Grayson's Vow by Mia Sheridan
Kira was still watching me with large, wary eyes. Did she think because I'd been arrested for hitting someone, that I'd strike her? No, she had only ever acted fearlessly with me, never backing down until we were in this particular position.
"Someone hit you before," I guessed.
Her gaze held contact with mine. "Yes," she whispered. I closed my eyes, exhaling a long breath. When I opened my eyes, she was still looking at me, her stare fixed on the cut on my jaw, the one I'd completely forgotten about. In truth, it was barely a flesh wound. That dumb ribbon must have hit me just right—what were the odds of being sliced by a ribbon?
"I hurt you," she said, her voice full of regret. My body was pressed into hers, her light flowery scent surrounding me, her lips parted just slightly. Her eyes were full of tender concern and so beautiful my heart ached.
I couldn't stop myself. I lowered my lips to hers. She startled slightly, and after a tense moment where we stared into each other's open eyes, she relaxed back into the couch and brought her arms up and around my neck, her lids fluttering closed.
I groaned and used my tongue to trace the full contours of her lips before slipping inside the warm recesses of her mouth. She tasted like sweetness and fire, her tongue reaching out to tangle with mine as I brought my hand under her body and stroked the curve of her spine. She arched up into me. The kiss took on a feverish intensity as our tongues played, mine dipping into her mouth in a penetrate-and-withdrawal pattern as old as time. Lust, as sharp and sudden as lightning, arced between us. She felt so right under me. I felt my control slipping, and the shock of that feeling was as surprising as it was worrisome. I broke my lips from hers and stared into her face—her cheeks flushed, her lips wet and red from my kiss, her eyes half lidded. Stunning. Picking up a lock of mahogany silk and feeling it in my fingers, I murmured gently, "This hair . . ." She blinked up at me, her expression taking on a cautious confusion. She wriggled and I hissed in a gasp of air as she moved against my hard, aching groin. She slipped out from under me and I sat up abruptly. She stood looking down at me, and I reached out to her with my hand, but she backed up instead, looking at me almost accusingly. I opened my mouth to say something—I had no idea what—but before I could, she turned, and again, she ran.
CHAPTER TEN
Kira
I had no idea what had happened. I thought he was going to kill me one minute—eyeing me with that predatory intensity—and the next minute he was kissing me! My lips still tingled from the feel of his mouth on mine and I raised my fingers to them, pressing gently to feel the tenderness as if I might have dreamed what just happened.
Even worse than the fact that he'd kissed me, was how deplorably I'd responded to him. Again. My mind had been prattling relentlessly in the background about why I should pull away. But I hadn't been able to force myself to listen, instead letting him know exactly how much I'd liked it. How humiliating.
Especially after what he'd pulled on our wedding night.
Flopping down on my bed and causing the rusty bedsprings to creak, I stared up at the ceiling, confusion racing through my system. I had been avoiding him and vice versa since the day he'd gone on a date with another woman and presumably slept with her as a matter of fact. I pressed my lips together at the memory of that day, but did my best to shrug it off as I'd been doing since it happened. Mostly successfully. And, when necessary, with the help of the few bottles of wine I now kept in my cottage. Being married to Grayson Hawthorn was going to turn me into an old drunk who lived in a dirty gardener's shack. The plan to improve my circumstances was going splendidly so far!
I groaned aloud, my thoughts moving back to Grayson. He hadn't enjoyed the tree climbing and had appreciated the tractor dancing even less, but who cared? He was a dragon that ran hot and cold. Plus, I was bored. And my father said too much excess time on my hands always brought out the worst in me. He was probably right on that score at least. Life was full of so many possibilities—why should you spend even one day of it being bored? What I needed to do was drive to San Francisco and spend a couple weeks working at the various charities I supported. I longed to be busy in a way that made a difference to others. I hadn't gone because I wanted to take several checks with me. I also wouldn't be able to afford even a temporary place to stay until I got our official marriage license and the trust money came through.
Marriage license . . . Grayson. My husband. Who had kissed me! I didn't understand it because he'd made it so perfectly clear I wasn't his type, and I shouldn't get any ideas. And then he'd done that? It had to have been out of anger; there was no other explanation. Surely he hadn't really wanted to kiss me. Surely it was similar to the first time he'd kissed me: an attempt to gain the upper hand. We could move past this. We just needed to go back to ignoring each other. And I had to control my impulsive escapades for once in my life. Right?
My disjointed thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock on my door. I stood up quickly and called, "Who's there?"
"It's me." Grayson. I wasn't ready to face him.
"I'm busy," I called. "Go away."
"Kira." His voice held the vague hint of annoyance. "This cottage doesn't have a lock. I'll come in whether you grant me permission or not. I'd rather have permission."
I fisted my hands. Arrogant dragon! "Fine, come in," I gritted out.
I stood still as I listened to him enter and make his way through the front room. And then he was standing in the doorway to my room. I looked away because I didn't want to think about how handsome he was and how good his soft, full lips had felt on mine when he actually put some effort into it. And how I could still taste him on my tongue.
"We should talk about what happened just now," he said in a hushed voice.
"What?" I asked flippantly, turning my body toward the window.
"You don't remember?" he asked, and I heard the note of humor in his tone. "If my kiss was that forgettable, maybe I should try again, and do it better this time. I thought I'd improved my efforts compared to the first time, but maybe we need even more practice."
"No," I said, whirling back toward him. I took a breath. "No, that won't be necessary. We were both . . . heated. That sort of thing happens sometimes. It's no big deal." I waved my hand around. "You can rest assured I won't get any ideas from it. No fanciful notions."
He gave me a boyish half smile filled with the irresistible charm I was sure resulted in women throwing themselves at him every hour on the hour. Women like Jade. The woman he'd slept with on our wedding night. Not that I was thinking about that again because I wasn't. He moved a step closer. "Maybe I'm the one who's getting a few fanciful notions."
"Oh," I whispered. My breath had suddenly grown as thin as bridal lace. I took in a lungful of air. "Well, that's not a good idea either. It would only complicate things. Plus, I'm not your type, remember?"
"I think I might have been wrong on that score, Kira." He moved even closer.
"You wanted to kill me," I reminded him.
"Yes, well, you do need to curb your antics. Climbing trees and dancing on tractors . . . I can't have you getting hurt. Also, you taunted me in front of my men and then whipped me."
Well, when he put it that way . . .
"By accident," I defended, regarding the whipping part. My eyes moved to the small cut on his jaw, and I couldn't help feeling a twinge of guilt.
He took a strand of my hair and my eyes watched his fingers at the side of my face as he tucked it behind my ear. His closeness was making me feel all jumbled and confused, his blatant male sexuality turning my limbs to jelly. I could feel the heat of his body against my own, picture the taut muscles beneath his clothes. My eyes moved to his beautifully carved mouth, and I remembered the feel of it on mine. The memory jolted me back to reality.
"I know," he said, looking thoughtful. My mind scrambled to remember what we'd been talking about. "For some reason, with you I'm especially . . ." He paused, seeming to be searching for the right word.
"Reptilian?" I o
"Temperamental," he corrected, giving me a boyishly lopsided grin meant to disarm me, I was sure. It didn't work. Mostly.
His eyes moved over my face for a few moments. "You probably need something to do. You mentioned some accounting experience—"
"Yes, I worked at my father's office. Secretarial work, accounting . . ."
"Good. The office up at the house is yours now. I'm sorry to say I haven't had much time to organize anything recently. You'll have your work cut out for you."
I nodded. "I'm not afraid of hard work."
His face became pensive as he regarded me—his eyes dark and fathomless, hooded by those impossibly long lashes. He looked around at the room we were standing in, his eyes landing on the vases of flowers I'd put out that morning and then roaming to the open doorway of the tiny bathroom. "I can see that."
Whispers of pride filled my chest. I'd had precious few compliments about my character or work ethic from men in my lifetime. I was almost embarrassed by how much those four words meant to me. I wanted to turn them over in my head and savor them for a few minutes, but Grayson spoke again. "It occurs to me that perhaps we were rash in defining our relationship. We're married, Kira. There's obviously an attraction between us. Is there any reason we shouldn't . . . explore that?"
My breath caught in my throat. He was attracted to me? He . . . wanted me? Why? Because he was horny and I was convenient? Butterflies took flight in my ribcage as I pictured the first time I'd been with a man. I stepped back and looked down, unable to hold eye contact with those dark eyes—eyes I now saw from up close were the rich color of coffee beans. Not black at all, but the deepest, darkest brown.
"Why do you need me? You have Jade." Not bitter—not at all.
"I didn't sleep with Jade, Kira. You were right. It wouldn't have been discreet. But more than that, it wouldn't have been right."
I scoffed, but relief was secretly flowing through my body; not only hadn’t he slept with Jade but he'd realized his actions could have caused our relationship to look far less than legitimate. "I'm glad you realized you weren't acting discreetly, but I hardly care what you did with Jade for any reason other than that," I insisted, lifting my chin.
He just smiled. "So what do you say? About . . . us?"
"I can assure you, Grayson, you won't be impressed by my . . . talent in that arena." My eyes momentarily shifted away from his.
His brow furrowed. "I think, little witch, that I'd like to make my own judgment on that score." His voice was like warm honey.
Fear moved slowly through me. No. No, I had no interest in going there with The Dragon. He'd likely been with countless women who knew exactly what to do in his bed. I wouldn't be compared to them. Plus, I'd seen the type of woman he was attracted to, and it definitely wasn't me. I shook my head. "It's not a good idea and I'm not interested anyway. I don't like you much and I find you . . . unattractive. Hideous actually."
He chuckled as if I hadn't just insulted and shot him down. God, he knew no woman in her right mind would ever find him unattractive. He did think I might be slightly insane, though, so that might work in my favor. "Also, you have the manners of a dyspeptic reptile," I added to strengthen my argument.
"I can be civilized if I put my mind to it," he said, that same charmingly boyish smile making my stupid, idiotic heart flip again.
"I doubt it," I muttered under my breath.
"I'll prove it. Be ready at six o'clock—I'll pick you up. We never did have that wedding dinner."
Wait, what? No. "I'm busy," I shouted as he turned away.
"Six o'clock," he shouted back. I gritted my teeth, considering standing him up. But the truth was, I was pitifully lonely and had been bored for a week. A dinner out was hard to resist—even if it had to be with my husband. Perhaps it would be good to talk, get his mind off this ridiculous notion of us becoming intimate, and start over as we had begun. This dinner could be a distraction for tonight, and tonight only. I'd be less inclined to come up with Very Bad Ideas if I was busy doing his books, and he'd be extremely busy soon anyway once the trust money came through. Things would smooth out, and soon I'd be able to leave here and wipe Grayson Hawthorn from my memory forever. But first . . . what did I have to wear to my overdue wedding dinner?
**********
Grayson's truck pulled up in front of my cottage at precisely six o'clock. I took a deep, fortifying breath and walked slowly through the brush. He was standing at the passenger side door, holding it open. "My, my," I said, "you do have manners when you care to use them. Who would have guessed?" His smile was that of a very satisfied, decidedly non-dyspeptic reptile—sweet, with a devilish twinkle. I took his hand and stepped up into the cab. He was freshly shaven and his still semi-wet hair glinted in the sunlight, the almost-black strands glossy and tousled. He was wickedly gorgeous and I looked away, making a vow to harden my heart against him. If there was one thing I knew, men like him were adept at getting what they wanted by using charm, and I wouldn't fall for it.
Once he was seated in the cab with me and we were pulling through his front gate, I asked, "So where are you taking me?"
"A local place I think you'll like." He said it casually, but a worried expression settled on his features for a brief moment before it flitted away.
I twisted the necklace I was wearing as I watched his profile, wondering what he was thinking. He looked over at me and his eyes moved to my hand where I had one finger wrapped around the chain at my chest, and then lowered to my cleavage, his gaze lingering for several beats before he looked back to the road. I had settled on an empire waist, yellow sundress and a pair of navy wedge heels. But at the moment, with the way Grayson's eyes had lingered on my exposed skin, and with the feel of the low simmer of sexual tension in the cab of the truck, I was wishing I'd chosen something less revealing—like a sari for instance or maybe a muumuu.
"So, Kira, you said you were in Africa up until recently. What was it you were doing there?" Grayson asked conversationally. Ah, now that he suddenly wanted me to warm his bed, he'd decided to take an interest in me. How typical. Little did he know, though, I knew his game and wasn't falling victim to it.
I cleared my throat. "A friend of mine was building a hospital. I decided to help with the effort."
He glanced at me. "A friend?"
"Well actually, a boy I had sponsored through a charity program. Anyway, Khotso had become a friend over the years—through letters of course. His mother had suffered with something called an obstetric fistula after his birth when she was only thirteen, and it fueled his lifelong dream to become a doctor." Pride filled my chest as I considered my friend. "It's practically unheard of here in America, but it's a big problem in Africa due to the very early age many girls marry and become pregnant. Their little bodies simply aren't ready to bear children and they have a wretched time—often in labor for days and days and frequently losing their baby, too—and then they live in a terrible state due to the fistula they develop. Anyway, Khotso opened a hospital to repair fistulas for these women, some of whom have lived with them for years, and to help those who have just lost babies. It's an amazing accomplishment for someone so young—" I suddenly stopped talking, realizing I'd gotten caught up in the passion of the project as I usually did when I talked about it. I felt myself blush. "Sorry, I . . ."
"You're passionate about it. It's admirable. And it sounds like a very worthy endeavor. You helped one person, who in turn helps so many now." He looked over at me with a look I thought might be sincere respect. My heart warmed despite my vow to keep it cold and removed. "So you helped see the hospital completed and you came home?"
I studied my nails. "Well, almost. I would have stayed until the ribbon-cutting ceremony, but there was an, um, an incident."
Grayson raised a brow. "An incident?"
"I, uh, challenged a tribal leader to a foot race."
"Of course you did."
I n
We pulled into a parking spot in downtown Napa and walked to an Italian restaurant I'd seen before, but never dined in. It was in a stately old bank building with large stone columns flanking the front. "I thought it was apropos," Grayson said, opening the front door for me, "that our first date be inside a bank. After all, a bank is where it all started . . ."
I raised my eyebrows. "True. Although, this isn't a first date. It's merely our friendly wedding dinner. Practically a business function, actually."
Before he could answer, a hostess greeted us. "Grayson Hawthorn," he said. "I have a reservation for six thirty."
The girl gave him an admiring look, smoothed her hair back in an obvious preening gesture, and turned to lead us to our table.
I couldn't help but notice the glances our way as we walked through the restaurant to a table near the back of the main dining room. Some of the looks were merely female admiration for Grayson, but many of the glances seemed almost disapproving, and I couldn't help but hear whispers of his name—it didn't sound like the talk was of a positive nature. I frowned, noticing the rigid way Grayson was holding himself as we followed the hostess.
I recalled overhearing the two girls in the store . . . you couldn't take him home to Mama now . . . and furrowed my brow.
Once we were seated and had each been served a glass of wine, Grayson started to relax slightly. I looked around, eyes darting away from us rather than making eye contact. We were obviously being discussed. I remembered what a small town Napa was. All these people were gossiping about Grayson . . . judging him. Perhaps for his crime, perhaps for the reasons he was back . . . perhaps for the fact that his family business was in ruin, perhaps for the "fact" that you couldn't take him home to Mama now. My heart went out to him. I knew just what it felt like to be judged . . . and to be found severely lacking.