her ear. What other places could he touch to make her shiver with delight? Grant leaned closer, pressing a kiss to the erratically beating pulse on her throat. He wanted to discover all of Jami’s secret desires, to drive her wild with passion and taste her sweet fulfillment. He wanted to make her his.
The unbidden thought shook him. He drew back, suddenly unsure of his own intentions.
“Grant?” Jami gazed up at him, her exotic eyes confused and uncertain.
“It’s late,” he murmured. “I promised I’d get you back to Toby.”
“Yes, Toby,” Jami stammered, rising to her feet a bit unsteadily. She lifted her sandals off the edge of the swing bench. “I hope he hasn’t given Nell any trouble.”
“Nell’s a match for any boy,” Grant replied, glad for the change of subject. “Even your son.”
“What do you mean even my son?” Jami headed through the French doors into the Garden Room, moving toward the hall door.
“Nell’s son, Ralph, was no angel, and neither are her grandsons. Nell Ballingham may appear frail, but that lady’s still got some dynamite left.”
“The Ballinghams are quite the characters. Toby’s very taken with Homer,” Jami mused as they strolled upstairs side by side, but not touching.
“Toby doesn’t have grandparents?” Grant asked, hoping she didn’t mind his question. He really did want to know more about her family situation—and more about her.
“No.” Jami shook her head, sadness cloaking her lovely features, her shoulders seeming to momentarily droop. “My parents died in an auto accident before Toby was born.”
“I’m sorry.” Grant took hold of Jami’s fingers, her slender, delicate hand fitting perfectly. Everything about her body seemed to perfectly fit his. “What about Toby’s paternal grandparents?”
She stiffened. “Doug and I divorced when Toby was a year old. My son hardly knows his father, let alone Doug’s family.”
“I’m sorry,” Grant repeated, sensing his response was inadequate.
“I’m not. If I had my way, I’d erase my ex-husband off the face of the earth.” Jami’s full moist lips pressed together, her pace increased, and she stared straight ahead.
“That bad?”
As if unable to verbalize her answer, Jami just nodded.
“The guy hasn’t been much of a father figure to Toby,” Grant surmised, matching her stride as he felt the intense desire to flatten a man he’d never met.
“None at all.”
“He’s a fool.”
“What?” Jami spun around to face Grant. He studied her, noting her jutted up chin and trembling lips. A shimmer of tears glistened in her eyes.
“Your ex-husband is a fool for leaving you and Toby.”
Her eyes grew wide as she appeared to digest this. She tilted her head. “What about you? Why isn’t there a Mrs. Grant Carrington?”
“There almost was once.” Grant rubbed his chin, realizing it was only fair to reply truthfully.
“What happened?”
“Rachel decided that a rich, up-and-coming state representative was better husband material than a struggling college student.” He took Jami’s elbow and they started walking again. “Rachel was right. I’ve never been husband material. I like the bachelor life far too much.”
Jami bit her lip, wondering why his bald statement hurt so much. It was none of her business if he chose to never marry.
Reaching the suite, Grant opened the door, allowing Jami to enter first. A lamp on the telephone stand glowed softly, throwing illumination through the doorway into the smaller bedroom, where Nell could be seen in a chair by the bed. The elderly woman had nodded off and jerked awake as they entered.
“My, my,” Nell tittered, “Must have dozed for a minute. Just let me get my knitting, and I’ll be out of your way.”
“You’re not in the way,” Jami assured her, helping Nell rewind a ball of lavender yarn.
“Oh, dear,” Nell said, “I can’t find my knitting needle.”
“We’ll find it,” Jami replied, keeping her voice quiet as they searched around the chair, then under the bed where Toby curled beneath the covers deep in sleep.
As the women searched for the knitting needle, Grant stayed in the outer suite and found himself inexplicably drawn to check the top drawer where he’d placed Cupid in the padded envelope. Unobtrusively as possible, he slid the drawer open to glance inside.
He swore as the golden brooch glittered up at him from the dark interior while the envelope remained pushed toward the back of the drawer. Grant felt he’d been kicked in the gut. How had Cupid gotten out? Was someone playing a trick on him? His hands balled into fists, then relaxed as he reached out to touch the pin. If someone wasn’t pulling a prank, he must be