“Did something happen?” Greyson’s expression hardens. “If you had another run-in with a photographer, you need to tell me. I usually keep on top of social media a little better than I have been lately, but if someone posted something and I need to respond, tell me.”
“No. It’s nothing like that.” I smile a little and squeeze his arm. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry.”
“So?” Greyson leaves the question hanging there between us.
Now’s my chance. I can tell him I’m worried, scared, angry, whatever because I’m in over my head and what if…?
Or I can kiss him.
No brainer.
He kisses me back and unleashes a tidal wave.
In the next moment, I’m up on the counter, my legs around Greyson’s waist, our centers pressed together, and his hands splayed across my backside. Until my hands grab for the button on his jeans and he stops them in one swift motion. “Before you get to touch me, I’m going to carry you to the bedroom, strip you bare, and taste you.”
“What if I don’t want to play by your rules?” Who am I kidding? I can’t even spell the word rule when he’s kissing me like this.
“Tough.” Greyson grabs my back and lifts me off the counter, swinging me around towards the bedroom.
The cabin is small and it takes him three steps to cross the floor and ease me softly down onto the bed. Which is where the gentleness stops. He yanks the button on my jeans and peels them off my legs. His eyes darken with desire. “No panties, sweetheart?”
I make my eyes look wide and innocent. “Are you complaining?”
“On the contrary.” Greyson shifts so he’s between my legs and his lips graze my inner thigh as he says, “All the better to taste you.”
In the next minute his tongue flicks over my hot wet center, my hands tangle in his hair, and I’m writhing. If feels like it takes no time at all before I’m ready to tilt over the edge and I gasp, “I’m so close.”
Greyson looks up at me, his gaze scorching. “Let go. I want to taste you when you come.”
Fucking hell. His mouth goes back between my legs and it’s magic. He seems to know exactly how fast, slow, hard, soft to move and before I can even think, I feel the vortex in me spinning, spinning as the edges disintegrate and release floods over me in reds and golds. I’m not even aware I’m speaking until I hear Greyson’s low laugh as he slides up next to me on the bed.
“God, you’re fucking perfect. And God, have I missed you.”
I kiss his lips greedily, tasting myself on his mouth. “I missed you, too.”
Greyson’s fingers run over my thigh. “For the last hour of my drive, I thought about how I’d like to pleasure you.”
My eyes widen. “Did you? So was that an hour’s worth of thinking right there?”
Greyson grins and reaches for my waist to pull me closer. “Hell no, sweetheart. Not even close.”
I don’t know how much time passes before I lie in the dark, watching Greyson’s chest rise and fall beside me. A couple of hours, maybe? A couple of hours during which we’ve talked, laughed, screamed out in pleasure, moaned with longing. My body is sated, lethargic even, but my mind won’t be still. I avoid the thought as long as I can, but in the end it comes down to a standoff between myself and sleep, and sleep wins.
My last thought before I let my eyes close is, Australia or not, I’ve fallen for Greyson Vaughn.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Greyson and I spend most of the next day hiking the hills around Castle Calder, which is good because it keeps my mind off of Australia and my feelings for Greyson. It’s cold and cloudy, but not windy, which is a major win. The only thing that makes it not so great is that the countryside is hilly, so anytime the climb gets serious, I’m breathless. My fitness is horrible from too much work and school, but Greyson is Mr. Fitness. I’m pretty sure he could sprint up the hills if he wanted to.
By the time we’re back in the cottage after a cheeky pint at the pub and a dark walk back using our phones for torches, I’m exhausted, cold, and damp, but a little giddy, too, with the surprise I’ve arranged. So when Greyson pulls me towards the bedroom and says, “Skip dinner and come to bed with me?”
I have to say, “We can’t.”
“Why?” He tugs me to him until we’re chest to chest.
“Besides the fact that we did that last night? I arranged for you to use the kitchen tonight up in the castle. You keep saying you enjoy cooking and I thought it would be fun.” I bite my lip. “If you don’t want to, though, I’ll run up and let Lou know.”
“Are you kidding? I get to use an actual commercial kitchen?” Greyson’s eyes widen. “Hell, yes. What do I get to make?”
“Anything you want as long as it doesn’t involve bacon.” I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s 7:15, which means Lou’s probably done with the mains for dinner. “We can go up now if you want. We might have to steer clear or help with the puddings, but you can see what’s there to choose from.”
I don’t need to ask twice. After a quick change of clothes—with zero distractions—we’re out the door and in the castle kitchen in time to see Lou putting molten chocolate puddings in the oven.
“Oh my God, that smells amazing.” I inhale as much of the chocolate-scented air as I can.
“You’re in time to whip the cream,” Lou says without turning around.
“I’ll do it,” Greyson says, pushing his sleeves up. He doesn’t wait for instructions, but goes to the fridge and pulls out the pint of double cream, dumping it into a bowl and picking up a whisk. If I had any doubt about his proficiency in the kitchen, it dissolves then. Whipping cream isn’t rocket science by any stretch, but I still don’t do it well. Greyson, on the other hand, gets the right consistency in record time.
“Impressive.” Lou smiles and I’m pretty sure he just won her over full stop. “Have you decided what you’re going to make tonight?”
“I make a good sautéed shrimp with tomatoes and capers, but it feels more of a summer in L.A. thing. Maybe some kind of chicken? I had this amazing chicken in Italy once that I’ve been dying to try to replicate.” Greyson looks so bloody earnest it’s adorable.
“What’s in it and we’ll see if we’ve got the ingredients for you,” Lou says.
“Well, chicken, obviously, olive oil, garlic, pine nuts, and arugula, from what I can tell. I don’t have a recipe, but it seems pretty easy to make and then serve with crunchy French bread and some kind of vegetable.” Greyson turns to me. “Does that sound okay to you?”
“You had me at ‘I’m cooking,’ so yes, it sounds fab.” I put my hands on my hips. “What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. Go get yourself a drink and come back to keep me company.” Greyson looks at Lou as he says, “I’ll sort out what I need and make sure I’m not doing anything I shouldn’t be.”
I don’t even respond before Greyson’s beside Lou, taking the tray out of the oven. Okay, obviously he’s going to be fine. I set off for the bar, where Paul’s pulling a pint for the lone guy there whose partner/date/wife sits at a table in the corner. The guy keeps looking back at her, which is sweet and makes me hope Paul’s picking up on the cues and doesn’t start chatting.
He is and he doesn’t. Less than thirty seconds and the guy’s back at his table and I’m standing in his place. “Well, well, well. I heard you were here with your young man. Nice of you to spare an old man a hello.”
First of all, Paul’s the hottest dad I know. And second, he sort of knows it. I laugh. “Old man? I don’t see an old man anywhere.”
“Are you having red or white tonight? Also, that’s evading the question.”
“I’d like red. Can I trouble you for a bottle and two glasses, pretty please?” I show him my crossed fingers, even though I know perfectly well he’ll give it to me. “And I’m not evading anything because there was no question. The young man is in the kitchen wooing Lou.”
“Wise man if he wants to walk out of her kitchen intact
.” Paul grabs a bottle of Chianti from the shelf. “Will that do for you?”
I nod without looking and pick up the two glasses. “Thank you, and if you want to sneak a taste, come back to the kitchen in a bit.”
“I may just do that,” Paul says and we both laugh. Paul has a reputation of lingering a little too long in the kitchen for Lou’s liking, with fingers in every pot.
“Beware, you might get stabbed. I’m not sure Greyson’s as understanding as Lou.”
“Noted. Maybe I’ll wait for the leftovers then.” Paul grins and I walk back into the kitchen smiling.
It only grows as I perch on a stool and watch Greyson at work. For about thirty seconds, I feel guilty sitting and sipping wine while he cooks, but he looks so damn good doing it, an apron tied tight around his waist and those forearms on display. When Lou leaves to deliver the puddings, I slip my phone from my back pocket and take a photo.
Greyson turns, the knife posed over a raw chicken breast. “Like what you see here, sweetheart?”
“I really do. I’d show you how much, but I don’t want to distract you with that blade in your hand, lest you cut off something important.” I wriggle my eyebrows at him.
Greyson laughs. “Do I need to put it down? You say the word.”
“No, no. Carry on. I’m starving, so, you know, priorities.”
Greyson rolls his eyes, but continues cutting the chicken. It’s only once it’s sizzling in the pan that he says, “So, that photo you took? Is it just for you?”
“Yes, of course. What else would I do with it?” Even as I ask the question, the answer echoes in my head. “Oh my God, you think I’d post it online somewhere?”
“No. I don’t.” Greyson’s expression turns pained. “But I feel like I have to ask.”
My instinct is to say something sarcastic, but I resist. “Why?”
“Because we’ve been having a great time, but you’ve been pretty clear this isn’t going any further, and maybe—”
“I’ve been pretty clear this isn’t going any further?” I straighten on the stool. “Um, I’m sorry, but you’re the one who’s neglected to mention Australia to me.”
“Australia? What are you talking about?” Greyson’s brow furrows.
“When I was at the post office yesterday, I saw an article in Star magazine that said you’re in talks to play Riley Clark. The article made it seem like it was a done deal.” I clasp my hands between my knees.
“Star magazine?” Greyson laughs, but it’s sharp and hollow. “And you believe that trash?”
“Yes?” I bite my lip. “I know you weren’t getting much interest because of everything with Alexa and when I read it, I thought…”
“You thought I wouldn’t tell you I was considering a role that would take me halfway across the world?” Greyson shakes his head. “If that were the case, sweetheart, do you think I’d be here now?”
“I don’t know.” I sound shrill and I try to tone it down as I continue. “Maybe. After all, I’m here now.”
“Despite thinking I was going to Australia.” Greyson looks at me for a long minute, then says, “What if I told you I have an opportunity to stay in the UK? Mike has a really good script for something that will shoot primarily in London, which would put me here for a while longer.”
Oh.
Wow.
“Greyson, I…” Don’t know how to finish that sentence because I don’t know the first thing about being part of his life and lifestyle for real.
He nods and his eyes dim like turning off a switch. “Don’t worry. I get it, sweetheart. No harm, no foul.”
He turns back to the stove like our conversation is done. But my heart’s just catching up and it’s yelping like a baby seal not to screw this up completely. My mouth has slightly different ideas. “Is that it for you wooing me then? A reference to a film that might keep you in London?”
“I’d stay in London for you.” Greyson doesn’t add the “duh” on the end, but I hear it anyway.
“What if you said that? You could say something like, ‘Claire, I want to see what can happen between us, so I’m thinking about taking a role that will keep me in London. What do you think?’ And then instead of assuming my answer, you’d know.”
Greyson flips the chicken in the pan and puts his hands on his hips. “Fine. Claire, I want to see you and see what can happen between us, so I’m thinking about taking a role that will keep me in London. What do you think?”
I asked for this, so I should be able to answer. I want to answer, but the part of me that keeps relationships at arm’s length starts clamoring and the only words I manage to push up my throat are, “I don’t know.”
Frustration flashes across Greyson’s face. “Right. What don’t you know? We could see each other on the weekends. I’ll have a flat like the one I just left so you could keep your things there. And I’ll come to Bath, too. Maybe we could figure out how to share a car so the trip wouldn’t be so long for you. I don’t think it would be…”
I stop listening, my head spinning. Weekends to me mean Brew Brothers. Amelia depends on me. And Greyson out and about in Bath? Really? It’s one thing for him to remain anonymous in London, but in my tiny little city? We’d be outed quicker than Boy George on Pride Day.
But these are all logistics. Yes, they’re things to work through, but they’re not impossible. The bigger question, though… “Why?”
Greyson’s words skid to a halt. “Why, what?”
“Why do you want this? Me? You could have anyone. And don’t give me that look because it’s true and you know it. You’re good-looking and famous and you have that damn swagger. You could walk into a room and walk out with ten women if you wanted, and each of them would be willing to bend over backwards to please you.”
“Would they? What about you? Would you be willing to bend over backwards to please me, too?” Greyson shakes his head. “Never mind, don’t answer that. I might hold you to it.”
A vision of me bent over the back of the sofa in the cabin flashes through my mind, but I push it away. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
For a minute, I don’t think Greyson’s going to answer. His gaze stays steady on mine until he turns back towards the stove. My heart sinks faster than my checking account after payday until he turns off the flame for the burner and moves the pan to a wooden board on the counter. Then he crosses the floor until his thighs are an inch away from mine.
“Are you looking for a declaration?” Greyson’s tone holds just a hint of a challenge. I shake my head and open my mouth, but he continues. “Do you remember that night in the clubhouse? Not the kiss—even though that was pretty amazing—but the rest of it?”
Greyson pauses like he expects me to answer so I say, “Yes, of course.”
“You said you see me as a guy first and an actor second. It scared the shit out of me and combined with that kiss? That’s the reason why I left the next day. I knew those shots the paps got would take care of the Alexa thing and I thought I’d never see you again. For most of that day I managed to convince myself I was glad.” Greyson sighs. “Then you called me that night, and you were scared because of me. Because of something I’d started. So I told myself to man up and invite you to London, so I could at least reassure you, and maybe it would help me put a lock on the feelings I was starting to have. As if it were that easy. Hell, I didn’t even have to see you in person. Every time you texted, I’d get this goofy smile. I couldn’t wait to talk to you. By the time you showed up in London, I was half in love with you. Maybe more. The reason I kept my distance during the premiere is because I was positive it was all over my face and I sure as hell didn’t want the press knowing before you did.”
“But you never said anything.”
“I thought you’d bolt.” Greyson steps between my knees. “You’ve been pretty good at reminding me what this is supposed to be.”
“Wow.” The word comes out in a long whisper.
Greyson nods. “Yeah. Wow.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Greyson’s face closes up so fast it takes me a second to realize how that must sound. I practically shout, “I thought I was the only one. I never imagined you’d have feelings for me.”
“Oh, I have feelings for you, sweetheart.” Greyson’s voice is a low growl. “Complicated and intense feelings.”
“Are you waiting for me to say it first?” My knee starts to jiggle of its own accord and I clamp my fingers around my leg to stop it.
“What? I love you?” Greyson sounds so surprised I think for a minute I’ve misinterpreted everything. Then he continues, “I didn’t think you were ready to say it at all, which is okay by me. I’m fully prepared to pick up the slack in that department until you are ready.”
My knee stops bouncing and a smile creeps across my face. “That sounds pretty confident there. Sweetheart.”
“I read people for a living, baby. You love me, whether you admit it or not.” Greyson leans over and kisses me oh-so-gently before going back to the stove and turning his full attention to the chicken.
I need the moment to collect myself, but as I stare at his jean-clad ass, those broad shoulders, and strong arms, I smile so wide it hurts. In the best possible way.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The next morning over breakfast, a plate of perfect poached eggs and buttered toast in front of me, I blurt out, “I love you. I didn’t want to, but I do.”
Greyson grins. “I owe myself ten dollars.”
Everything about his statement confuses me. “You bet on me?”
“Only with myself.” He picks up a piece of toast. “I thought you’d tell me over the phone.”
“Why?” I take a bite of my eggs.
“It’s less risky. What if I didn’t mean what I said? What if you’d misinterpreted?” Greyson shrugs. “I’m on to your what-if game, sweet cheeks.”
I point my fork at him. “Uh, uh. I can’t allow sweet cheeks. It’s right up there with Claire Bear.”
A Brit Unexpected (Castle Calder Book 2) Page 20