Gracie Sinclair just wants life to return to normal.
Now a widow and picking up the pieces after the death of her husband, she delves into her work, seeking a new normal, until she bumps into a handsome stranger who derails her orderly life, completely.
Luke can’t wait for the week to be over. Having built an engineering company into a multi-million pound enterprise in record time, he feels...empty. Nothing satisfies him anymore, not even having weekenders in his bed. But when he bumps into a woman—literally—on his way out of a bar, realizing she is his last meeting before he goes on holiday, his plan of staying away from relationships takes a nose dive. He wants Gracie Sinclair.
Gracie learned a long time ago how insincere love can be, so when Luke decides to become part of her life, she tosses up every obstacle to dissuade him until he breaks down her walls and makes her realize that her life can only be complete with Luke by her side.
However, something sinister from Luke’s past threatens the happiness they have struggled to find. If he concedes, he will become criminally liable and lose everything.
If he refuses, he loses Gracie’s heart…
She resumed walking.
"Mr. Bryce, you should have waited for me to get you from reception," she said, trying to inject displeasure in her tone when she was feeling the opposite.
"It's Luke, Gracie. I want you to call me that."
Her eyebrow lifted of its own volition.
"What is it you wanted?" she asked, not bothering to say his name. Irritation flashed in his eyes before it was gone. Slight apprehension uncoiled inside her. Gracie hacked it with a mental knife.
This man wasn't Jonathan. This man was the opposite and her body knew it.
"Let's talk inside your office."
Gracie saw that the receptionist had left her post and was watching their exchange with interest.
"Very well," she muttered, walking towards him to open the door. As she did, his cologne drifted to her nose, and she inhaled deeply. His body heat embraced her, ratcheting her awareness of this virile man who had no problem invading her personal space, making her very aware of his sex appeal. He was so near that when he exhaled she could feel his breath close to her temple. Her sex pulsed at the contact.
She twisted the doorknob, walked ahead, and waited for him to come in. When she turned around after closing the door, he was standing so close to her that she had to tilt her head up. Her breath hitched when she saw his eyes smoulder, the heat in them burning a trail down her sternum to spread across her breasts. Heart in her throat and excitement running through her bloodstream, she took in everything Luke Bryce was. From the shadow that covered his jaw, to his deep set eyes that seemed to look into her very soul, and his wide mouth that she desperately wanted to kiss. Oh God, she wanted what he was offering. Her mind battled against itself. She wanted to move away and yet wanted to stay. He used her moment of indecision to cage her in with his hands against the door by her shoulders. If lust had a scent, Gracie knew what it was. Freaking hot, delicious, and damn good. It swirled around her in a sensual blanket, and she could feel her pulse throbbing in her clit, causing her core to moisten in response. Her nipples also responded by budding inside her bra, the lace sensually abrasive against the points.
"You lied to me," he said softly.
"Excuse me." Her eyes snapped to his deep blues.
He was unperturbed at her consternation. "You said you were married."
"I am Mrs. Sinclair."
"Yes, you are. Widow of Jonathan Sinclair."
She sucked in a sharp breath.
"It doesn't matter how I know, Gracie," he admonished gently, answering the unspoken question in her eyes. "Why did you make me believe you were still married?"
"What's it to you?"
“Why didn't you want to go out with me?"
She sighed, closing her eyes. Try as she might, she couldn't open them again as excitement seeped through her pores and pleasure slowly built inside her, warming her thighs, circling inside her belly before going up slowly, languidly to tease her nipples and add to the rapid rate of her heart. Oh God, this man was wreaking havoc on her body. Her lips parted when she felt Luke's breath brush her cheek, her face angling towards his involuntarily. She made a sound between a gasp and a moan when his tongue caressed her earlobe before tracing the shell of her ear. She felt like falling and raised her hands to push him away but as soon as her palms touched his chest, they heated, her fingers nearly curling against his pectorals. The flicker of desire inside her roared to life. Luke moved forward, pinning her to the door. She was not able to stop the soft and rapid pants coming out of her lips, and could feel her sex moisten further at the hardness of his arousal against her belly, igniting the fire that had been dormant for so long. She brushed her lips against his jaw. Luke didn't need any further prodding and turned his head to capture her mouth.
Sweet joy stormed into her very soul. Luke's tongue seared the seam of her lips, teasing, coaxing, exploring, before he parted the barrier her teeth put up to invade her mouth. He claimed her tongue, tasting it, flicking it, playing with it until Gracie growled softly and deepened the kiss. The kiss was rough and filled with unbridled need. Their tongues greedily explored, staked, and claimed. Their breaths became hot and heavy, each wanting to give and take as much as they could. Gracie moaned against Luke's mouth as her arms encircled his neck. She slanted her mouth to give him more access and the more he swirled his tongue with hers, the more he nibbled on her lips, the more liquid heat flowed from her core. Her mouth parted against his lips, taking in his breath as Luke's hands lifted her skirt to skim her stockings, teasing the lace band that held it up before drifting towards her mound. Gracie's breath came short and fast, and she moaned when Luke's finger teased her against the wet silken fabric.
"So wet, Mrs. Sinclair," he rasped. "Did I do this? Let me see if I've done a good job." He slipped his finger inside her panties and found her engorged bundle of nerves, spreading her wetness over it. "Yes, baby. It seems I did." His mouth dipped to suck the skin against her erratically beating pulse. Slowly, he rubbed, but Gracie couldn't get enough. He was toying with her. When she moved to direct his digit, Luke would move it away.
"Please." She sighed. He raised his head, his gaze filled with lust made her melt to a quivering mass. Her hips moved of their own volition, urging him to take her. "Luke."
That was all he needed to insert his finger inside her.
Isobelle Cate is a woman who wears different masks. Mother-writer, wife-professional, scholar-novelist. Currently living in Manchester, she has been drawn to the little known, the secret stories, about the people and the nations: the English, the Irish, the Scots, the Welsh, and those who are now part of these nations whatever their origins. Her vision and passion are fuelled by her interest and background in history and paradoxically, shaped by growing up in a clan steeped in lore, loyalty, and legend.
Isobelle is intrigued by forces that simmer beneath the surface of these cultures, the hidden passions, unsaid desires, and yearnings unfulfilled.
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