Joshua's Grace

Chapter 1 (2)

Her earlier lethargy resurfaced. She felt herself sag. A good looking male without a single pleasant personality trait would warrant too much work and she was too tired to play along. But she'd give her father full marks for effort. She'd have to tell him that he'd almost called it right. He had chosen a man who met all her wish list criteria on a physical level, but he'd have to work on the personality bit. At the very least, she wanted a man who wanted to talk to her. A man who wanted to spend time in her company, a man who at least looked at her as if she was the most important person in the room.

"There's no need." She said quietly. Joshua narrowed his eyes at the tone. She sounded crushed. Now what was she up to? "I'll take the coach." She straightened up and braced herself to push the trolley off "Don't worry," she said tiredly, when she noticed his narrowed gaze, "I'll make sure that dad pays you. After all you showed up." Even if you didn't deliver charm, wit, personality, or even general interest, she added silently. She pushed more hair off her face, tucking errant locks behind her ear and then she had to stifle another yawn.

Joshua ignored her ramblings. She seemed to have lapses when she talked utter gibberish. Why on earth would her father be paying him? She might be a doctor but she needed to visit a psychiatrist. Soon.

Grace held out her hand, "Well, it's been different." She smiled, and he saw the exhaustion that she had banked during their exchanges. "And between you, me and the gatepost, my dad sure has taste."

He didn't proffer his hand this time either, in fact he was looking at her as if she had said nothing of consequence. Joshua could see that she was out on her feet. Even though she maintained eye contact, he could see that it was an effort. She was operating on sheer will power. Behind the flippancy was exhaustion.

Grace fought the urge to push the trolley into him, as he made no attempt to get out of the way. Instead she squared her shoulders and raised a brow as she continued to maintain eye contact. He really did have gorgeous green eyes, not doubt devastating eyes if he smiled. Come to think of it, that mouth would be devastating if he kissed her.

Startled by the direction of her dizzy thoughts, Grace dropped her clammy palm back onto the trolley handle bar and tried to steer it around him. She was clearly far too tired if she was thinking about kissing him. An escort? She wouldn't. Even if he did have a charming personality, which this one clearly didn't. Well dad, we are even.

She resigned herself to getting the coach home. Mentally she began to work through her ongoing travel plans. She'd take the shuttle bus from the airport to the bus station in downtown Auckland, then wait for transport to Cambridge, and then get a taxi from Cambridge to the cottage. Just the thought of the journey was enough to make her feel fatigued again. She had just set the trolley-with-a-mind-of-its-own in motion, when his large palm clamped onto her black-leather clad shoulder. With one eyebrow arched, she looked pointedly at his hand on her shoulder and then looked directly into his eyes. Two seconds, and one look, that's all it took. He removed his hand. His mood worsened. The look she had thrown him was full of insolence, expectancy and demand. Very eloquent. And the look had been sufficient for his brain to dispatch a message to his hand to shift, even though he had not wanted to release her.

The leather under his hand had been warm and when she had turned her head to throw him that 'look', loose strands of hair butterfly kissed the back of his hand. His response was automatic, unexpected and he didn't understand it. That's what scared him. Beautiful women had touched him in the past, yet none had his body responding like this. Not so fast, not without real reason and certainly not with just the inadvertent brush from a strand of hair. His body tightened, hardened. Without volition, without conscious thought. That's what irked. With her eyes his brain had sent a message to carry out her demand, and with her hair his brain had sent a message to the rest of his now hard body.