He wasn’t ready to explore anything but the physical aspect, but he was determined to follow through with a kiss soon or die trying. Which—with the way things were going whenever he got too close to Gracie—seemed like a definite possibility.

“Did you just get here?” A warm and welcoming smile drew his attention to her mouth. “I was afraid I was late.”

Just to have an excuse to touch her, he cupped her elbow when she got within reach and turned her in the opposite direction. “Right on time. How’s your grandfather?”

She grimaced. “Clay delayed Grandad’s release until tomorrow, and he’s in a bit of a temper.”

“Do you need more time with him?” God, Dylan hoped not. His rising anticipation of completing the unfinished business between them made another postponement unacceptable.

“No, thanks. Gran’s really the only one he’ll listen to. Would you like to meet him? He knew your father pretty well through Old Maine Furniture. We can check back with them after we talk to Clay.”

“I’d be happy to meet your grandfather, but...” He dreaded meeting with his supposed half-brother, but he had to do it. “First, there’s something we need to get straight.”

Adorable little lines crinkled between her eyebrows. “You mean about working together?”

He smoothed the furrows with a fingertip. “No.”

Dylan had the neck-prickling sensation of eyes watching him and turned to notice their audience. The volunteer at the reception desk, a custodian changing a light bulb, and an octogenarian creeping through the lobby with a cane all watched with undisguised curiosity. Gracie smiled and waved to them.

He opened a door to a stairwell on the left and pulled her inside. The steps were narrow and the landing was small. Smelling of disinfectant, it didn’t lend itself to romance in any way but privacy.

“Let’s not take any chances.” With exaggerated caution, he picked up her hands and examined them. His thumbs circled her palms. “You’re not holding anything, right?”

“My purse.” She indicated the strap lodged on her shoulder.

He removed it, set it down, and then looked overhead. “Nothing’s likely to fall on us.” He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “The floor probably won’t collapse.”

“Dylan, what is it?” Her gaze darted around the confined space. “You’re making me nervous.”

“It’s this.” Placing his hands on her shoulders, he eased her forward. His mouth lowered to within a breath of hers. “We need to get this out of the way before the suspense kills me.”

In perfect synchronization, with no awkward maneuvering, clinking teeth, or bodily injuries, his lips claimed hers. Their mouths met and nothing in the world mattered to him but Gracie. Sweet, delicious, wonderful Gracie. The first gentle exploration escalated into open-mouthed desire. His hot, biting passion made demands that Gracie matched with dizzying speed.

The kiss kicked him in the gut and became so much more than a mere meeting of lips and tongues. So much more than any other kiss he’d ever experienced. He hoped this kiss would never end.

His hands cupped her ass. He pulled her close, closer, but not close enough. If their clothes disappeared and their bodies fused together, they wouldn’t be close enough. Not until he was wrapped around her, inside her, part of her, feeling her every breath, sharing her every thought. Not until then, would they be close enough.

But that would have to wait for another time, another place, maybe another lifetime. For now, he concentrated on the intoxicating texture of her lips, the teasing bite of her teeth, and the sensual mating of her tongue with his.

She had so much sass to her, he’d half expected her to taste tart and tangy. But she was undeniably delicious. Sweet, with a spicy undertone. His tongue delved deeper.

“What do you taste like?” He devoured her again before freeing her mouth to answer.

“Cinnamon?” She let him taste her, tasted him back, and smiled with satisfaction. “I was taste-testing snickerdoodles at the church earlier.”

“Cookies?” He marveled over the thought. “Perfect.” So Gracie. And now he loved cinnamon. He knew he’d never sample it again without thinking of her and this perfect kiss.

The rap of footsteps hammered the stairs from several floors above. Slowly, he released her, but she didn’t move. From the boneless drape of her body, he doubted if she could stand on her own. He’d have a tough time walking.

Gracie’s forehead dropped to his shoulder. “That was what we needed to get settled between us? Is it settled now?”

“Not nearly.” He nuzzled her neck and breathed in her scent. Fresh, sexy. “But the rest can wait until later.”

“Later?” Her voice held wistful disappointment.

“Later.” He turned the word into a promise. His hands on her waist encouraged her to step back, but she clung to him like ivy on a chimney. “We have an appointment to keep.”

A fake cough drew their attention. Clayton stood midway down the flight of stairs, wearing a thunderous expression. “Looks like you started the meeting without me.” He brushed past them and stalked on down the stairs.

“Oh, good grief.” She left Dylan holding nothing but air as she hurried after her friend. “Clay!”

A sharp but indistinct exchange floated back to Dylan. He waited several necessary minutes before following. He didn’t regret the kiss for a moment, but he wished he hadn’t set Clayton off again before they had a chance to talk.

When he joined Clayton and Gracie in the cafeteria, she tapped her fingers in an edgy staccato against a plastic tray. Clayton stood stiff and sullen in the line behind her. While waiting for the cashier to return his credit card, Dylan eyed the other two. Tension swarmed around them like gnats. They all wove their way to an empty table.

Dylan half-expected Clayton to refuse to sit with them, but a quick command from Gracie persuaded the man. He placed his tray on the table and robotically took a seat. Dylan took the space on the other side of her and realized too late the significance of putting her in the middle.

Anger rolled off of Clayton in waves. Palpable disapproval, along with the black eye from their fight the night before, added to his forbidding appearance. But his expression contained something else, too. Something secretive.

“Looks like you need stitches.” Clayton waved toward Dylan’s face with a dinner roll.

Dylan snorted. “So do you.”

Clayton shrugged and dove into his meat loaf and mashed potatoes. An uneasy silence surrounded them. The drab green walls closed in, suffocating Dylan with a sense of hopelessness. The medicinal smells combined with the odors of steamed and fried foods to ruin his appetite. While he could still draw an even breath, he turned to Gracie.

He wanted to caress her cheek or say something to make her smile, but neither gesture was in the cards with Clayton glowering at them between bites.

Dylan’s grilled chicken stuck in his throat like sawdust. He washed it down with a swallow of iced tea. “I wanted to ask you—”

“I have new infor—” Clayton said at the same time.

“What?” they both asked.

“You first,” Clayton insisted.

“I’ve learned a couple of things that weren’t in the report your attorney sent us.” Before continuing, Dylan checked on how many of the nearby diners had their ears tilted in his direction. All of them.

Clayton’s eyebrows shot upward. “What?”

Leaning forward, Dylan spoke softly. “Did you know your mother owned the house you lived in on Cordial?”

Clayton nodded and relaxed back in his chair. “When I was about fourteen and determined to go to med school, David explained my full financial picture. I guess he wanted to reassure me that I would be taken care of if something happened to him.”

“What did he tell you about the house?”

“Just that when Mom’s estate was settled, he sold it and invested the money for me.”