Finding Grace (12 page)

“No, Jack, I was born weird. They were okay, nice
families. Nothing happened. I just…I just never felt like I
belonged, know what I mean?”

The way he nodded and looked at her made her feel
his empathy. “I was good at school, so I concentrated on that. It
wasn’t so bad being the odd one out there. The social side of
school sucks for a lot of people.”

“With as fast as you move, I bet you were great at
track, too.” His admiration seemed just as genuine as his
empathy.

“Um, gymnastics was more my thing.”

Jack grimaced. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? You
like the leotards, Thorne, or just the—”

“Enough about me, Peaches. Time to show me yours.
Don’t try to tell me you grew up in a perfect home in the
suburbs.”

The idea was funny enough that they both laughed.
For a minute.

“Now who’s trying to explain weirdness, Thorne?”

She watched his smile fade though, when he told her
about losing both parents when he was still young and being pretty
much raised by his older brother, Joe.

“He was a real hardass. Kids shouldn’t raise kids;
you got that part right in your plan for world peace. Nothing I did
was ever good enough for him. I’m not stupid, but I sucked at
school—the book side
and
the social side. I enlisted as soon
as I was old enough, got the hell out of there. Finally found
someplace where I didn’t feel like garbage. No drill sergeant ever
had anything on Joe. One thing though, he sure as hell taught me
how to handle myself in a fight.”

“I’m sorry, Jack. Sounds shitty. A lot worse than
any of my foster homes.”

“It was shitty.” He shrugged. “But I turned out
okay, right? Not a worthless piece of trash any more.” He laughed
like he didn’t care. But she could tell he still did.

She said, “Yeah, Jack, you’re okay,” in a voice that
was a lot huskier than her usual.

He was looking at her kind of funny, so she went on
quickly. “Still talk to your brother?”

“He calls a couple times a year. Fucker still tries
to run my life.”

Thorne couldn’t help but snicker. “I find that
pretty hard to imagine.”

“Me too. That’s why I don’t usually return his
calls.”

She thought for a moment. “Do you think he tries to
tell you what to do because he loves you or just because he’s a
bossy fucker?”

“What the hell kind of question is that, Thorne?
Can’t we stay off the faggy shit?” He started to get up.

“Sorry. I guess I thought it was an important one. I
was just wondering what it felt like, that’s all, to have somebody
love you. Doesn’t sound all that great.”

Shit, that’s what she got for not keeping her mouth
shut. She got up too.

“You suck at this show-and-tell shit, Thorne.
Probably too many foster sisters who liked to put you in dresses or
something.”

* * * *

Dagger knew he’d left in a hurry. It’s just that
Thorne kept touching him in places he didn’t want touched. At least
not like that. At least not by a…

Everything would have been fine, though, if he
hadn’t had a dream about him and Thorne that night.
That kind of
dream
. There hadn’t been any body parts or anything like that,
just the heat and desire and Thorne’s presence. It scared the
complete and utter shit out of him. He almost puked when he woke up
and remembered it.

Thorne had a dream about Jack that night, too. She
didn’t dream much really, unless the nightmares counted. But this
dream scared her even more. Because it had felt so good.

Chapter Eight

Dagger had found the place easily enough, even if he
hadn’t wanted to. It wasn’t far from Thorne’s apartment. He’d
suggested sending Farley, but Paul had reminded him how important
this was and how putting anyone else with Thorne might not provide
the smoothest of outcomes. He hadn’t been able to argue the point
and he couldn’t very well tell Paul
why
he didn’t want to
see Thorne, especially since he didn’t want to remember.

The door at the top of the stairs was locked and no
one was answering. He rechecked the address. A dance studio.
Perfect, just fucking perfect. He leaned on the bell.

Finally, he saw a neatly dressed, hard-bodied but
very effeminate man mincing toward him through the wavy,
wire-reinforced glass of the door’s window. The man took one look
at him and turned white. Dagger sighed and held his Blackridge ID
against the glass. The man frowned and opened the door like it
might be his final act on earth.

“You’re Jack? The Georgia peach? Not
quite
what I’d…” His voice matched his appearance and he spoke quickly
and precisely. Dagger watched his Adam’s apple bob. Dagger scowled.
At length, the man cleared his throat. “I’m Trent. It will be about
twenty minutes until Thorne is finished. Interruptions are
absolutely forbidden, not that I would ever wish to. You may wait
in the observation room with me, you lucky man.” His smile was
polite, even friendly. He’d regrouped fast, Dagger would have liked
to give him that.

Too bad he wasn’t in the mood to give anybody
anything.

He allowed his mouth to curve into its natural
snarl. “I haven’t had any coffee yet, I hate waiting, I’m not into
fucking ballet or whatever this shit is and I’m
definitely
not into you, so what the fuck makes me so goddamn lucky?”

Trent took a step back and put his hands on his
hips. “Well, aren’t you just the beast? I’m not missing any more of
Thorne’s routine, so you can just follow my sweet ass or wait out
here. It’s entirely up to you.” He sniffed loudly and sashayed down
the hall.

Heaving a second heavy sigh, Dagger followed him
through another door into a long, narrow room with an almost
floor-to-ceiling window into another room along the length of it.
The music coming through the speakers was loud, slow and bluesy.
Dagger looked through one-way glass into a big room with a large
thick mat centered in it and a table off to the side with a
familiar backpack leaning against one of the legs. There was a
figure bending in the center of the mat. Lovely legs and soft
curves…Wait, that purple hair…

* * * *

Thorne stretched into a backbend, holding the pose
for a bar before pulling it into a handstand and slowly spreading
her legs parallel to the mat. She held the pose for another three
bars, then rolled gradually down onto her back, pulling her legs
together as she let her body ripple with the beat and bring her to
her feet. She loved Marvin Gaye’s “Trouble Man.”

The concentration required for her workout was a
perfect antidote to the craziness under her skin, prickling and
tickling her. Jack. It also gave her a physical expression for said
prickling and tickling, resulting from what, she guessed, was the
sexual tension that her body had been experiencing since she’d met
him. She couldn’t be sure, of course, because these feelings were
new. But it was getting worse every day.

* * * *

Dagger blinked. Then all of the air in his lungs
emptied with a whoosh. When he filled them again, he croaked,
“Thorne’s a…a…”

“Oh, you noticed, did you? That leotard doesn’t hide
much besides her skin, does it? Not like those rags she runs around
in. I was
so
disappointed the first time I saw her in it.
But it appears my loss is your gain. And oh my, what a gain!
Mm-mmm!”

Without taking his eyes off Thorne, Dagger shifted,
wishing his jeans weren’t suddenly so goddamn tight, and said,
“Take your eyes off my fucking ‘gain’ if you want to keep seeing
through them, Trent.”

Thorne continued to move in ways that were making it
increasingly difficult for Dagger to breathe. When she spread those
gorgeous legs so invitingly yet again, he hadn’t realized he’d
said, “Sweet Jesus,” and tried to push through the glass until he
heard Trent hiss at him.

“Don’t you dare make smudge marks. That glass
requires a special cleaner. Now sit down and behave yourself.”

Still not taking his eyes off Thorne and unable to
sit down, Dagger said, “This isn’t how it’s usually done, is it? I
mean, Christ, you’d have to have bouncers at the performances.”

“Actually, what Thorne does is a mixture of
tumbling, jazz, and rhythmic gymnastics with some juggling thrown
in and an occasional round at that punching bag she asked me to put
up in the corner. Of course, most women don’t have the upper body
strength to move that slowly. It allows her a wonderfully eclectic
taste in music and routines. The choreography is always different,
entirely free form. And working with a blindfold like she does!
She’s here almost every morning and I absolutely hate it when I
have to miss her. I suppose it might be considered somewhat
erotic—and she has turned up the heat lately, but until she started
at Blackridge, I’d assumed she was asexual.

“Of course, she could be a one-woman show, but when
I suggested it…well, the language! My ears are still burning. You
know—” Trent looked him up and down “—I bet you look deliciously
frightening without a shirt. If you were to wear just those jeans
and he-man boots, learn a few moves, we could add you and call the
routine
Beauty and Beast
. Oh, it would be marvelous.” He
sighed dreamily before adding, “She likes you, you know.”

“What makes you think that? What did she say about
me?” Dagger was afraid he sounded like he suddenly felt, a smitten
teenager.

“Well, she curses all of you at Blackridge with the
proficiency of a sailor—ooh, I do love sailors, I think it’s those
little hats—but she saves the longest and juiciest phrases for you,
Jack. And then there’s that silly look she gets on her face when
she mentions your name.”

He grunted, trying not to feel too relieved, too
pleased, too excited, too goddamn eager. His palms were
sweating.

Her routine had changed with the music, faster now,
the classic Stone’s “Gimme Shelter.” She had just finished a series
of handsprings culminating in a twisting somersault, landing at the
very corner of the mat. After picking up three heavy-looking
juggling clubs from the table, she began dancing, nodding to the
music and juggling, blindfold still in place. It should have been
more scary than sexy, really, but she was close to the glass and he
could see the shiny wetness on her lips from when her tongue had
flicked out to lick them in concentration.

Dagger clenched his jaw to stifle a groan. It only
got worse when she went into what Trent informed him was a
variation of rhythmic gymnastics using a silver ball. It moved over
her body as though it had a mind of its own, and that mind was
thinking along the same lines Dagger’s was.

* * * *

The final notes of the last song were fading and
Thorne was on her back, breathing hard, satisfied. The fine sheen
of sweat covering her body and the ache in her muscles were telling
her it had been a good workout, even if she hadn’t been able to
stop thinking about Jack. She got up and pulled off her blindfold.
She smiled and made a little bow to Trent before moving off to pack
up her gear, roll up the mat, and pull on a sweat suit.

* * * *

Her gaze met Dagger’s without recognition through
the two-way mirror. He let out a breath of relief when he
remembered she couldn’t see him. Her eyes were mesmerizing. They
were soft gray and huge, framed by a thick pelt of long silver
lashes beneath feathery brows of the same ghostly shade. Her cheeks
were flushed, the bones fine and high and delicately sculpted like
the rest of her face, highlighted by the short cut of her thick
hair.

How the hell had he ever thought she could be a boy?
She wasn’t just a woman, she was fucking beautiful, exotic,
otherworldly. He gasped when she smiled.

From somewhere far away, he heard a voice say,
“Well, if it’s true that the bigger they are, the harder they fall,
then we’d better prepare for an earthquake. Jack? Jack? Earth to
Jack. Time for you to go out in the hall. This way…Easy, big
fella…”

* * * *

Thorne stepped out in the hall, ready for a slow jog
back to her apartment and a shower before heading over to work. She
smiled to herself. Seeing Jack again wouldn’t be so bad, would it?
Then she saw boots she recognized and looked up slowly. Her smile
wavered. Then again…

“What’re you doing here, Jack?”

“Trouble at Soroko’s development lab. Paul wants us
there right away.” His voice sounded lower and rougher than
usual.

“Soroko is a brand new, important client. I can’t go
like this. I smell like a goat.”

He looked at her strangely. “You smell…” He leaned
close enough for her to feel the heat of his body and she heard him
inhale deeply through his nose. “…like a woman.”

“You saw.” Her voice came out like a squeak and she
pushed against the brick wall that was his chest.

He was so close she felt his lips brush her ear when
he whispered, “Oh, yeah.”

Thorne shivered, but not because she was cold. She
whispered back hoarsely, “So what fucking difference does it make,
Jack?”

In answer, he moved closer, almost pinning her
against the wall, caging her between his arms. He pressed into her,
letting her feel him, all of him. “Goddamn it, Thorne. You tell
me.”

His voice rumbled deep inside her. His lips had
brushed her ear again and it felt hot where he’d touched her.
Thorne felt her bones beginning to melt. She swallowed. “Oh…oh!”
She couldn’t seem to breathe, what with the whole bone-melting
thing and the air having suddenly left the planet and all.

* * * *

Dagger saw her pulse pounding in the vein at her
throat, just beneath her jaw. It pounded in the same rhythm as the
machine-gun hammering of his heart. His hands were just closing on
her shoulders, his mouth moving toward her lips, his knee pressing
to part her thighs, when he heard a sniff and an insistent throat
clearing.