Grace Doll (26 page)

After the kiss, he tilts his head toward the bathroom. ”You want to get cleaned up?”

I need a moment to collect scattered desire, so I shake my head. “You go first.”

The restroom door closes and my heart stands on a precipice. I hope he will give me a chance. My future at once seemed fragile to me, with the fantasy of Brenden attached to possibilities. Free of Rufus, I realize that with or without Brenden in my life, my future can go any direction I choose.

I wait for the sound of the shower to start, and cross to the bed, staring at the red, unzipped backpack. What will he do when I tell him I took the vial?

A way out.
I hear Dr. Lemarchal’s voice over the roar of flames as if he just spoke to me. Lowering to the bed, I sit and wait. There’d been no taste to the liquid. I don’t feel any different. What if the antidote lost its properties?

Finally, the water stops and a few minutes later the door opens. A puff of steam billows out into the room and he emerges, towel around his waist, another in his hands as he scrubs his head.

He stops in the bathroom opening. When he sees me sitting on the bed next to his backpack, his hands stop scrubbing. He lowers the towel, leaving his hair wild.

His stride to the bed is slow, his gaze curious. Has he forgotten he’s nearly naked? Thoughts of the vial—of telling him—vanish. I can’t take my eyes off the lean layers of muscle over bone covering his arms, abdomen, and legs.

Without saying anything, he tosses the wet towel in his hands on the desk, reaches into the backpack and brings out the box. He holds my gaze, as if one last search of me has finally confirmed to him the reality of my identity. And then he extends the box to me.

Gingerly, I take it. “The night of the fire, Dr. Lemarchal gave me a vial. All he said was, ‘A way out.’”

“Kind of cryptic.”

“Without knowing what it was, I had Jonathan keep it for me.”

“So the vial was in the box?”

I nod.

“Did you ever find out what it is?”

“Yes. The ‘antidote’ was really nothing more than a vaccine. A reversal.”

His face grows serious. “Was?”

“I…took the vial when I saw Rufus.”

Brenden’s eyes widen. A few seconds of silence clip by. Brenden’s face lights with what looks like admiration. He shakes his head. “I’d have paid big bucks to have seen that.”

A smile creeps onto my lips. “It was incredibly satisfying.”

Brenden reaches out and touches my shoulder. “Are you okay? How—do you feel any different? That was a risk, taking it, wasn’t it?”

“The greater risk was seeing Rufus.”

The way he looks at me urges my heart wide open, and I’m ready to take him inside of it. He steps closer.

“What happens now?” His voice is soft, his eyes search mine.

“Now, I’m going to have a life.”

“Like everyone else? Grow old?”

I nod.

His awed expression relaxes a little. The nearness of him sends my blood pounding to the surface of my skin. The scent of soap, moist skin and Brenden fills the air. Entranced by the quickening of his breath—the rise and fall of his bare chest, I reach out unable to keep myself from touching. I lay my hand over his heart, feel it pound beneath warm skin.

His hand covers mine and then he kisses me again.

“Do you want me?” I whisper against his lips.

He eases back, holding my gaze. “I want you for the rest of our lives, Grace.”

Chapter Thirty

~Brenden~

When Grace takes her turn to freshen up, I dig through my backpack for my cell phone and plug it in. The battery begins to charge and Solomon’s number flashes, he’d called ten times hours earlier, before the fire.

What a weird turn of events.

Judy’s called, too, fifteen times since Grace and I left Dad’s house. I dial her, ready to threaten her again.

“Brenden!” She speaks before I have the chance to chew her out. “Did Grace hear about Rufus Solomon?”

“What? Yes. And that fat-lipped mouth of yours better stay shut—”

“Where did you two run off to?”

“As far away from you as possible.”

“Run to hell if you want. You can’t keep this from going public. Papa deserves it.”

“I don’t care about you or your friggin’
Papa
.” I disconnect the call. Frustration surges through me like a vengeful storm.

Grace emerges from the bathroom with her hair wet, slicked back and wearing a long black robe, tied at the waist. The neckline bares the slightest fullness of what beauty lies beneath, and a fast rush of want soars through my body.

Stunning.

Smiling, she crosses to her bag. “I forgot my slippers. I detest not wearing slippers right out of the bath.”

“I’ve never worn slippers in my whole life,” I admit, admiring her delicate feet. Everything about her is feminine—as if she loves being female and knows that power. I can’t stop watching.

She slides on one slipper, then another, both black with heels, and fluffy toes. When she notices that I’m staring, she freezes.

Am I breathing? I’m not dead, or face down, so I guess I am. But for a second, I swear my heart stalls. “Your slippers,” my voice cracks, “Are hot. I guess I thought everything in a panic bag might be more on the utilitarian side.”

Her smile knocks another breath from my chest. “Never. I enjoy clothing and accessories too much to waste one moment wearing something utilitarian. I made these myself.”

“Wh—you—how does one make shoes?”

“Easily. A simple slip-on heel with a ruched pom-pom. I make all my clothes. I have for years.”

“Oh, so it wasn’t enough for you to have five bachelor degrees?”

She laughs. “It wasn’t enough. I’ve done just about everything I’ve ever wanted to do, Brenden. Except learn how to swim.” The way she says my name is like silky ambrosia melting on contact with my senses. I’m in awe at the years of living she has stored in her head.

“I’m feeling rather inadequate here,” I snort. The statement is only partially true. I’ve never been happier. And I’ve never been happier for someone else. “You deserve everything.”

She considers my words. Her eyes glisten, and, she turns away.

Chapter Thirty-One

~Grace~

“Did I say something?” Brenden’s suddenly behind me, his hands on my shoulders. ”I’m sorry. I can teach you how to swim, if that’s what’s bothering you. I’m a master surfer.” He flashes a grin.

“It’s not that.” My voice is barely audible. I’m afraid to say more, afraid of what he’ll think when he hears every last bit of truth. “I’ve done a lot. Traveled, studied, taught myself anything and everything my heart desires. But I’ve missed…relationships. I’ve never had anyone other than your father and Oscar in my life.”

“Ever? What about the soldier?”

“It couldn’t last. It was heart breaking.”

“Because of your physiological reaction to the opposite sex?” he asks. “Was that why you stayed away from relationships?”

“Yes. And we spent so much time moving around. Even though I entertained the idea of relationships, I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone to have claim on me ever again.”

“Claim’s a strong word,” he says. “I like belong better.” He skims my cheek with his fingertips. His head dips closer. “We don’t have to label it, Grace.”

I nod, feeling relieved. Comforted. Happy. Needing to embrace him for his willingness to love me.

The phone in the room rings, and Brenden and I start. For a second, we hold each other’s gazes in shock.

“Who the hell knows we’re here?”Brenden crosses to the bed stand and snatches it. I hear a raised voice pitching from the other end.

“I’ll handle it.” He slams the phone on the receiver. The feral look in his eyes makes my stomach hollow.

He swallows. His gaze darts toward the door like someone is coming. “Get dressed.” He races to his backpack, yanks out a tee shirt and pulls it over his head. “We can sneak out the back. No one will see us. Our flight for Salt Lake takes off in three hours, we can arrange for some—”

“No.” It’s clear that I have another face off. “I’m not hiding. I’m done with that.“ I cross to the window, peer out the opening of the heavy-lined drapes. Brenden stands behind me, and even feeling his body so near gives me extra courage.
I want you for the rest of our lives.

The L-shape parking lot has dozens of news vans parked in it. Reporters scurry like mice looking for a crack in a wall. I see them gather around a black jaguar pulling into the lot.

“She had us followed,” Brenden growls. “I didn’t see—I should have kept watch.”

I force my heartbeat to steady. This moment will not crush me, I won’t allow anything to happen I don’t want to happen.
No one owns me
. And the timing of this scene is in my control. The litter of reporters now congregates around Judy, emerging from her car dressed in all black, wearing sunglasses.

Brenden sneers. “Sunglasses? It’s night time.” He storms away from the window, hands crammed in his hair.

“I’m sorry,” I offer.

“For what? It’s my step-mother out there. It’s her who’s been following me—you—us. This is my fault.”

Voices and shouting outside the door grow louder, getting closer. I close the drape. For a second I hold my breath.

“This is insanity,” he hisses, jittery as a wild horse. Like he’s trapped. Helpless. I know the feeling—and don’t ever want anyone I care about feeling that way.

Brenden snatches his clothes and darts into the bathroom. While he’s dressing, I slip out of the robe and into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. I sit on the end of the bed and put on socks and my shoes.

He emerges and stuffs his dirty clothes into the backpack. We’re trapped here, but I’m not afraid of whatever comes next. I have Brenden.

“Kiss me,” I say.

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

The anxiety on his face gradually eases. His arms slip around my waist; his lips come to mine with urgency.

Suddenly, the noise of commotion outside the door hushes. “Whatever happens is worth this,” I say, pressing a last kiss against his mouth.

Judy’s voice booms from the other side of the door. “In 1914, my father, Nobel Prize winner Dr. Alexis Lemarchal discovered the secret to eternal youth. Not only did he keep cells alive in his laboratory for thirty five years, but in 1949 he sold the first, and only, human experimental treatment of the miracle serum to Rufus Solomon.”

“The same Rufus Solomon who died hours ago in a fire?” someone asks.

“The same.”

“Are the two incidents related?”

“I have no idea. I’m here to talk about my father,” Judy says. “Rufus Solomon paid an undisclosed sum for my father to administer the treatment to his then wife, actress Grace Doll. Which he did.”

A low murmuring of voices follows. Brenden and I remain at the closed door, locked in our embrace.

“All of the scientific data I was able to recover from Papa’s archives is in the media kit. And, you’ve each received a copy of the photograph of Grace Doll taken earlier today.”

“You’re saying that Grace Doll didn’t die in that fire back in 1949,” one man snickers. “Where is she?”

“She’s here.” There’s a firm tapping on the door startles Brenden and me.

“In this motel room with my stepson, Brenden Lane.”

Someone laughs. “Has he been immortalized too?”

Then the pack of reporters breaks out into laughter.

Brenden’s eyes look into mine with utter determination and fight. I’m amazed that he’s not fleeing. Who would want to have anything to do with what I know is coming?

“Judy sounds so ridiculous, maybe no one will believe her,” he sneers.

“Grace Doll is alive,” Judy continues. “I’ve seen her. She looks exactly the same today as she did in 1949. And her immortal status is a direct result of my father’s historic discovery.”

Indecipherable shouts and questions barrage the door like bullets.

“We can make a fool out of her,” Brenden says, “And escape out the bathroom window.”

“Then the hunt will start all over again. I want a life—my own life.”

I ease from his arms and touch the side of his face. A trembling shudders through my body, I have to close my eyes as it sweeps through me.“It’s getting easier to touch you.”

“I don’t think I like that.” He snags my hand and places a kiss on my palm. “Definitely not a step in the right direction.”

“But this is.” With one last squeeze, I release his hand and open the door.

Judy whirls around. Flashes brighten the dark night. Questions fall like rain. A million memories of moments just like this pop into my head like the sparks of light now flashing at me.