would go shopping, she decided. Credit therapy, she liked to call it. She was going to buy some new underwear for dating nice mortal men and a few nice lacy little things to sleep in, maybe a new outfit or two. And shoes, definitely shoes. There was also a new chocolatier that had opened in the River Market district, and she wanted some gourmet chocolate-covered graham crackers. Best of all, this wasn’t even going to be on her credit. Grace had applied for a card in Michael’s name and, surprisingly enough, had gotten it. It was one of those lovely no-limit numbers. She’d only have a short time before they canceled it for lack of payment. If she’d had more time, she’d have flown to Paris and Italy during Fashion Week and given that card a real workout.
She supposed in some circles this would be called identity theft. Grace called it monies owed for services rendered. She would be careful not to pay any bills related to her apartment with the thing. In the eyes of the law, it could be considered his domicile if she did. That was the last thing she needed, especially as she’d spent the last four years ridding her life of anything reminding her of him.
Damn it! She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Michael. The whole point of shopping with his credit card was to enjoy sticking it to him. But could she shop, spend his money, and not think about him? She’d give it a try.
It worked. The next day, she found herself naked in a dressing room at Avenue, one of the only shops that carried lingerie that looked good on her lush figure, debating the balconette or the push-up bra and feeling much better. Even though she’d always loved the push-up, she wondered if it was time for something new. Grace couldn’t deny that she liked her lines better in the push-up. She didn’t need it so much for making her look like she had more—this little witch was generously endowed—but she liked the support.
She caught a glance of herself in the mirror and smiled, pleased that there wasn’t one stretch mark in sight, not even on the rounded curve of her hip or the slightly rounded part of her abdomen where her baby would have first started growing. That thought brought a sigh. Tracing her fingers down the same path, she couldn’t help but think of Nikoli. She’d been determined not to, but he was her son. What would she do if none of it had ever happened, if she’d never given birth to her amazing child? It would be like a death. No, not like a death. It would be murder—the death of an ideal, a dream. It would indeed be the death of her son, because he would still be real to her.
“Waiting for me, Gracie?”
Grace screamed and jumped back against the wall, jamming the hook into her back that had been thoughtfully installed on the dressing room wall for hanging clothes, which in turn propelled her forward into Caspian’s waiting arms. Actually, it was more like it propelled her rack into his waiting hands. He was holding her up by her breasts, and it was none too pleasant a sensation.
“If you required my attention, all you had to do was ask.” Caspian squeezed once, twice, and then he rubbed his thumbs over the nipples before looking back up at her scowling face. The sensation got a hell of a lot better.
“Don’t call me Gracie,” she hissed.
“Why not? I like it. It’s sweet and tastes good on my tongue, just like you.” He still had hold of her breasts.
He made the mistake of winking at her. That small action seemed to stop time, or at least slow it down. Grace had had enough. Her hand reared back behind her head, her fingers curling into a fist before it shot forward. For both of them, it was like they were moving through water. Caspian’s eyes seemed to grow ever wider. Her fist plowed through time and space to finally connect with his face.
The crash of her flesh against his was electric, and the force of her blow was enough to turn his head. He still didn’t loosen his grip on her
She supposed in some circles this would be called identity theft. Grace called it monies owed for services rendered. She would be careful not to pay any bills related to her apartment with the thing. In the eyes of the law, it could be considered his domicile if she did. That was the last thing she needed, especially as she’d spent the last four years ridding her life of anything reminding her of him.
Damn it! She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about Michael. The whole point of shopping with his credit card was to enjoy sticking it to him. But could she shop, spend his money, and not think about him? She’d give it a try.
It worked. The next day, she found herself naked in a dressing room at Avenue, one of the only shops that carried lingerie that looked good on her lush figure, debating the balconette or the push-up bra and feeling much better. Even though she’d always loved the push-up, she wondered if it was time for something new. Grace couldn’t deny that she liked her lines better in the push-up. She didn’t need it so much for making her look like she had more—this little witch was generously endowed—but she liked the support.
She caught a glance of herself in the mirror and smiled, pleased that there wasn’t one stretch mark in sight, not even on the rounded curve of her hip or the slightly rounded part of her abdomen where her baby would have first started growing. That thought brought a sigh. Tracing her fingers down the same path, she couldn’t help but think of Nikoli. She’d been determined not to, but he was her son. What would she do if none of it had ever happened, if she’d never given birth to her amazing child? It would be like a death. No, not like a death. It would be murder—the death of an ideal, a dream. It would indeed be the death of her son, because he would still be real to her.
“Waiting for me, Gracie?”
Grace screamed and jumped back against the wall, jamming the hook into her back that had been thoughtfully installed on the dressing room wall for hanging clothes, which in turn propelled her forward into Caspian’s waiting arms. Actually, it was more like it propelled her rack into his waiting hands. He was holding her up by her breasts, and it was none too pleasant a sensation.
“If you required my attention, all you had to do was ask.” Caspian squeezed once, twice, and then he rubbed his thumbs over the nipples before looking back up at her scowling face. The sensation got a hell of a lot better.
“Don’t call me Gracie,” she hissed.
“Why not? I like it. It’s sweet and tastes good on my tongue, just like you.” He still had hold of her breasts.
He made the mistake of winking at her. That small action seemed to stop time, or at least slow it down. Grace had had enough. Her hand reared back behind her head, her fingers curling into a fist before it shot forward. For both of them, it was like they were moving through water. Caspian’s eyes seemed to grow ever wider. Her fist plowed through time and space to finally connect with his face.
The crash of her flesh against his was electric, and the force of her blow was enough to turn his head. He still didn’t loosen his grip on her
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