The Spy Who Came For Christmas

by Cynthia Eden

  But it was too late. Matthew was at the table. His graze raked her and then he turned to Grayson. “Man, you are wasting your time.”

  Her cheeks weren’t just red—they started to flame. So maybe she and Matthew hadn’t ended that one and only date on the best of terms.

  And Matthew was weaving a bit. She could smell the heavy scent of alcohol rolling off him.

  “You aren’t getting past first base with her. No one fucking does. Jemma will freeze your ass out, too.” Matthew’s voice was too loud. Far too loud.

  And the restaurant was suddenly, terribly quiet.

  Jemma straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. “You’ve had too much to drink tonight, Matthew.”

  “No…” Grayson had risen to his full height and now he stared down at the smaller man with hard, glinting eyes. “You’re just an asshole who doesn’t know how to talk to a lady.”

  Matthew’s jaw dropped.

  “So how about this…” Grayson’s grin was cold. Deadly. “How about you apologize before I decide to teach you some manners? Because…no one is going to talk to Jemma that way, especially not right the fuck in front of me.”

  Her heart beat faster.

  And there were murmurs behind Matthew. Calls of… “Asshole.” And “He knows better than to drink that damn much…”

  Matthew wasn’t exactly a favorite in Holly. He’d arrived there about eighteen months ago and not made a ton of friends. Mostly because…

  He could be an asshole.

  “Sorry you’re so frigid, Jemma,” Matthew said with a smirk. He turned away.

  Grayson’s hand flew out, grabbed his arm, and whirled him right back around.

  Only Matthew came at Grayson—swinging.

  Jemma yelled, horrified. This could not be happening on their first date. Oh, please no! Matthew owned the gym in town and he worked out nearly as much as Brad and—

  Grayson caught the guy’s fist in his hand. Just…caught it. Held it easily. And smiled.

  A scary smile.

  “That wasn’t the kind of apology I was asking for…” Grayson murmured.

  “What? Ow! Let go, man, let go!”

  Was Grayson breaking Matthew’s fingers? “Um, Grayson…”

  He turned his head to look at her, and that cold smile warmed up. “You can call me Gray. All my friends do.” He had a dimple in his left cheek.

  Were they friends? “Gray…” She paused. “Want to let him go?” They were making a serious scene—not her style at all—and she was growing more nervous by the moment.

  “Anything you want,” Grayson said. He freed Matthew’s hand. “Maybe we should try that other place you mentioned…” Grayson began.

  Matthew let out a snarl and he just—launched himself at Grayson.

  This can’t be happening!

  Grayson dodged him, an easy, fluid move, and he drove his fist into Matthew’s jaw. Matthew crashed onto the floor, and this time, when he finally hauled himself up to his feet, he didn’t try to attack again.

  He stumbled for the door.

  Silence.

  Jemma stared around the restaurant. Holiday lights twinkled, and a big, fourteen-foot-tall tree stood near the door that Matthew had just exited.

  “This should cover any damage.” Grayson tossed some money down on the table. He looked completely calm, completely in control, and completely like he hadn’t just kicked ass.

  But he had.

  He offered his hand to Jemma. “Still want to leave?” Grayson shrugged. “But we can stay if you’d like, I don’t—”

  “Leave.” She grabbed his hand. Held tight. “Let’s go…now.”

  The manager was rushing toward her, the bells he wore jingling. “Jemma, I’m so sorry! I called Brad—”

  No, no, no. She pasted on a fake smile. “It’s fine. We’re fine.”

  Just another dating disaster for Jemma White.

  They put on their coats and got out of there, despite the manager’s protests. As soon as they left the restaurant, the cold air blew over her. So much for a great night out. She’d been so excited when he asked her on the date and now…

  I’m humiliated.

  She blinked, refusing to let tears fall. She could see Matthew, staggering down the street. She knew he lived above the gym, so he only had a few more steps to go before he’d be home.

  “Good thing that asshole wasn’t driving,” Grayson said, gazing after him.

  “He has an apartment over the gym. Matthew…he, um, owns the place.” She didn’t want to talk about Matthew. I wish we hadn’t seen him tonight. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was rough and miserable. “I never meant—”

  His hand tightened around hers. “What do you have to be sorry for? Not like you know when some guy is gonna play the asshole card.”

  “I—”

  “Jemma…are you crying?” His hand freed hers. His fingers lifted and brushed over her cheek.

  A tear had escaped, despite her efforts to hold it back. I hate this. All I wanted was to go out and have fun with him.

  “Stay here,” Grayson ordered. “I will go and make that drunk bastard wish—”

  “No!” She caught his hand again and held tight. “Forget Matthew. He doesn’t matter. I’m just sorry that—that you got caught up in all of that.” Then she made herself let him go. Jemma stepped back. “I get that you probably want to skip dinner now. And, that’s okay. It was…really nice to meet you, Gray. I hope you—you enjoy your stay in Holly.” After managing to get those words out, she turned on her heel and nearly ran down the sidewalk.

  Only she didn’t get to run far. Because Grayson was there—locking his hand around her shoulder and spinning her back around to face him. Caught off balance, Jemma tumbled against him, but he caught her, holding her easily and bracing her against his body.

  His strong, warm, muscled body.

  His arms were around her. His head tilted down toward her. She could feel his warmth. His power. And—

  “I want to kiss you, Jemma White.”

  It was really hard to breathe.

  “May I kiss you?”

  She managed a quick nod. She should have been running away. Leaving as fast as she could, but instead, Jemma was pushing up onto her toes and parting her lips.

  What could one kiss hurt?

  His mouth touched hers, softly, carefully at first. She didn’t really want careful—she’d had that for years. But she enjoyed the press of his lips to hers. Enjoyed the warmth that uncurled within her.

  I thought there would be more than just warmth, with him. I’d hoped—

  “That’s nice,” Grayson murmured. “But may I have more?”

  And then…then something changed. The kiss wasn’t so careful. Wasn’t so light. It was hard and hungry. Rough and wild. His tongue thrust into her mouth and he just seemed to feast on her.

  Sexy. Hot.

  Her fingers tightened on his shoulders and her nails dug into him as she held on. Her breasts were aching, her knees doing a jiggle, and she couldn’t get close enough to him. He was sucking her lower lip and Jemma moaned. He bit that lip and her body shuddered. His arousal pressed against her and she—

  “Jemma.”

  She jerked away from Grayson and saw that Brad was there, glaring at them both.

  “What is happening here?” Brad demanded.

  “Uh, buddy, if you don’t know…” Grayson began, his voice gruff, heavy with desire.

  I did that. I made his voice sound that way.

  “I got a report of a fight breaking out in the restaurant.” Brad had his hands on his hips again. His…I-Mean-Business pose. “Want to tell me what hell you’re raising already, Gray?”

  “Just taking care of some jerk who didn’t have manners.” Grayson rolled one shoulder in a careless shrug. “No big deal.”

  “Less than a day,” Brad gritted out. “You’re here less than a day and you’re already getting into fights?”

  Jemma cleared her throat. “It wasn’
t his fault. Matthew just…Matthew Vail had too much to drink.” She pointed down the cobblestone road. “He’s that way, if you want to talk to him.”

  “If I want to…” Brad’s words ended on a frustrated rush of breath. “Jemma, let me just take you home.”

  What? But…she wanted to stay with Grayson. Maybe get back to that awesome kissing they’d been doing.

  “Brad.” Grayson braced his legs apart and kept his hands loosely at his sides. “Do you make a habit of interrupting Jemma’s dates?”

  “I…I was called in. The restaurant manager was concerned about Jemma—”

  “I’m okay.” She straightened her shoulders. “Like I told you, Matthew was drunk. He tried to cause some trouble.”

  “By saying shit that he shouldn’t have,” Grayson added. “But we dealt with him, and hopefully, the dumbass is at home, sleeping the booze off.”

  Brad looked at Grayson, then Jemma. Then Grayson. “I’ll talk to him,” he said, voice tight. “He knows better than to try shit like this in my town.” He spun on his heel. “Free gym membership or not, he doesn’t get to pull crap like this,” Brad muttered as he stalked off.

  Jemma released the breath she’d been holding. At least Brad had stopped talking about taking her home. Seriously—what was she? Twelve? So maybe she didn’t go on a ton of dates, but she didn’t have to be coddled like that. And while Brad was her friend, he didn’t control her life.

  No one did.

  I won’t let anyone control me. She shivered, the memories from her past trying to sneak forward, pushing up—

  No. “Come home with me,” Jemma blurted.

  Grayson’s body stiffened. “What?”

  And Brad spun around. Figured he’d be close enough to overhear what she’d just said.

  “I, um, you want dinner right?” Jemma said, making herself smile. “I told you I knew another great place in town. Well, that place is my kitchen. So how about we have dinner at my house?”

  Grayson stared at her.

  Brad was shaking his head.

  She was thinking she’d made a huge mistake. Perhaps she should have stopped while she was semi-ahead.

  “Sounds like a great plan to me,” Grayson said.

  And Jemma found herself smiling once again.

  ***

  He watched them from the shadows. Grayson Fucking Cole. The bastard was so cocky. Arrogant. He was smiling at the woman. No doubt, he thought he’d be charming her into his bed.

  Grayson had always been able to work the ladies so easily.

  And the woman was reaching for his hand. Pulling Grayson down that cobblestone street. A pretty woman, with a real hot body. Just Grayson’s type.

  The sheriff had finally turned away. He was mumbling to himself as he strode off in the opposite direction. The sheriff and Grayson—they seemed to be friends. Maybe. It was always hard to tell with Grayson.

  Who was a friend? Who was an enemy?

  He’d watch the players for a little bit longer. Find the best moment—and way—to attack. After all, he didn’t just want to hurt Grayson.

  He wanted the bastard to suffer. To go through hell…

  And then, when you can’t bear life even a moment longer…that’s when I’ll kill you.

  Because, once upon a time, he’d been Grayson’s friend.

  Now…I am your worst fucking enemy, Gray.

  Chapter Three

  “Jemma White, you are a dangerous woman.”

  Jemma glanced back at Grayson, smiling. She was in front of her fireplace, stoking the fire, and he couldn’t remember ever seeing a more gorgeous sight. She’d taken off her shoes and her toes—painted a fire engine red—were so freaking cute. The lights from her Christmas tree twinkled nearby, and the whole scene…hell, it was like something out of a movie. One of those This-Is-Your-Life bits.

  Only…

  This wasn’t his life. His life was about lies. Deception. Danger. Death.

  Not Christmas trees. Not a Christmas angel…

  And that is sure what Jemma looks like to me.

  She laughed as she rose. “I’m hardly lethal.”

  Oh, sweetheart, but I think you are.

  Gingerly, she sat on the couch, her thigh brushing lightly against his leg. “Ask people in town, and they’ll tell you that I’m quite harmless.” For an instant, sadness flickered in her beautiful gaze. “I’m very, very good.”

  There was just something about the way she said those words. As if being good were a crime. Grayson tilted his head to study her. He hadn’t met a whole lot of “good” people in his line of work. Most of the people that he met, hell, he could never trust them. They were all playing the same game of deception, and one wrong move meant disaster.

  “I’m really sorry about what happened earlier. Matthew is—”

  “An idiot.” He waved that away. “Any man who would say that about you has to be a fool.”

  But her lashes flickered, “Maybe.” She glanced down at her lap. At the hands she’d twisted together.

  For some reason, he didn’t like it when Jemma was sad. Truth be told, he didn’t really give a flying shit about how most people felt. To do his job—to do it right—he couldn’t afford a whole lot of feelings. When emotions got involved, people died. Simple fact of life. But Jemma was different.

  Or maybe he was just different with Jemma.

  He leaned forward and his fingers curled under her chin. He tilted her chin up, wanting to look into her eyes. “You burn, Jemma,” he told her simply. “It’s like there’s a fire in you, lighting you up from the inside. There’s nothing cold about you.”

  He was the one who was cold. He’d been freezing, but not anymore. Not with her.

  He leaned in toward her and took her mouth with his. Her taste was incredible. So delectable, so delicious. Better than her chocolates—and those chocolates had been insanely good. He eased her onto her back, moving over her on the couch, and he kept his mouth on hers. He also made sure not to crush Jemma with his body. He knew he was bigger and stronger than she was, and he wanted to be careful with her.

  But when he began to kiss his way down her neck, when she gave a little, sexy moan and her nails bit into his shoulders…his control began to crack.

  Slow down. Give her the time she needs. Slow—

  “I don’t do this,” Jemma said, her breath panting out.

  He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. The blue had gone hazy with desire. Oh, he liked that. “This?”

  “Hook up with strangers. That—I don’t.”

  Was that what they were doing, hooking up? He almost smiled.

  But Jemma wasn’t smiling. “I like you, Grayson.”

  “And I like you.” He’d like her naked, too. That would be a serious bonus, but he was trying as hard as he could not to rush her. Hold on. Stay in check. Wait…

  “You’re safe,” she added, giving him a quick, nervous smile. “You’re Brad’s friend, and I know I can trust him.”

  Oh, fucking hell. Safe? She thought he was safe? Safe was his least favorite four letter word.

  “Will you…kiss me again?”

  “Sweetheart, I can kiss you all night long.” Kiss her, caress her, do a whole lot more—do anything she wanted. His head bent toward her and his lips slid over hers. She trembled beneath him, a sign of her desire, and he wondered just how far he could push her. How far they could push each other. What would the lovely Jemma be like when she truly let go?

  I want to see. I want to see all of her.

  Her mouth parted for him, and he nearly got drunk off her taste. His cock was long and hard—fully erect—and he wanted in her.

  That’s not what safe guys do. She thinks you’re safe.

  His hand fisted on the couch cushion beneath her head as he kept feasting on her mouth. Her breasts pushed against his chest, and he wanted to feel them in his hands. Wanted her nipples in his mouth. Would they taste as sweet as her lips?

  “Gray…”

  Oh, hell,
yes, but he loved the desire that was heavy in her voice.

  “Gray, I—”

  Bright lights suddenly flashed, illuminating her den as they shone through the big picture window near her porch. And he heard the loud, grumbling roar of an engine—a roar that came from right outside.

  What. The. Fuck?

  Grayson jumped to his feet. His hand went automatically toward his weapon, only he didn’t have a gun on him. Not in the field any longer.

  He ran for the door

  “Gray, no, be careful!” Jemma yelled.

  But he wasn’t in the mood to be careful. He yanked open the front door. The vehicle shot into reverse as soon as he appeared, then it spun around, sending gravel flying. In the next instant, Grayson was staring at the red of the vehicle’s tail-lights as the driver of the truck high-tailed it out of there. A big-ass truck, no mistaking its shape. The vehicle had what—driven up that road to scare them? Gotten right at Jemma’s window and flashed the bright lights, revving that engine?

  It takes a fucking lot more to scare me than that.

  A growling engine and flashing lights wasn’t about to do the trick. That was freaking amateur hour. He’d held off against terrorists in the middle of a desert hell. A big truck? Yeah, I’m shaking.

  “That’s…that’s Matthew’s truck,” Jemma said, sounding shocked. She was right behind him. “Why is he out here?”

  The drunk bastard? Grayson’s eyes narrowed on the road. The truck was gone. He yanked out his phone and called Brad. The sheriff answered on the second ring. “You got a drunk driver causing trouble,” he snapped. “That fool Matthew has his truck out near Jemma’s place. Get him off the road before he hurts someone.” Or before someone hurts him. Because no one was going to mess with Jemma this way.

  No one.

  He ended the call with Brad. Jemma stood in the doorway, her gaze on the road, her arms wrapped around her body.

  “Some men can’t take no for an answer,” Grayson muttered.

  She flinched and her horrified gaze flew to him.

  “Wait, no, shit, I-I didn’t mean me!”

  But she’d backed into her home, looking terrified.

  “This was a mistake,” she whispered.

  “No, it wasn’t. It was just some jerk trying to cause trouble.” He’d had her on the couch. He’d been tasting heaven. The guy could not screw things up for him like this.