by Mia Sheridan
He appeared almost immune to the whispers around him, but something told me he wasn't. I looked at him, sitting stiffly and studying his menu just a tad too intensely, and the vow I'd made to stay detached crumbled. "I find," I said softly, moving my hand slowly across the table to lie on top of his, "that sometimes the best thing you can do is smile." When my hand made contact with his, he jolted very slightly, his eyes meeting mine. The look there was so intensely vulnerable, my heart stuttered in my chest for a few beats. That was the man I'd first seen outside the bank. "Try it," I encouraged gently, tilting my head and giving him a big, bright smile.
He returned a small, tightlipped grimace.
"Is that your smile? Truly?" I pretended to shudder. "Looks more like a demented hyena." He looked shocked for a second, but then he leaned his head back and laughed, and the resulting smile was big and bright and very, very beautiful. I grinned back. And suddenly, the tension waned. I withdrew my hand, yet my skin still felt warm from where we'd touched. We eased into mostly casual conversation after that—talking about mundane things through our meal. I didn't want to break the spell of easygoing friendship we'd seemed to find somehow.
As our dessert was served, an older woman came up to our table, a young woman lingering behind her nervously. "I thought that was you, Gray Hawthorn," the older woman said. "I wasn't sure, though. You've neither shown hide nor hair of yourself in polite society since you . . . ah, returned."
She turned to me, holding out her hand. "I'm Diane Fernsby. You must be one of Gray's girls," she said, contempt practically dripping from her surgically plumped lips.
"Actually, Diane," Grayson cut in, "this is my wife, Kira Hawthorn." My eyes flew to his and I swallowed, shock rendering me silent. I hadn't been prepared to hear those words.
Diane's face drained of color. "Your wife? Why, Gray, your mother's oldest friend and I didn't get an invite to the wedding?"
"Stepmother," Grayson corrected. "And we had an intimate ceremony." He took my hand and smiled into my eyes. "We couldn't wait."
"I . . . see," she said, her eyes moving over me, landing on my hand that was on the table, widening when she saw the ring on my left hand. "Well, this is certainly a—"
"Mom, we should go. Hi, Gray," the younger woman standing just behind her mother said.
"Hi, Suzie," Gray said, more warmth in his tone. Suzie blushed, looking away. Ex-girlfriend?
"Yes, you're right, dear. We should go." She turned back to us. "Well, my congratulations," she said, sounding anything but congratulatory. "After what happened with Vanessa . . . well, you must still be trying to get over that." She shook her head. "Breaking your engagement and then, while you were in prison, marrying—"
"We weren't engaged," Grayson said, his voice steady and cold. Vanessa?
Diane waved her hand in the air. "Oh, well, we all knew you would be soon enough. Your mother told me you'd even bought a ring. And then—"
"Mom," Suzie said harshly from behind her. She smiled apologetically at both of us, pulling on her mom's hand.
"Ah, well, I'll see you around, I'm sure. Good evening," Diane Fernsby said, allowing her daughter to lead her away. When they had only moved a few steps from our table, Diane leaned toward her daughter and whispered none too quietly, "You dodged a bullet with that one, dear. An ex-con. I hear the vineyard is barely scraping by . . . After all the heartache he put his parents—" Her words faded as she moved farther away, but the sound of her tsk-tsking carried through the restaurant.
I waited until they had disappeared from sight before speaking. "Your wife?" I asked, keeping the small smile plastered to my face for appearance’s sake. "I thought you might just introduce me as Kira."
Grayson's jaw ticked once, twice, before he made a visible effort to relax, leaning back in his chair and regarding me. "You said we should make our marriage look real for the sake of preventing your father's suspicion. I just figured if word gets around town that I'm married, it couldn't hurt in that effort. Diane Fernsby is one of the biggest gossips in town."
"Oh . . ." I nodded. He took the credit card receipt from the waiter and began signing the slip. The Ice Prince was back. I felt unreasonably hurt. I wanted to be grateful he was putting some effort into making our marriage look real in public, but I knew he hadn't mentioned I was his wife for my sake, or because of my father. He'd mentioned I was his wife as a way to shut up Diane Fernsby. I had known he ran hot and cold, but we had been getting along so well before Diane Fernsby showed up and mentioned his ex. What was that all about anyway? Had some woman jilted Grayson? And where was she now? I wondered if she lived in Napa . . . if she'd hear about our marriage now. Ah well, I couldn't concern myself with my husband's personal life. No matter how physically tempting he could be, trying to read him was exhausting.
Grayson led me out of the restaurant to his truck. The comfortable mood we'd managed during dinner was gone, replaced by the awkwardness of Grayson's cold distance. But when we were both seated in the cab of his truck, he turned to me. "I'm sorry about that, Kira. I've lived in this town my whole life, and a lot has happened with my family in the last six years. People are curious, I suppose. I'm sorry I exposed you to it."
"Curiosity is different than blatant rudeness," I murmured, staring out the front window.
Grayson sighed. "I probably deserve their rudeness. As far as Napa is concerned, I'm a murderer and an ex-con. And I murdered a neighboring town's golden boy." I remembered the reading I'd done about his crime online. The boy who had died had lived in the nearby county of Sonoma.
I bit my lip, not knowing exactly what to say. "You didn't murder him, Grayson. It was an accident. You told me so yourself."
"And yet he's dead all the same."
"Do you want to talk about it? I'm a good—"
"No."
We sat in uncomfortable silence for a minute or two before he finally turned to me, his mouth curving in an ironic smile. "I know how to show a girl a good time, huh?"
I laughed out a small sound. "I'm sure all your other girls don't complain."
Grayson grimaced slightly. "Sorry about that. Despite the fact that my stepmother was never overly fond of me, Diane wanted her daughter and me together. Suzie just—"
"Wasn't your type?" I raised an eyebrow.
Grayson chuckled. "Was always just a friend."
Speaking of women who were Grayson's type . . . "Grayson, who's Vanessa?"
Grayson didn't answer immediately, but I saw his shoulders tense. He continued to stare out the front window as he said, "Vanessa is my brother's wife."
"Oh." The word was more breath than sound. His brother had married his girlfriend—the woman he’d been planning to marry—while he was in prison? I winced, imagining what that must have been like for him. No wonder he didn't speak to his brother anymore. "I'm sorry, Grayson," I said, at a loss for what to say.
He nodded his head once, acknowledging my words, and then started the truck and pulled out of our parking spot. The ride home was mostly quiet, the radio playing softly in the background. When we pulled around the fountain and stopped in front of his house, Grayson turned to me. "Do you want a drink? I happen to own a bottle of wine that I have on expert authority is quite delightful."
I smiled. I was probably being foolish to care, but it seemed as if he didn't want to be alone. What could one drink hurt?
"Delightful, you say? I like delightful."
He laughed softly. We got out of the truck and I followed my husband inside his house.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Grayson
"You know what we should do?" Kira suddenly asked, leaning forward abruptly, taking me by surprise. We were sitting on semi-rusted lounge chairs on the patio, a glass of wine in each of our hands. We had been sipping in comfortable silence, looking out over the covered pool—most likely murky and sludge-filled beneath. I had had every intention of trying to seduce her tonight. I didn't think it would be very hard—she had responded to my kiss earlier with such
enthusiastic passion. But after what happened at the restaurant, I wasn't exactly feeling all that lustful.
"I have a feeling nothing good ever follows those words when they're coming from your mouth," I said.
She shot me a smirk. "No, really. It's a good idea."
"Okay, what?"
"We should throw a party!"
I raised one brow, leaning my head back on the chair as I watched her. "A party? Why in the world would we do that?"
"Well," she said, sitting up completely, swinging her legs to the side so she could face me, "it seems to me the Napa community is . . . leery of you right now. It certainly couldn't hurt the Hawthorn Winery's image to obtain a better social standing in your own community. Am I right?"
"Well . . . I suppose." She was right. If I were going to have a fighting chance of bringing my family business back to life, it wouldn't help if I were the black sheep of wine country. Still . . . "How would a party help in that regard exactly?"
"It would just be a start," she said, looking thoughtful. "But word spreads, you know. If we invited some of the more influential people in the community and they felt welcomed by you, they'd be more likely to extend the same your way. Gossip has a way of making people forget the subject is a human being. Inviting people here would remind them of that. I think, innately, people want to understand and forgive."
"You give people too much credit."
She appeared to consider that, frown lines appearing between her eyes. "Maybe. But I like to think not. At least in most cases anyway." She suddenly looked vulnerable.
After taking a sip of wine, I said, "You must be familiar with gossip."
"Well, of course. Much of my life has been in the public eye." Her expression looked pained and I had the sudden instinct to take her in my arms. I looked away, taking another sip of the buttery white wine, savoring the hints of butterscotch and pear.
"Anyway," I said, changing the subject, "how will people be reminded I'm a human being? I thought you considered me more dragon than human."
"True." She smiled. "You'd have to curb your reptilian tendencies for one night."
I chuckled, studying the shadows and highlights of her features in the dim light of the moon and the few house lights still on behind us.
"Seriously, though, I hardly have time to plan a party."
She shook her head. "No, of course not. I'd do it. It will keep me out of trouble. We could do an African safari theme! Or a tropical luau! I'll think of something perfect." She grinned, and I got a flash of that witchy little dimple. My heartbeat stuttered, and then I couldn't help the small chuckle that found its way up my throat.
"You're supposed to be helping me organize my books to stay out of trouble."
"I can do both."
I sighed. "Fine. Just wait until we get the check, please, to start spending money neither of us has yet."
"I will. Well, except for invitations. I'll pay for those. Do I have your permission to pick a date?"
"Go ahead. I can assure you I don't have any social plans on the calendar."
A few moments of silence settled between us. The mild night air was fragrant with nearby roses, the flavor of the wine crisp on my tongue, the rustle of the trees whispering all around, the iridescent mist floating in the grapevines beyond. I closed my eyes, relishing the assorted sensations, wondering when I'd lived in the moment just as I was now. Had I ever?
"Plan on restoring the pool when we get our check?" Kira asked quietly, nodding her head toward it.
"Probably not. I'd like to tear it out."
"Why? Don't you like to swim?"
"I like to swim just fine. I don't have very good memories of that particular pool. My father thought he'd teach me how to swim by throwing my puppy in to the deep end."
Kira drew in a breath. "Your puppy? Why would he do that?" she whispered.
Jesus. I hadn't thought about that in so long. Why was I remembering it now? I supposed because the pool was right in front of me . . . "I was six and I was afraid of the deep end. No matter how my father threatened me, I wouldn't get in. He would stand on the side of the pool in his damn business suit and rail at me as I cried." God, twenty-two years later and I could still feel the humiliation. "I had found this stray puppy wandering just outside our gates and begged my parents to let me keep it. They'd agreed as long as it was an outside dog only and I solely took care of it . . ." I let my thoughts wander, trying to picture that little dog I'd named Sport. It'd been a mutt, brown and white in coloring with these big trusting eyes . . . "Anyway, we were out here for a lesson and I again refused to get in, so my father picked up the puppy who was sitting right there on the patio," I pointed my finger at the exact spot, "and threw him in. Told me either I jumped in after him, or he'd drown."
"Oh God, Grayson," Kira breathed, her hand over her mouth.
I gave her a small smile. "It was a long time ago." So why did my chest still ache as I recalled it? "I stood on the side of the pool crying and screaming as that puppy drowned, Kira. My father eventually scooped him out, but it was too late." And the guilt of that still tore at my soul. I'd been a coward. "I just wish I had it to do over again . . . I'd save him this time. I'd drown myself if I had to. But I'd save him."
"Of course you would. You're a man now, with a man's courage. You were practically a baby then," she said, moving over to sit on my lounge chair. "How did you ever learn to swim after that?"
I ran my hand through my hair, holding a handful of it as I recalled. "Walter. My father went away a couple weeks later and Walter spent the weekend teaching me how to swim. He wore this weird black suit that went from his knees to his neck." I chuckled softly recalling how Walter had had me practice over and over in the shallow water until I felt confident enough to go in the deep end, and then he'd come with me and let me hang on his shoulders until I told him I was ready to let go. "Later that year, I taught my brother to swim anytime my father was away so when he eventually tossed him in the deep end, he swam like a little fish. My father was so proud," I said, trying to sound ironic, but the statement came out with the true pride I felt. I had been proud of my brother and proud I'd secretly helped him avoid the terror and guilt I'd faced. I sighed, my hand dropping down by my side.
"It wasn't your fault," she said softly, seeming to know what I was thinking. "What your father did to you was an evil, awful thing to do to a little boy. Oh, Grayson, I'm so sorry you experienced that." She put her hand on my cheek, her expression gentle and filled with compassion. How wrong I'd been about the little witch. How completely, utterly wrong. As I looked into her forgiving eyes, something inside me felt as if it unclenched and began to drift away.
Why had I shared that story with her? She had this way of drawing out honest confessions from me. Was it because, tonight at the restaurant, amongst all those staring eyes, she had sought to make me feel as if someone was on my side? Was it because she was planning something—a party—in an effort to help me elevate my social standing in people's eyes, for no reason other than she cared and thought she could do something to help? Or was it because I suddenly felt this unexpected friendship and understanding from my unpredictable little wife? Or was there some kind of spell floating on the mist tonight?
"Sweet, beautiful witch," I murmured, pulling her down to me so I could kiss her. I wrapped my hands in her thick, silken hair as our lips met. She tensed, but didn't pull away and I traced her lips with my tongue slowly until she opened for me. Pulling her closer, I delved inside, exploring the wet silken contours of her mouth, heat coiling through my body, heating my blood. When she finally began participating, I wanted to groan with satisfaction, but I didn't want to do anything to break the spell and have her pull away. I brought my hands down to run up and down her back, and after a few moments, I felt her muscles relax. Our first kiss had been harsh and challenging, our second ravenous yet tender, but this one was slow, sensual, as if our mouths were making love. I'd kissed countless women in my life, but I'd never experienced a
kiss like this one. It confused me almost as much as it aroused me. Before she could react, I moved her—quickly but fluidly—so she was under me and I was hovering above her, my weight on my hip to the side of her body on the lounge chair. She blinked up at me as if uncertain about what had just happened. I wanted to pull her fully against me so she could feel the full extent of my arousal, but I instinctively knew that would be the wrong move right now. My little bride needed to be slowly warmed to passion tonight, and I was all too willing to do whatever it would take. The quick spark earlier in the day had scared her off for some reason—a reason I'd find out, but not tonight. Tonight wasn't about anyone except us.
Her hair was splayed around her, her lips shining with the wetness of my kisses, and her eyes regarded me with hazy passion and just a touch of wariness. I leaned in and kissed her again, my body tensed with the effort to hold back. I wanted to strip off her clothes and plunge in to her soft, tight heat right here. My body was pulsing with need. I started to pull the straps of her sundress down and she made a small squeak of protest, so I halted, but leaned in and kissed her neck, dragging my lips down her soft, fragrant skin, darting my tongue out to taste her. She leaned her head back and arched up into me, and I took the opportunity to pull her dress down so her breasts popped free. I looked down, not able to repress the deep animal groan that rose from my throat at the sight of her beautiful, full breasts right in front of me. "You have the prettiest nipples I've ever seen," I murmured. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about them." I leaned in and kissed one and Kira let out a small feminine gasp. At the sound, my cock hardened to painful proportions. "I've wanted to taste them and suck on them since I walked in on you the other day," I admitted, my lips against her skin as I kissed the other breast. "I've wondered if they taste as sweet as they look."