Breaking All Her Rules Page 7

He put the head of the vibrator on her clit, the base resting on her stomach, then entered her slowly, the combination of Zack and the vibrations almost enough to make her come again, not two minutes after she already had.

  It was nearly too much.

  He thrust hard into her, pushing the head of the rubber toy roughly against her. She turned her head into his shoulder and bit him, hard, trying to hold back the flood of near unendurable pleasure that was rioting through her.

  “Zack,” she whispered. “Zack.”

  “That’s it, Gracie,” he said. No one had ever called her that. No one but him. “Come for me, baby.” And no one had ever said anything like that to her before. No one. Only Zack.

  The ferocity of his movements increased, all control lost completely. And then she let go of hers. Swallowed by pleasure, almost overwhelmed by the release that tore its way through her body.

  A short, low growl escaped Zack’s lips as he came, hard, his whole body shaking as his orgasm hit home, his erection pulsing inside of her.

  He collapsed against her, breathing heavily, the vibrator still buzzing between their bodies. He laughed, rubbing his sweat-slicked forehead against her cheek, before kissing her lightly. Then he rolled to the side, his arm flung over his face.

  “Dear Lord,” he said. “You need some kind of a disclaimer.”

  “I think that’s my line.” She picked up the vibrator and turned it off, chucking it toward the foot of the bed. She’d take care of it later.

  “I don’t think I was ready for the likes of you, Grace Song,” he said, rolling out of bed. “And now I have condom issues to see to.”

  “See to them,” she said, waving her hand.

  She laid on her back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Not thinking or moving. Then Zack came back into the room, hovering over her.

  “You’re blocking my ceiling spot,” she said.

  He smiled. “Too bad.” Then he lay down beside her with the subtlety of an earthquake.

  “Gah!” she shrieked, popping up off the mattress.

  He chuckled and put his hand on her stomach, tracing a shapeless pattern over her skin. “Something wrong?”

  “No.”

  “I’m tired,” he said. “Can I sleep here with you?”

  “You have that gigantic suite,” she mumbled.

  “You said a bad word, Grace,” he said.

  She felt her face heat. “So I did.”

  “Yeah, but my suite is empty,” he said, pulling her close. “I don’t want to go back to an empty suite. I’m so sick of empty rooms.”

  “I bet,” she said, putting her hand over his forearm. She hesitated. She shouldn’t ask him about his past. Shouldn’t ask him about his wife. But she wanted to know. “What happened with your wife?”

  He took a deep breath, his chest pressing into her back. “We ended up in a different life than we were supposed to be in. And...in the end we changed too much. Or the world changed too much and we didn’t change enough. Hell, I don’t know. But I remember looking at her one day and realizing it was the first time I’d really done that in months. That’s some stupid stuff.”

  “But the divorce was...”

  “Very mutual. We were done,” he said, shifting against her, his chin resting on her shoulder. “You make vows, you know. And you think you know what they all mean. Richer and poorer, sickness and health. And you think, yeah, sure, if my wife is sick, I’ll take care of her. If we’re ever broken, we’ll stick together. But...they don’t cover some things.”

  He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough. “Do you really want to know about me, Gracie?”

  “Yes,” she said. “And if you want me to, I’ll forget it in the morning.”

  She felt him nod. “Okay. You can imagine a lot of bumps in the road, but I don’t think anyone ever...I don’t think anyone imagines what losing a child might do to them. I know we didn’t.”

  Grace’s heart stopped, everything she knew about Zack twisting, turning. Changing.

  “When Tally was born,” he continued, “it changed our family. It brought us closer, you know? Stephanie wasn’t just my wife, she was the mother of my daughter. But it became clear quickly that not everything was right. That Tally was sick. Her heart... She had a heart defect. And they missed it on all the ultrasounds. They missed it until she was three months. She wasn’t gaining weight, and she was short of breath all the time. It was treatable. They said it was treatable. And she was small but...fine for a while.”

  “Oh, Zack,” she said, not realizing she’d spoken the words out loud until he tightened his hold on her.

  He cleared his throat. “When she was three she got a bacterial infection. The hospital said it was common for kids with her condition. And we knew that. We knew to watch for it. But it...” he took a deep breath. “She died in the hospital three days later.”

  A tear ran down Grace’s cheek, and there was nothing she could do to stop it, her heart crumpling into a tight ball she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to release.

  “I think we were both wrung out after that,” he said. “I don’t think Steph or I had anything left to give. Because she couldn’t look at me and see the father of her baby girl anymore. She looked at me and saw everything we weren’t. It was just too big for us to fix. And in the end...it was better we tried to fix it alone. Tally died eight years ago, but you know that stuff doesn’t go away. Steph got married again, they have two little boys. I’m happy for her, and I really mean it. I’m glad she got away, glad she got...filled up again. But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to care like that. I don’t even think I could.”

  Grace held tightly to his arm. not sure what to say. He’d had this whole life, this whole depth of love that she’d never even fathomed. And then he’d lost it.

  She shouldn’t have asked. It was dangerous to know this. To know him this well. To feel this much.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. It was a stupid thing to say, maybe, but she didn’t really know if there was anything else that could be said.

  “Me, too,” he said. “More than I am about anything else. But I can’t change it. That life is gone, and I’m living this one. That’s why suites and galleries and things don’t matter sometimes. It’s funny, I always did art. But it wasn’t until...something in me changed after, and I had to do it, to keep from going crazy. I worked in my studio—which is just a barn really—all the time. It was the only place to put all that grief. It made me famous. I think that’s why I hate it sometimes, as much as I need it.”

  There was nothing to say to that. Nothing at all. So she just held him. All night. And when she woke up the next morning he was gone.

  Chapter Seven

  Marsha was never thrilled about him using his “social time” to get all “broody artiste” on her. Her words. But his art was her paycheck, so she never said no.

  Which was why Zack was in a borrowed studio today, torturing metal until his muscles burned. He’d basically turned the place into a forge, which was another reason Marsha didn’t necessarily love accommodating him. Because he essentially took over whatever studio he inhabited.

  But whatever. He made a ton of money. More than a lot of other living artists. So everyone could deal with it.

  And they did.

  Which was one of the best things about the art world. He was eccentric here. Not just a jerk. With great genius came great jackassery, or whatever. It worked out for him because it meant he got to do whatever he wanted.

  He needed to work today. Needed to get this piece finished. He’d started it back home, and it had come over with the rest of the pieces for the show, but this one wasn’t done. And he wasn’t sure exactly what to do with it.

  It was a giant iron figure, like the rest of them. The vague shape of a man, faceless, as they al
l were. He was standing. Just standing. And Zack didn’t know why. He didn’t know what the hell the thing was supposed to be.

  And today he’d taken the thing’s arm off, bent it at the elbow and reattached it with what would be its palm facing upward.

  He had no idea what in hell he was doing.

  But then, that was fitting. He didn’t know why the hell he’d told Grace about Steph and Tally. He didn’t know why he’d spent the night, only to wake up feeling like his chest was being crushed by an anvil.

  He’d left at 5:00 a.m. and wandered around until six, then he’d called Marsha about getting the studio space for the day.

  Yeah, there was something about Grace that turned his head to oatmeal. And he just did crap. And said crap. And he had no idea why.

  Sex.

  Yeah, it was probably the sex. It had been so damn long before her. Longer still since he’d wanted it. Really wanted it. With more of himself than just his erect member.

  His body wanted sex a lot, it was the rest of him that didn’t care. The rest of him that was still too numb,

  But not with Grace. She lit a fire in him that he could feel all the way down.

  He was still deciding whether or not he was okay with that.

  If he wasn’t, it meant no more sex for the remainder of his time in the city. Which was not okay with him.

  Not at all.

  He was enjoying dipping his toes back in the pool, so to speak.

  His phone buzzed and he walked across the studio and looked down at the number. An NY number that he hadn’t added to his phone, but one he recognized.

  “Gracie,” he said, picking the phone up and answering it.

  “Zack, you left before I woke up.”

  He leaned back against the wall and looked at the iron monstrosity he’d just been torturing. “Yeah, I did.”

  “Why?”

  “I had work to do.”

  “Such as?”

  “Sculpting. Welding. Had to fire up the forge and hammer things.”

  “You were hammering me.”

  His body immediately stood to attention. “Yeah. But...I have a job. And a piece I need to finish.”

  “What more does it need to be finished?”

  He looked at the lifeless lump of iron. “I don’t know. It’s dead. I can’t figure out how to make it live.”

  “Lightning storm?”

  “Yeah,” he said, laughing in spite of himself. “Maybe. Want to come and be my hunchbacked assistant?”

  “Can I really come?”

  He hesitated. “Sure,” he said finally. “Why the hell not?”

  “After work. I’ll be there after work.”

  “I’ll still be here. Banging my head against a wall.”

  “Well, I’ll see you then. Try not to give yourself a concussion.”

  “I’ll do my best.” He hung up and put his hand on his chest. There was a weird feeling there. Originating from around his heart and spreading outward.

  Happiness. For heaven’s sake. He felt happy. Standing there in front of a crap-ass statue, he felt happy.

  The thought of seeing Grace and showing her all this was the cause. He was happy to see her. To show her his garbage work. What the hell?

  He shook his head and took a deep breath. Sex was more powerful than he’d given it credit for, that was all.

  It certainly wasn’t that his heart was thawing out. Hell no. It was just his body.

  That was it. That was all it could ever be.

  * * *

  Grace was ready to climb the walls of her office by the time five o’clock rolled around.

  Normally she was the last to leave. Such was her level of commitment. Not just to her job, but to this vague notion that she had to cause no trouble and make no mistakes. But with her boss treating her like he had been, and with the new “projects” that had just come across her desk—which included mundane paperwork that would not advance her or grow her income, and was someone else’s flipping job—she wasn’t hanging out.

  No. She had something to get to. She had life happening. Freaking life. And wasn’t hanging around in an office with what smelled like a slowly dying career.

  She let out a harsh breath as she exited the building. This was the kind of thing that would make her parents worry, she was sure of it. And they had enough worry. She didn’t want to add to their worry. She was supposed to be their success story, her own adding to theirs. She would reach a point, a place, where she didn’t have to try so hard. Where they could bask in her accomplishments and so could she.

  Success. Success was the gold ring. Not satisfaction. Not vague, positive emotions.

  Certainly not burning, quivering lust. Which she didn’t just have. She was full-on burning, quivering lust. It was ridiculous.

  But she didn’t care. She was going on to the art studio, aided by the address he’d texted over. And she was going to screw his brains out, instead of staying at work late. So there.

  Yes, she, Grace Song, who had always screwed with her brains firmly in, was about to go shake the brains out of a man. Via her excellent sex skills.

  Which, she had, if she said so herself. And Zack seemed to confirm this by his desire to keep...well, having it with her.

  She got out of the cab, dodging little puddles on the sidewalk as she went, and scurried into the building.

  She sent him a text.

  Where you?

  Upstairs.

  Where upstairs? she typed, snorting.

  Top floor. The whole top floor.

  She stepped into the elevator and punched the up arrow, jiggling her knee while she waited for the lift to reach the desired floor

  When the doors opened, she stopped.

  The room was massive, a wall of windows on the far side, drop cloths, tables, sculptures, canvases, all throughout the giant space.

  “What is this?” she asked, walking inside, her heels clicking on the cement floor.

  “It’s a space that Marsha has set aside for her clients to use. Though, she hates to let me in because I make a mess.”

  Her heart stopped when she saw him. He was wearing a white T-shirt, streaked with black, his muscular arms covered in the same dirt. He had sweat tracks on his face and his hair was sticking up at opposing angles, like he’d run his fingers through it several different directions.

  “Yeah...” she said, looking around. “You did, kind of.”

  “And also the fire.”

  She looked past him, at the wrought-iron stove behind him. “It’s warm in here.”

  “I don’t play well with others,” he said. “It shouldn’t be too surprising.”

  “You play pretty well with me....”

  “When I have to keep my clothes on, people don’t like me much.”

  “I like you,” she said, feeling girlish and silly as soon as the words left her mouth. She liked him. What the hell was this, junior high?

  “Well, that’s only because you mostly don’t talk to me,” he said, turning to face the big, wrought-iron figure at the center of the room.

  She was captivated by it. Completely. There was a heaviness to it, a sadness. She wasn’t sure how he’d managed to pour emotion into metal, but he had.

  “This is amazing,” she said.

  “It’s junk.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is. I don’t know what it is except metal. It looks like everything else I’ve ever made. It have no inspiration.” He pushed his hand back over his hair again.

  “You’re an artist,” she said, laughing. “You play it off, but you care about this. And you’re temperamental.”

  “So?” He growled the word. “It’s my right.”

  “You act lik
e you don’t care at all. But you’re...”

  “I’m a wreck over this. Happy? I don’t have anything else to care about. So I care about...these,” he said, sweeping his hand in the direction of the iron statue. “Not because people will see them, but because...”

  Because they were his emotions. Because it was the way he was dealing with his grief. It felt intimate to see this, knowing his past. She wondered if it was what everyone else saw when they looked at his work, even if they didn’t realize it.

  “Yeah,” she said, “I get it.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then maybe you can tell me what this is supposed to be.”

  “I don’t think I have an answer for you.” But it meant something that he’d asked, even if his words took on an exasperated tone.

  “How was your day? Boss from hell poke you with a pitchfork?”

  “No, but he gave me busywork to do like I’m an intern and not one of his most valued team members. He’s putting me in my place.”

  “What a jerk. Because you wouldn’t screw a client?”

  Grace shook her head. “I don’t know...maybe it’s just because of the way I handled it. I stepped out of line and I...I probably shouldn’t have. I should have...”

  “Do you really think that, Grace? That you should just be polite when a guy starts talking about your ass in the middle of a business lunch? No. That is ridiculous. You’re supposed to feel guilty about dealing with someone else’s inappropriateness? No way.”

  “I know,” she said, “I know you’re right but...but my parents taught me that you just work hard. They...they tried to instill in us the importance of that. I...I have a sister. Hannah. And she...”

  “Let me guess, she’s a doctor or something hugely successful?”

  “No,” Grace said. “She’s a junkie. A junkie who’s God knows where. We were taught all of the right things but she...she didn’t want to work hard. She didn’t care about school. Or even our parents enough. But I do. I care. And I want... No one gets anywhere by taking short cuts, or checking out of life, Zack. Things happen, they aren’t always fair, but you have to be able to rise above it. And I’ve spent my whole life believing that, because I’ve seen what happens when you don’t. Because I won’t disappoint my parents the way she did.”