by Vanessa Vale
“Thanks,” I said to the man, my voice weary. He was doing so much and it was the middle of the night.
Reed gave me a small smile as he nodded and went over to another car, one I assumed was his own.
Gray led me inside and up to his apartment, holding my hand. “Does Reed work for you?”
He shrugged. “I’m his trainer. His fight is coming up in November. When you train a guy, there’s more to it than making him do push-ups and running five miles. It’s a big picture job. How he behaves outside the ring, what he eats, who he hangs with. We’re tight. Really tight.”
When the elevator doors opened, the sound of the TV was loud, the lights were on and half-filled glasses were on the coffee table in front of the sofa.
“We were at the PR dinner and came back to talk strategy,” he said as explanation. “We were watching fight films when you called.”
I stood in the entry, unsure of what to do as Gray grabbed the remote, shut off the TV and the lamps, plummeting the space in an orange glow from the streetlights two floors down. Gray came over to me, took my hand and led me down the hallway where I’d ogled him just a few days ago as he stripped off his shirt before showering.
He flipped a switch and his bedroom filled with a soft glow from a lamp beside a king-size bed. We didn’t stop at the bed but crossed the room to a dresser. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a T-shirt, then opened another drawer for a pair of boxers, then led me to the bathroom. Finally releasing my hand, he turned on the water for the shower, tested the temperature.
I’d been used to my house and its less-than-modern conveniences—a water heater that only gave enough water for a five-minute shower, avocado-green tile from the seventies, a fridge that didn’t have an automatic ice cube maker and even floral wallpaper from fourth grade in my bedroom. I was used to it all, but this; the bathroom was heaven. The shower easily held two, although I could see why Gray would want it super-sized since he wasn’t so small himself. With the Jacuzzi tub and the double sinks, this was what a modern, up-to-date bathroom looked like.
Gray eyed me carefully, then placed the clothes on the vanity. “Shower. I’ll be out there.” He angled his head toward the door. “Take your time.”
Closing the door behind him, I stood there as steam filled the room. I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, closed the glass door behind me. This wasn’t just a shower, it was a steam shower, the enclosed area warming and the glass fogging. I tested the abilities of Gray’s hot water heater, for I just stood beneath the rain shower head and let the sticky sweat of fear wash down the drain. I picked up Gray’s soap and sniffed it, recognized his scent and used it to clean myself. The thought of having his smell on me made me feel safe.
I had no idea how long I was in there, but Gray was waiting so I dried myself then put on his clothes. His T-shirt hung to mid-thigh and I had to roll the waist of the boxers over a few times, having them settle low on my hips. I found an unopened toothbrush from the drawer and brushed my teeth, then finger combed my wet hair.
Opening the door, the cool air hit me, just as the sight of Gray sitting on the edge of his bed, still in his dress clothes. He was on his cell, but when he saw me, he ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bedside table. I saw mine there as well and he must have taken it out of my bag for me so I could hear it if it rang. He stood, his gaze raking over me. Although the mirror in the bathroom was too foggy to see what I looked like, I could only imagine. My hair was tangled and wet down my back, his clothes oversized on my body, my face most likely gaunt with exhaustion and fear.
“Better?”
I nodded.
“I’ve got the guest room set for you.” He headed to the bedroom door and I followed him across the hall. “It’s a good thing I have a cleaning service, because I know there are fresh sheets.” The covers were pulled back and the room was lit softly by a small lamp. It was as if he’d changed the bulb while I was in the shower so that it was more of a nightlight, perhaps worried I’d be afraid of new surroundings and darkness.
I stood just inside the doorway, my fingers fiddling with the hem of the T-shirt. “Thanks,” I said softly. I wanted Gray to hold me, to tell me everything was going to be all right, that my house, my home, wasn’t dangerous, that someone hadn’t wanted to harm me, but I didn’t blame him. I was a hot mess and a burden. I’d interrupted his work and…and he’d done enough.
Gray eyed me, moved as if he were nervous, restless even, as if being around me was painful, then gave me a head nod and left, closing the door behind him. The room was quiet, the air cool and the bed looked inviting, but I couldn’t climb in. I couldn’t lie down. I just dropped onto the side of it, just the tips of my toes touching the carpeted floor. The alarm clock by the lamp said it was almost two. Only a few hours ago I was in my own bed, asleep…
Everything from the night came back. The crash I heard from the kitchen, the creak in the squeaky floor, the hall light coming on, the panic, climbing out my bedroom window, the desperate need for Gray.
It was as if I’d been holding myself together until now, like a vase that had been dropped on the ground and put back together, only weaker. One little touch and all the pieces shattered once again. I felt like that now, that I’d been holding myself together but now that I was alone with my thoughts, I broke.
Scalding tears welled and fell down my cheeks and dripped onto Gray’s shirt.
The door burst open and Gray charged in, startling me. “Emory, I can’t. I tried, but I can’t leave you in here—” His mouth fell open and his eyes filled with pain as he looked at me. “Oh, baby, don’t cry.”
He crouched down before me, running his thumbs over my cheeks. I saw the concern and worry and…anguish on his face. “I thought you wouldn’t want to be in my bed, that you’d think I was pushing you, that it was too soon, but fuck. I need you. I need you with me. Can I just hold you? I need to hold you, to know that you’re right there with me, that you’re safe.”
At his words, I couldn’t hold back any longer and I slipped to the floor before him and wrapped my arms around him, crying—no, sobbing—into his chest. I didn’t need to be alone any longer. With big hands and powerful muscles, he scooped me up and carried me across the hall and into his room. With one hand, he swept the covers back and placed me on the bed, sliding in behind me, then pulled me toward him so I buried my face into his chest once again, the length of his body beneath mine felt warm and solid and real. And safe.
And so I cried. And cried, letting my fear bleed away, until I slept.
GRAY
Seeing Emory cry was like having a knife shoved into my gut and twisted, jagged and raw and excruciating. While I knew she wasn’t injured—thank God—her adrenaline had bled away, leaving the stark reality of the night exposed. I was glad to see her cry, to know she was working through the feelings, to let them out.
I’d been such a shit leaving her alone. It’s what I thought she would want—peace and quiet and no worries that I had underhanded desires for getting her in my bed. Seeing her so…forlorn and lost, I’d tried. I really tried to leave her be, but I didn’t have the strength or the willpower to do so. I needed her with a ferocity that scared me, but I didn’t fucking care about my own fears. I had to ease Emory’s. When she was happy, I was happy. When she was scared, I was fucking scared.
While I thought she might not need me, I needed to hold her, to know deep down that she was fine. I burst back into the guest room to ask her if I could stay with her, to hold her so I could sleep, but her tears, fuck, her tears. I carried her to my bed where we could fit more comfortably, where, hell, I’d never taken a woman before. I wanted her there, in my bed, because she belonged there. She belonged with me and if the first time I shared it with her was with her sobbing and me holding her and stroking her hair instead of having wild, hot sex, then that’s what we’d do. And when she fell into an exhausted sleep, it wasn’t from working her body to orgasm over and over. Carefully, I settled h
er onto a pillow, stood, stripped down to my boxers and slid in behind her, gently pulling her into my chest with her head tucked beneath my chin.
This was the first time I had her in my arms like this, the first time I felt the lush swell of her ass, the curve of her hip, the soft cushion of the underside of her breasts against the forearm I slung over her waist. She fit against me perfectly. The idea of having a woman in my bed before had been abhorrent; never once had I even considered someone sharing it. I’d slept with women in hotel rooms and even their own beds, but never here. Being famous made my apartment my space. My sanctuary. There was no plan, no thought to having Emory here with me. It was just right. It was exactly where she was supposed to be. But did I deserve her here?
I stared into the darkness and thought about what the hell was going on. My dad knew about Emory, knew she meant something to me. I knew that because of his fucking phone calls, but I knew now he had Emory’s number. I’d heard her phone beep from her bag and I’d pulled it out, worried she might miss a call from her son. The number that had come up as a text had my body tensing and my fists clenching. Somehow dad, the fucker, had sent her a text.
Heard your son’s a midshipman. You raised a son your way, I raised one my way.
It wasn’t overtly threatening to make the police take notice, but he had to know she’d show it to me and piss me off. It had worked, but I had to calm my rage and think. Just because he was an asshole, did that mean he’d break into Emory's house? Hell, no. He’d send someone to do it for him. But would he resort to harming her or just scaring the shit out of her? Either way, it was fucked up. She was my Achilles’ heel and he knew it. He was using her to get at me and it was working.
I’d called Reed while she was in the shower to get an update, told him about the text. He had a guy already replace Emory’s door and would deliver the keys to the new deadbolt to the gym in the morning. Emory’s house was locked up once again, but for how long? Would the guy try again? If it was my dad that had arranged it, what would he do next? He wouldn’t try to break in again, but that didn’t mean Emory was safe. Until this fucking mess was cleared up, she was staying with me.
That’s what I'd been telling Reed when she came out of the bathroom, all flushed pink, clean and in my clothes. The sight of her in my T-shirt and boxers was one of the hottest things I’d ever seen. It wasn’t the most alluring of outfits, but Emory didn’t need lingerie to make her sexy. It didn’t take much to make me hot for her, she just had to be in the room. Hell, I got hard just thinking about her or getting a whiff of tropical shampoo.
If it was my dad, then I’d brought my troubles to Emory, put her in danger. She’d climbed out her window and down a fucking emergency ladder to get away. What would have happened if her son hadn’t been a Boy Scout? What if…there was a never-ending line of what-if’s. The biggest one was, what if I’d never met her? If we hadn’t met at the engagement party last weekend, it was possible she wouldn’t be in danger. The fucking kicker was, she wanted to be in my arms, and yet it appeared to be all my fault.
I should let her go, should forget I ever met her, in order to protect her. To protect her from…me. But when she stirred in my arms, whimpering in her sleep, I knew I couldn’t do it. She began to thrash and fight against my arm and I realized she was having a nightmare.
I turned her so she lay on her back, my arm stroking over her belly. My T-shirt had bunched up and my thumb brushed over the smooth skin just above the rolled up waistband of my boxers.
“Emory, shh.”
“No!” she cried, her eyes closed, a V formed at her brow.
“Emory!” I said, my voice loud enough to hopefully penetrate her sleep. “Come on, baby, wake up. You’re safe. Shh.”
Her eyes flew open and she looked up at the ceiling, the dream still clinging to her. I continued to circle my hand, to show her my touch was gentle and safe as I loomed over her. Her eyes eventually focused on my face and I knew then she was awake.
“Gray?” She swallowed. “God, I had a nightmare.”
“No one’s going to get you here. You’re safe with me.”
Her tense muscles relaxed, her dark eyes laced with sleep and worry. “Will you…will you just hold me?”
Brushing a lock of hair from her forehead, I nodded. I lay back on the bed and held out my hand. “Come here,” I murmured.
She took it and I helped her turn so she fit snugly up against my side, my shoulder her pillow and her top leg tangled with mine. Her hand rested on my chest…my bare chest and the feel of it was…incredible. Reaching down, I tugged the blankets up.
Her body stilled, her breathing evened and I thought she’d fallen back asleep.
“Can I…can I ask you a question?” Her voice was soft, almost tentative.
“Mmm?” My eyes were closed, just reveling in the feel of her.
“Is it always like this? I mean, this between us, it’s happening so fast.” Her finger swirled idly over my chest. She must have realized what she was doing because she clasped her hand into a fist, as if she was unsure of whether she had liberty to do so. I put my hand on top of hers.
“It’s never been like this, baby.”
She sighed and I felt her breasts pressing into my side. “It’s nothing like what they say.”
“What?” I prodded.
“Games and waiting a day to call and putting out to keep the guy interested and—”
I knew what she was talking. I knew more women than I wanted to remember who wanted to get laid by the MMA hot shot, The Green Machine, more than Grayson Green. I’d played the games myself, all because I didn’t really give a shit. But now…? “This, between you and me…it’s…between you and me. No one else. There’s no comparison.” The answer seemed to settle her. “Sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EMORY
I came awake slowly, at first unbelievably comfortable and cozy, but then I realized my head wasn’t on a pillow, but tucked into a shoulder. Gray’s shoulder. The front half of my body was plastered against him. He was warm, yet hard all over, his muscles like steel beneath the softness of his skin. Gray was on his back sound asleep and I took the opportunity to look at him. We’d only held hands and kissed and I’d never seen him undressed. This was the first glimpse I had of his body and I could do it freely. His whiskers were dark on his jaw, his lashes and brows equally dark. Even in sleep he was formidable. I could see the tattoo on his chest now, a swirling pattern that began on his left pec and curved around his ribs and onto his back. He had a smattering of hair on his chest, then tapered over the rigid curves of his abs to form a dark line below his navel. It traveled beneath the waistband of his boxers and I felt myself flush, wondering what the rest of him looked like.
Now wasn’t the time to find out. He deserved his rest after the night I put him through. I remembered crying all over him, then waking up from a nightmare at some point during the night. He’d been there, holding me each time. I felt safe and…wanted when I was with him. It was the first time in years I’d had someone to grab on to, who’d let me cry, who let me be weak. While I’d had Chris, I’d been alone, being strong for my son when I felt like being anything but. With Gray, I didn’t have to pretend, didn’t have to be invincible because I knew he could be strong for us both.
I wanted to stroke my hand over his cheek, to kiss him, but I didn’t. While he slept, he didn’t worry, didn’t have the combined stress of my mess and his own work. Carefully, slowly, I slid off the bed and into the bathroom, shutting the door as quietly as possible. After taking care of business, I used the same toothbrush from the night before. My hair was wild from falling asleep with it wet, but didn’t have a hair tie to pull it back. I inwardly groaned at Gray seeing me like this, but then I remembered how I'd been a sniveling mess so it was somewhat irrelevant at this point.
I came out of the bathroom to find Gray awake. He pushed himself up so he leaned against the pillows and headboard, the sheet sliding down to r
eveal his torso. His very fit, muscular torso with the incredible tattoo. Even the one on his arm stood out now. I hadn’t considered tattoos appealing before, but they were a part of Gray and they were perfect. His gaze raked over me from head to toe.
Biting my lip, I stood just outside the bathroom. Would he want me to go? Had I ruined everything with my emotional outburst?
He crooked a finger. “Come here,” he murmured.
Just those two words had my fears crumbling away. I walked over to the side of the bed as his eyes followed me. His fingers went to the hem of my T-shirt. He kept his gaze fixed on them for a moment, just holding the hem, then let go. He looked up at me. There, in his eyes, was the heat and intensity I recognized. Lust, pure and hot, flared and I knew this was the moment. I felt my nipples tighten against the cotton of his shirt, my core softening and heating from just that look. My lips parted and I breathed slowly.
While Gray had took me for crabs for lunch, sent me sweet and funny texts, even rescued me when I’d called him, he’d been chivalrous and gentlemanly. Even when he’d kissed me in my kitchen, I’d only caught a short glimpse of an aroused and needy Gray. He’d held back, waited. But now, the waiting was over. This Gray, with his piercing dark eyes, the hooded lids, was something else entirely. His lust was visible in the tense lines of his muscles, the ruddy color of his cheeks, the heat that his body exuded. This was the version of of him he’d held back, kept at bay, perhaps to keep from scaring me, because he was…intense.
He held his hand out, not quite touching me, making me reach out to him. What we did in this moment was my choice. I could lift my hand and take his and I knew what would happen. We’d have sex. No, it wouldn’t be sex with Gray. It would be more. So much more. He was going to claim me and make me his. With Gray, there would be no going back. He’d said he never brought women to his apartment and so this simple act, holding his hand out for me to take, signified he was giving me…everything.