Great-Aunt Sophia's Lessons for Bombshells (8 page)

“How long has it been since you were kissed?” he asked.

“I don’t know . . . at least a year, but it was only Cat.” The truth spilled out of her of its own volition, a secret she’d revealed to no one until today. He knew about it anyway, so what did it matter what more she said? “She hoped I might be bi, and persuaded me to let her try to find out.”

He groaned, pressing himself hard against her. “What did she do?”

Grace saw the scene again, watching it as if she were outside her own body. “She had me take my shirt off.”

Declan dropped his face to the crook of her neck, where she could feel his breath. “And then?” His hand moved up under her shirt.

Grace knew the story about her and Cat was turning him on, even as she was puzzled that it would do so; what
was
it with guys and girl-on-girl action? It felt so good to be touched, though, and nothing seemed to matter here in the dark. . . . “Then she unfastened my bra, and had me lie down on her bed. Before I knew what was happening, she kissed me.”

“Christ,” Declan muttered, and lifted his head to crush his own mouth to hers.

Grace let him, parting her lips when his tongue sought entrance and delved within. He sucked against her, his tongue rubbing hard against her own. His hand slid up toward her breast and she clutched his shoulder with her one free hand, not knowing if she would make him stop or urge him to continue.

A crash of crockery shattered the moment, jolting Grace out of her sexual haze. Cat’s voice let loose with a string of curses, and Grace remembered the mugs she’d left on the bottom step of the staircase.

Panic flooded her. She couldn’t be found like this! She struggled to get out from under Declan, but he weighed her down, his hand still up her top.

“Let me go!” Grace whispered.

“Grace?” Cat called softly into the darkness. It sounded like she was standing in the doorway to the living room, not ten feet away. “Are you in here?”

Grace froze, not daring to breathe.

Declan’s fingers pinched her nipple. She stared, wide-eyed, at him and caught the gleam of light on his grin.

“Grace?” Cat called again.

A lamp clicked on. In its amber glow, Catherine gaped at her.

Frantic in the light of discovery, Grace struggled against Declan and was released, his hand withdrawing from her shirt. Hot with embarrassment, she rolled off the couch and onto the floor on all fours and scrambled to her feet, pulling down her T-shirt.

“God
damn
you,” Catherine cursed, glaring at Declan.

“I’m astonished you didn’t get further with Grace,” Declan said to her, sitting up. “Look how far she was willing to go with me, a stranger she despises.”

Grace glared at him, too aghast to speak. Her worst doubts about him were proving true, even as her body still tingled with his touch.

“I was curious how far she’d go,” he said, his eyes on Catherine. “I didn’t think she’d let me touch so much as her foot, but she
is
full of surprises. A minute or two more, and you’d have seen her getting what she so obviously wants.”

The hard words hit Grace in the gut. “I
don’t
want that!”

Catherine shot a bitter look at her. “Don’t lie to me!”

Her breath caught on a sob of humiliation. She
had
wanted it while Declan’s hands were on her and his mouth against hers. She’d wanted it with every cell of her body.

“Good thing she’ll be here all summer,” Declan said. “We’ll have plenty of time to scratch that itch.”

Catherine pivoted on her heel and marched from the room. Grace stared after her, then turned to face Declan angrily.
“Why?”

“Because you let me. Your type always does.”

“
My
type?”

“Dumpy women protesting that they don’t want to be sexual objects. What you really want is a man with the balls to bend you over a desk and fuck you till you can’t see straight. All your feminist crap is a shield you hide behind because you know no guy is ever going to want you enough to do it.”

She shook her head, stunned by his blatant chauvinism. “You’re wrong. It’s not about sex. It’s about respect, it’s about—”

“Everything’s about sex. Grow up and smell the pheromones, Grace. Sexual acceptance and rejection; it’s what makes the world go round.”

“Not my world.”

“Then you’re living in fantasyland. Have fun there, alone with your vibrator.”

She choked on a sob and fled.

CHAPTER

5

G
race shivered in the misty air of dawn, her bathrobe inadequate against the chill. The maroon Jaguar and the other cars were all gone, and she wondered which had belonged to whom. The Volvo looked like a piece of forgotten rubbish in the empty courtyard.

Catherine loaded the last of her things into the back of the car and slammed the hatch. “You’re crazy to stay,” she said. “You know that, don’t you? You’ll need years of therapy to undo the damage that bitch and that prick are going to do to you.”

“He lives in San Francisco. I’m sure he’ll hardly ever be here.” To Grace’s surprise, Catherine hadn’t dissolved into more tears and fits of accusatory anger when Grace returned to her room last night. Declan’s humiliation of her seemed to have satisfied Cat. Grace had been punished for her sin. Catherine was content with her suffering and happy to take on the role of wise consoler of sorrows.

“That still leaves Sophia to deal with,” Catherine said.

“I’m a big girl. I can handle her.”

“Not from what I saw. There’s a time for retreat, Gracie, and better to do it now and save yourself the wounds. The woman has nearly a century of evil she can work on you; I don’t care how smart you are, you’re no match.”

“I don’t need to be her match. I’m going to study her!”

Catherine shook her head. “She’ll devour you.”

The words were an eerie echo of Declan’s. “Yeah, Sophia’s warped and horrible,” Grace admitted, “but think what it will mean to my thesis to spend the summer here.” The idea had come to her in the shower a few hours earlier, as she tried to wash away the humiliation of Declan’s touch and figure out why she’d been such an easy target. When she was hurt, intellectual analysis both distracted her and made her feel less vulnerable. Her analysis of the situation on the couch came to the highly scientific conclusion that she was horny and Declan was an insecure asshole who had to prove himself by conquering women. It was biology that had made her give in to him; his square jaw and symmetrical features had undone the primitive areas of her brain, making her want him.

After she’d figured that out, she’d then wondered about Declan and Sophia’s relationship, and thus the idea of studying Sophia was born.

“Talk about beauty meeting an unhappily ever after,” Grace continued. “Sophia’s story can be the centerpiece of my paper. She’s an example of every idea I’ve been developing for the past five years. Where’s her happy ending? She’s old and surrounded by nasty people, and so bitter she practically creaks with it. She’s perfect!”

“She’s Satan. Gracie, promise me that the moment you feel you can’t handle it here anymore, you’ll call me. I’ll come get you. You can spend the rest of the summer with me in San Diego, no strings attached.”

“Thanks, Cat, but I’ll be fine.” Just as she was pretending to be fine now, pretending not to be cringing inside at every memory of Declan’s hands on her, and her eager, stupid belief that he
was turned on by her. He’d probably been retching inside as he stroked her flabby belly.

“Promise me anyway.”

Grace sighed. “Okay, I promise. Now get going, so I can go back inside. I’m cold!”

They hugged, Catherine’s arms too tight, holding too much unspoken meaning. Grace kissed her cheek and patted her back. “Go on, now.”

Catherine released her and opened the car door. “Remember, I’m just a phone call or text away.”

“I’ll remember.” Feeling a stab of guilt for her own cold heart, which wasn’t sorry to see Catherine go, she gave Catherine one more hug. “You’re a good friend.”

Catherine sniffled and looked even sadder. The car door shut and the Volvo coughed to life. Grace waited on the front step, waving until Catherine drove away between the two stone pillars.

Grace took a deep breath and shook her arms and shoulders as if she could shake off the bad juju of the past twenty-four hours.

It’s a new day. I can start over. Declan won’t ever tell Sophia what he did to me, not if he cares about her good opinion. No one ever has to know
.

No one but herself, and it was knowledge she could face only when she dwelled on what a completely screwed-up asshole Declan had to be to prey on her trusting stupidity.

He wasn’t here now, though, and she could avoid him if he ever came to Pebble Beach again. Her native optimism bubbled slowly back to the surface, and with a growing sense of new beginnings, she stepped back into the house and closed the door.

Humming to herself, she bounced into the kitchen and
opened the refrigerator. Lali had told her last night to make herself at home in the kitchen, since her mother, Renata, didn’t do breakfast.

“A morning person, are you?”

Grace shrieked and dropped a container of yogurt, its white innards splattering on the terra-cotta floor. “Aunt Sophia! I didn’t expect anyone to be up so early.” Grace grabbed a towel off the counter and swabbed up the yogurt.

“It’s grossly unfair that at my age, one tires easily but sleeps hardly at all.”

Sophia was sitting in the large breakfast nook at the end of the kitchen, the bay window behind her providing an elegant backdrop of green garden. A plate of toast and a coffee mug sat on the table.

“I’m not always awake so early,” Grace said, rinsing the towel in the sink. “I had to see Catherine off.”

“I take it by your good mood that you were not sorry to see her go.”

Grace shrugged, unwilling to voice anything near the complicated truth.

“You’ll both be better for the separation. She can hate
me
now, instead of you.”

“So you were doing me a favor,” Grace said in disbelief.

“Yes, I do see it that way. Fetch your breakfast and come sit with me. I have something I want to discuss.”

God help her, she hoped it wasn’t another “favor.” A fresh bowl of yogurt and fruit in hand, and a mug of coffee from the pot, Grace slid onto the banquette across from Sophia. Her aunt’s hair and makeup were as perfect as if she’d never gone to bed, even though she wore a silk floral robe and Grace could see the collar of apricot silk pajamas. Grace’s oversize T-shirt and chenille robe felt ratty in comparison, and she hadn’t combed her hair
since showering. Even her bowl of yogurt looked unkempt next to Sophia’s neat, dry toast.

“I’ve been thinking about your fascinating thesis on the emotional effects of beauty on women, and it occurred to me that I can help you gain a deeper understanding of it.”

“You’ll tell me of your own experiences as a beauty, and the troubles it brought? Wonderful! I’d been hoping you might!”

Sophia took a sip of coffee. “That wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

“Oh. Er. Ah, I didn’t mean to imply that you were obviously miserable, or anything.”

“How fortunate for me that the Botox hides so much,” she said drily. “No, my thought was that while you are yourself a beautiful young lady, it is a beauty that to most people lies obscured by your slumping posture, your fidgeting, your lack of fashion sense, and your general air of slovenliness. It’s obvious that you have neither seen yourself as a beautiful girl, nor have you wished others to see you that way.”

Grace’s cheeks flamed. “That’s not true; of course I want people to think I’m reasonably attractive. It’s human nature. What I don’t have is a need for people to see me as the prettiest girl in the room, and I don’t ever want to be seen as sexy.”

“Ohh . . . ,” Sophia moaned, and for a moment Grace thought she was going to faint. “Heavens, dear, why ever not?”

“I want people to see
me
—the real me, not just the surface. I don’t want to be treated as an object.” Declan flashed to mind. “I want them to focus on who I
am
.”