Mercy
Whatever this dream was, I never wanted to leave. My legs were immovable, my body
pinned, but it was less terror and helplessness and more Oh yes, we like this, we want
more of this, please. There was a fuzzy, indistinct edge to my thoughts, and the wall of
heat surrounding me was delicious enough that I arched into it.
A low groan rumbled behind me, the vibration tugging me further into wakefulness.
It smelled good here, and I’d sl ept so well. Sl ept peacefully because the bed was warm
and solid and perfect.
There was a steel band around my waist, an anchor point over my stomach in the form
of a big hand spread wide underneath my silky pajamas. My eyelids fluttered when
fingertips dragged over my skin, and a nose burrowed into the hair at the back of my neck,
then another growl from the chest at my back had my eyes fully opening.
The sun wasn’t up yet, the room still dark and grayish.
I pinched my eyes closed, trying to go back to sle ep because I didn’t want to leave. I
didn’t want to move. There was a desperate hitch to my heartbeat, a clawing need to know
how this would end if I could just . . . roll my hips and move his attention farther down.
At the slightest movement, his hand tightened on my stomach, his fingertips dancing
along the curve of my ribs and dipping toward the elastic band of my underwear.
Lower. Just a few inches lower.
I angled my hips, my breath hitching as his fingers dragged underneath my panties.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
The sound of Grant’s voice—rough-edged from sle ep and so tortured that it lifted the
hair on my arms—snapped my eyes open.
This was not a dream.
I was in our bedroom. Mine and Grant’s.
Our bed. Mine. And Grant’s.
The one with me in it. And Grant.
This was very, very real. And he was very, very hard.
My lungs ceased functioning at the shape of him pressed against my backside, the
simple act of inhaling far too much to handle. I forced in a sharp breath and tried to hold
as still as possible while my mind raced with what to do next.
“Fuck,” he said more loudly, and ripped himself away from my body. Immediately, I
was cold. Grant was out of the bed in the next instant, his long strides taking him into the
bathroom. I rolled onto my back, hands pressed over my hammering heart as my sluggish
brain finally caught up.
“Right,” I said shakily. “Right.”
Sharing a bed had felt dangerous enough before. Now that one of my lingering
questions had been answered with an unequivocal exclamation point—yes, he was indeed
as big as I thought, unless he’d smuggled a lead pipe into bed for fun—it was something
past dangerous.
Was there a word for that?
Past risk and peril and treacherous paths without a guardrail, so much bigger than any
of those things. Because there was something else snapping right on their heels.
Something monstrously large that I didn’t know how to fight.
Want.
Want would overtake any of the caution signals eventually. Not a matter of if. When. It
was deliriously heady to know that I might want him in the same way he clearly wanted
me. No, not might want him—I did.
Didn’t this mean we were doing something right? That I was feeling the things I should
be feeling for this giant question mark at the center of my life?
Saying no to that was silly, wasn’t it? We were married, and even if I didn’t have the
memories of any of our firsts, I knew they existed, and sometimes that was enough to plant
a seed that blossomed into something tremendous.
Besides, if there was one thing we both needed, it was a tremendous orgasm to snap
the tension.
I stood on shaky legs, raking my hand through my hair until it was pulled back from my
undoubtedly flushed face. When I walked around the foot of the bed, Grant was in the
bathroom, his hands braced on the counter and his head hanging down while he took
great, heaving breaths, like he’d just run a marathon and couldn’t steady himself from the
shock of exertion just yet.
My eyes traced over the shifting muscles in his arms, the wide expanse of his back and
the truly spectacular curve of his ass underneath the thin cotton of his sle ep pants.
And those pants? They hid nothing.
My mouth fell open of its own accord because he was still hard, and the bulge was
impressive. I shifted my gaze to his profile, the square stubble-covered jaw and firm lips,
because it was a vulnerable moment, and I wouldn’t want to be ogled in such a state.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
Grant slowly lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine in the reflection of the mirror.
“No, wife, I cannot say that I am.”
I swallowed, opening my mouth to respond, when there was a soft knock on the door.
Grant swore under his breath, clearly in no shape to answer. I took a de ep breath and
pried it open. Rose’s face was on the other side. “Sorry to interrupt, but I heard voices.”
She winced. “You may want to come out. Mum and I have been up awhile, but
Grandmother just arrived and she has plans.”
The ominous way she said it knitted my brow. “Plans? I thought we were showing you
around today. The arboretum and campus . . .”
“Yes, I believe she’s changed her mind about that.”
I sighed. “We’ll be right out. Just tell her we need to get dressed.”
“Oh, I’m not sure you want to wait that long.”
My eyes flew to Grant’s. He gestured helplessly to his big little problem, and I nodded.
“I’ll handle it—but don’t dawdle, please.”
“Trust me, this should take care of itself quite quickly,” he said in a dark tone.
With flaming cheeks, I held his gaze. “Happy birthday, Hastings.”
His face slackened with shock.
I slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind me, and Rose smiled. “What
should take care of itself?” she asked, hooking her arm through mine.
The thought of brushing her off was fleeting, but I had a part to play, and I’d done a
shit job of it the previous night.
I gave her a sly look. “Mornings are a favorite around here, and we’re not used to
guests.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I could have gone my entire life not knowing that about my
brother, thank you.” Then she grinned. “But I’ll pay you a thousand pounds if you say it to
Granny.”
“Double it and you’re on.”
We were both laughing as we entered the kitchen, but I stopped short at the sight in
front of me. The kitchen island was covered in grocery bags. At the center was Lady
Hastings, in another Chanel suit, this time in a soft mint color. Her hawkish eyes sw ept me
from head to toe, one brow arching in distaste at the sight of my pajamas. Rose removed
my arm from hers and found her mug of coffee, going to sit on one of the stools while she
gave me an encouraging wink.
“Good morning, Lady Hastings,” I said pleasantly. “I hope you sl ept well.”
She hummed. “How informal you are to greet your guests.”
“When they arrive before six a. m., yes. If you want to see me dressed, pressed, and
ready for inspection, I suggest getting a couple more hours of sle ep tomorrow.” There was
an edge to my voice, but I softened it with a smile.
The smile didn’t fool her for a second, and I could’ve sworn I caught a satisfied glint in
her eye, but it was gone too fast to be sure.
“What is all this?” I asked.
“Grant’s birthday dinner,” she stated. “Or lunch, preferably. We’re here for such a
short time, I’d like to avoid as much jet lag disruption as possible.”
I blinked. “We have reservations at six. It’s the nicest restaurant in town.”
“Yes, I’m sure it’s lovely.” She picked up a piece of paper with scalloped edges and
peered down the edge of her nose to read the writing. “I believe everything’s here. If
you’re pr epared to make some of Grant’s favorites, as any wife would be, we’ll switch to
having an earlier meal here.”
The dismissive tone rankled, and I found myself in the middle of a breathing exercise
when Caroline joined us in the kitchen, one of the antique teacups in hand. “Good
morning, dear,” she said, then stopped short at whatever she saw on my face. “Are you
quite all right?”
In answer, I gestured weakly to her mother-in-law, who was checking the contents of
the bags against whatever was on that fucking list. Grant’s favorites. Was I pr epared to
make Grant’s favorites?
I didn’t even know what they were.
“Oh, Mother, you didn’t,” Caroline sighed. “We discussed this last night.”
“Yes, and I changed my mind. Grant and his wife want me to spend more time here.”
She removed a package of what looked like beef and gave her daughter-in-law a sharp
look. “I’m merely giving them what they want.” Then she turned her attention to me. “I
realize you don’t recall your visit to our home, but you were quite insistent about taking
over the kitchen from the staff and making your little treat because you didn’t need ‘the
help’ to do it for you. I’m respecting your previous wishes, my dear.”
Another package of meat dropped onto the counter with a slap, and I fought the cold
prickle of anxiety crawling up my spine.
“What would you like to start with first? The dessert, I’m assuming.” She arched an
eyebrow. “You were particularly firm about that one.”
Rose edged from her seat and gave me a concerned look as she refilled her coffee, her
eyes rounding like she was trying to communicate something.
I blinked. “I— You’re right, I don’t remember that.”
Sure as fuck sounded like something I would’ve done, though. Proving a point that only
my stubborn ass would need to prove.
“Mercy,” Caroline said softly, “you do not have to do anything you don’t want, despite
this little temper tantrum from my mother-in-law.”
Lady Hastings didn’t react to that, ke eping her eyes trained on me.
It wasn’t a temper tantrum, and we both knew it. It was a fucking test. Apparently, I
wasn’t the only one who liked to wave the red flag just to see what would happen.
She wanted to play? Good.
“I’d love to host dinner here,” I said smoothly, crossing my arms over my stomach. “I
can get started as soon as I have coffee.”
“I’ll get some for you,” Rose said. She grabbed a mug and mouthed something behind
her grandmother’s back. My brow furrowed because I couldn’t make out a single word.
Then she was pointing at a specific bag, mouthing something that looked like Let me.
“Thanks,” I r eplied slowly. She dropped her head back like I was a huge
disappointment. “There’s creamer in the fridge if you wouldn’t mind adding a healthy
splash of that.”
Lady Hastings watched me carefully. “Did you have a recipe for that dessert you made?
You told us over and over how much he loved it. One must assume that you’ve made it
numerous times for him since.”
My palms were clammy. “You know, let’s unload everything first. Get organized.”
Her mouth screwed up, tight and unamused.
Rose was motioning with her hands, then grabbed something out of the fridge—one of
those plastic little lemons that held juice. Lemon, she mouthed.
I notched my chin up, smiling sweetly at Lady Hastings. “Hopefully you didn’t get
lemon juice. I . . . I already have that for the dessert.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Do you?”
“Yup.”
She hummed. “I do have some. Didn’t want to operate under the assumption that you
were pr epared for this.”
I opened my mouth and st epped forward, my own temper tantrum flaring to life under
my breastbone. That was when Grant entered the kitchen, reading the room with a flick of
his eyebrow.
“Good morning, family.”
His grandmother softened. A little. “Happy birthday, Grant. How did you sle ep?”
“Not long enough,” he answered dryly.
Instead of approaching his mother or grandmother, Grant came straight to me, his
gaze knowing. One of his hands slid around my waist to my back, and he leaned down to
press a kiss to my cheek, only an inch away from the corner of my mouth.
At the hitch of my breath, his eyes gleamed. From a few feet away, it would look like
nothing more than a tender embrace. His body was broad and warm, his muscles firm. I
leaned into him without thinking. Then he moved his lips to the shell of my ear and
whispered quietly enough that only I could hear him. “Beef Wellington—which you’ve
never made—roast potatoes, and a truly abysmal lemon-bar box mix that drove my
grandmother insane.”
I let out a shocked breath, my hand itching to curl into his T-shirt as the tension bled
from my body. I gave a slight nod, smiling gratefully as he pulled away.
Rose greeted her brother with an air-kiss, then handed me the coffee.
“Thank you,” I told her.
She winked.
I took a sip, watching over the lip of the mug as Grant said his good mornings to his
mother, then grandmother.
“Lady Hastings,” I said smoothly, “I may need some tips on the beef Wellington. I’ve
never made that.”
“How on earth would I know?” she asked in a horrified voice. “We have a kitchen staff.
I’m not down there rolling out raw pastry dough, for God’s sake.”
Caroline smothered a smile behind her teacup. Grant looked skyward, probably saying
a prayer for divine intervention, or at least a well-placed lightning strike.
Rose laughed. “Oh, Granny, you’d look smashing in an apron.”
Lady Hastings gave her granddaughter a quelling look.
“The lemon bars are easy enough,” I continued. “I don’t want to operate under the
assumption that you purchased the right mix, but I’m sure I have an extra box
somewhere.”
Her facial expression looked like someone had shoved a lemon in her mouth. “Of
course you do. If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the lavatory.”
She walked toward the bathroom, chin in the air.
I sank onto a stool and set my face in my hands. “She really hates me, doesn’t she?”
Grant set his hand on the back of my neck and squeezed gently. The touch lifted the
hairs on my arms. “You were marvelous. Don’t let her run you off. As mad as it sounds, I
think she likes it when you push back.”
I raised my head and gave him an incredulous look.
Rose laughed again, her delight obvious. “Oh, it’ll be fun, sis. I’ll stay and help you with
the food.”
Caroline let out a delicate snorting sound. “Will you?”
“Yes. I’ve made . . . things.”
“Knowing how to pour your own tea doesn’t count, Rose,” Grant said, moving to the
other side of the island to get his own coffee.
His sister glared. “Aren’t you leaving yet?”
“Of course.” He arched a brow. “I’ll just have Granny wait outside the gates for another
two hours until they open.”
“Your sarcasm is not appreciated.” Rose hooked her arm around my shoulders. “I’m
excited to have some quality time with you, even if we do have to cook.”
Grant and I traded a quick glance. He was worried. So was I.
“Maybe I should spare my wife the hardship and force you to come along,” Grant said,
ke eping his tone easy.
“Nonsense.” Rose grinned. “Mercy and I have far too much to talk about.”