8: Grace.

Awareness prickles along my skin, especially when his open mouth drags up behind my ear, exploiting that sensitive patch of skin. "Why did you come in here?"

"I tried not to." He sounds frustrated. "But this...I don't know, this burning in my stomach won't go away. It has been there since what happened downstairs. I think it's guilt." It's obvious the admission was painful. "I don't know what to do about it."

Why is his honesty making my knees weak? "You could apologize."

"I never apologize." His chest heaves twice against my back. "But if I did want to apologize, what would be the appropriate way to go about it?"

"You'd say, 'I'm sorry, Grace'."

His scoff blows my hair forward. "Words? Words don't mean shit."

"They do to me." He makes a sound of disagreement and I start to pull away, but his hand creeps inside my robe, smoothing across my belly, squeezing my hip. That touch leaves a trail of lava in its wake, my core clenching hotly between my legs. "What..." I breathe, struggling to