Read Loving Grace for Free Online Page B

amid crates and wrap, talking in low tones.
She began to snap pictures, gratified that the fans and heaters,
which apparently kept the building temperature-controlled, also
masked the clicking sounds. She carefully walked closer, reading
something in the body language of the couple. Bryce seemed awfully
comfortable with touching the woman’s shoulder, her hand, and they
stood so close...
    They turned and Elisa motioned to him, then
lifted one of the crate tops and placed it on a steel table,
running their hands over the padded underside. Holding her breath,
Grace took a few more photos, not knowing exactly why, but simply
feeling a tension at the back of her neck that compelled her to do
so.
    She moved to just a foot from the pool of
light to get a closer shot, when a sound from the other room
reached the couple.
    Grace lowered the camera, pressed back
against a shelf. The couple jumped, looked at each other, and then
hastily began to whisper as they gestured toward the door. Grace
held her breath and took off, nearly on her tiptoes toward the dark
exit. Panic clawed at her until she was dashing across the parking
lot.
    ~ * ~
    Friday morning she made a trip to her
brother’s apartment and spent the day developing prints in his
darkroom. She stood holding them sometime around midnight, frowning
and worrying her lip.
    Saturday morning, Grace had the prints at her
place, lying on the bed while she dressed. She’d gotten up at five
and re-streaked her brown hair with the golden blonde. She wiggled
into low-riding trousers having used the magazine as guide, and put
a temporary tattoo of a butterfly on her spine, where it would show
after she pulled on the short sweater. She grunted and reached to
adjust the thong she’d never worn before, thinking she might have
bought the wrong size, and wondering how long it would take to get
used to the feel of one in her butt crack. She buttoned the sweater
over a push-up bra and decided the shrunk-look was going to take
just as much getting used to.
    Her hand quaked as she applied make up in the
bathroom. The best she could pull off was some taupe shadow and
mascara, a hint of gloss. She had used mousse on her hair,
scrunching, fluffing, and trying to give it a wind-blown look.
Standing in vinyl black boots with four-inch heels, she groaned.
She had stuck to the fashion guide, but she was not used to seeing
herself like this.
    Grace left. She had Noel’s card and a hidden
camera on the lapel of her coat, a thigh length wool one the shop
girl had insisted was retro-sixties.
    Sleet made the road hazardous. Traffic
crawled at the usual snail’s pace. It was so cold she didn’t get
the heater warm until she was in the parking lot by the loft. She
rubbed lotion on her cold hands; scared out of her mind he’d expect
her to get naked and still not sure she hadn’t had a breakdown
weeks ago.
    Time was ticking. Grace left the car and
walked to the building, up the heavy grid stairs she’d seen the
models use, and stared at the buzzer for five minutes before
pushing it.
    The huge door slid to the side, revealing the
gaping interior. She stepped through and heard the door rumble
closed behind her. Grace looked up, seeing massive pipes, steel
braces and lighting. As she walked, she took in varied images and
was mostly aware of the massive space, the different color
plastered walls and groups of items like stage sets, some lit by
large over-head illumination, others mood-enhanced with color
filters over the lights.
    Grace paused, having reached what was
obviously a working/living area. A black steel curtain served to
section off the space beyond the man standing at the easel. There
was a rumpled bed, an oriental style wardrobe, mirror, and several
feet from that was the kitchen/dining space. Another glass blocked
section she assumed was a large bathing/dressing area since it was
the only one with a door.
    But standing a mere two feet from behind
Noel—a shirtless, barefoot, Noel—Grace took a