
dries like glue.” If he continued to scrape, he’d erase a freckle. But he
hadn’t reached his fill of touching her. His hand traced down to the curve
between her shoulder and neck. Her pulse beat visibly in the hollow of her
throat, and a silver chain disappeared inside her shirt. He imagined the end
nestling somewhere between her breasts. The urge to follow it to its hiding
place became overwhelming.
    As his
finger began to trail the links, she swallowed, gave him a reproving look, and
stepped away. A strong sense of loss echoed through him when she removed
herself from his touch.
    “Ti-time to
close up shop.” Her aloof statement almost caused him to doubt the heat that
had arced between them. Almost… if her voice hadn’t broken on that first word.
She switched off the light. “You ready?”
    “Getting
there.” The night air felt blessedly cool as he stepped outside.
    “‘Night,
then.” She dismissed him without a backward glance. Too quickly and completely
to suit him.
    He stood at
the bottom of the stairs with his hands hooked in his pockets. He wrestled with
a selfish desire to follow her inside, take her clothes off, and find out if
she was as unmoved by him as she pretended. Bad
idea .
    Sex with
Gracie might be great, but she was definitely not his type.