by Vanessa Vale
Opening the door, the cool air hit me, just as the sight of Gray sitting on the edge of his bed, still in his jeans and shirt. His boots were at the foot of the bed, socks beside. 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, 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 man's voice, 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 my knees 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 down 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 as his hand stroked up and down my back, as he placed kisses on the top of my head. And cried some more, letting my fear bleed away, until I slept.
16
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 fuck—her adrenaline had finally 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 was 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… broken and lost, I’d tried. I really had 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 safe and whole. 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 with her head on my chest, it wasn’t from working her body to orgasm over and over. Carefully, I settled her 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 a fucking nightmare; never once had I even considered someone sharing it. I slept with women in hotel rooms and even their own beds but never here. Being famous made my apartment my space. My sanctuary. There had been 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 phone number. When she’d been in the shower, I’d heard her cell 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 mine.
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 a total 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 weakness, 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’d had a guy already replace Emory’s door and would deliver the keys for 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 who had arranged the break-in, what would he do next? He wouldn’t try the same thing 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, no lace or satin or frills, 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 aw
ay. Jesus, the idea of that made me sick. What would have happened if her son hadn’t been a Boy Scout? What if… there was a never-ending line of what-ifs. 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 the danger to her 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, even with 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 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, smoothed out her fingers.
“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 about. I knew more women than I wanted to remember whose goal was to get laid by the MMA hot shot, The Outlaw, 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.”
17
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 since the bedside light was on, offering a soft glow to the room. 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 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 had Chris, I’d been alone since the divorce, being strong for my son when I’d 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 I 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 just hours before, so it was somewhat irrelevant at this point.
I came out of the bathroom to find Gray awake. He'd pushed himself up, so he leaned against the pillows and headboard, the sheet sliding down to reveal 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 taken me for messy wings for lunch, sent me sweet and funny texts, even rescued me when I’d called him, he’d been chivalrous and a perfect gentleman. Even when he’d kissed me in my kitchen, I’d only caught a quick 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 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 offering me… everything.
My other choice was to step back, to walk away. He’d continue to be patient, to be gentlemanly until I was ready. Was that what I wanted? Did I want Gray to continue to be a gentleman? I liked that he was. It showed so much of his character, but now, it wasn’t enough. I wanted to see every facet of the man, to know every part of him, including the dark and carnal. I didn’t want him to hold back any longer. I wanted all of him.
I lifted my hand and placed it in his. His eyes, the banked heat there, flared to life. With one tug, he pulled me across his lap, his arm around me,
so I was flush against him, and he was kissing me. While the kiss in my kitchen had been hot, this one, this was possession. His tongue plundered, tangled with mine, and I moaned, opening my mouth even more.
My hands moved to his chest, roaming over the hot skin, feeling the steely muscles beneath. He made a sound in the back of his throat, which I took for approval and continued. The arm about me loosened, and he shifted, forcing me onto my back with him looming over me, his weight resting on his forearm. My knees were bent over the side of the bed, my lower legs dangling off.
His hand came up and brushed my wild hair back from my face as he stared at my lips, then my eyes. Breathing raggedly, he just took me in. As he lowered his head, I watched as his eyes closed, then he nipped and sucked at my lower lip.
“Baby, what you do to me,” he whispered just above my mouth.
Heat flared at his words, my body lighting up, awakening.
“I can’t be a gentleman, Em. Not anymore.”
At the words, I got wet, felt it on my thighs. “Good.”
At that one simple word, his hands slowly lifted the hem of my T-shirt, exposing my belly inch by inch. He lowered his head to kiss and lick over the skin he revealed. The stubble on his chin rasped against me, only heightening the sensations. Lifting my hands, I ran them over his head, the dark hair there soft and silky, but not long enough for me to run my fingers through. When the back of my shirt was caught beneath our combined weights, he rolled us once again, so I sat straddling his lap. I could feel the hard length of him against my core with both pairs of boxers in the way. He was big, really big.
It wasn’t the thought of all that size fitting inside me that had me panting, it was the way his eyes darkened. My body had only been seen by one man. As Gray’s fingers worked the T-shirt up my belly once again, higher and higher until I had to lift my arms, I worried at what he would think. My breasts weren’t those of a twenty-year-old. I’d had a baby that I’d nursed for over a year. I wasn’t small, but I wasn’t young and nubile either. I relished the modern bra and how it helped my breasts defy gravity. But as he tossed the T-shirt to the side, I couldn't hide. I glanced down at Gray, fearful of what he might think, what he might say, but his eyes spoke for him.