by Mia Sheridan
"Grayson," she groaned, tangling her fingers in my hair. I lowered my mouth to one stiff peak and licked at it, swirling my tongue around and around.
"God, you do," I moaned, "taste as sweet as you look."
"I said we shouldn't . . . this isn't . . ." Her words left off in a breathy sigh. A few seconds later, those breaths turned to pants. At her response, I wrapped my lips fully around her nipple and suckled, pulling it into my mouth and then using my tongue to soothe it gently. She cried out, pulling at my hair. "Oh God, Gray," she groaned. "You, we have to—"
"Shh, little witch," I soothed, taking the other nipple in my mouth and sucking gently before pulling back. "Let yourself enjoy this."
I eased her thighs apart, putting one of my knees between them. She gazed up at me with eyes unfocused and drugged with arousal. A primitive male triumph made my gut clench, and I pressed my erection against her belly as I leaned in to kiss her again. Her body suddenly went rigid and she turned her head. "No," she said, her voice soft and still scratchy with passion.
"Yes," I said, leaning back in. She pushed at my shoulders.
"No," she said more firmly. I groaned, rolling to the side. She stood quickly, pulling her dress up, looking as if she was having trouble making her legs cooperate. My body pulsed painfully with unspent lust. God, I wanted her. She made a concerted effort to appear unaffected. "I should get to bed."
My arm shot out and I grabbed her hand before she could run.
"I meant what I said, Kira. There's no reason we have to sleep alone. We could . . . consummate this marriage. You feel what we have between us as much as I do." I gave her my most charming smile, but she looked away and pulled her hand free of mine, the lines of her body tense, her eyes confused and slightly pained.
"Did you tell me that story so this," she moved her hand back and forth between the two of us, "would happen?"
Confusion made me pause. "What story?"
"About the puppy."
"The puppy? What? No." Did she think I had told her about that to manipulate her into kissing me? I pressed my lips together.
She studied me for a moment and then let out a sharp breath. "I told you, Grayson, I'm not interested in that . . . in this." She gestured between her and me once again. "It would only complicate an already complicated situation. This wasn't our deal."
"Deals change all the time." I sat up and brought my leg over the chair and stood up to face her. I took a lock of her hair between my fingers, testing its silky texture, wishing the moon brought out its fiery highlights the way the sun did. But in this light, its fire was shadowed. When I made love to her, I wanted it always to be in light so I could see the flames in her hair, the glow of her emerald eyes. I wanted to see all the ways in which her body proclaimed she was life itself, full of heat and passion. My body throbbed again, still hard at the very thought of making love to her . . . for hours and hours. Or, hell, even just once . . . "It can be temporary, Kira. Just like our marriage."
She blinked at me and brought her hands to her cheeks as if they were warm. I couldn't tell in this light whether that was the case, though, or not. "It wouldn’t work. Just trust me." She turned toward the stone staircase up to the house. I called her name, but she didn't turn around and she didn't look back. I sat back down on the lounge chair, letting out a long, sexually frustrated sigh, trying to figure out what had just happened. I had no idea how to handle my own wife. Women had always come easily to me. Keeping them . . . well, Vanessa had proven that might be a different matter. But Kira and I had already established our relationship would be temporary so, with her, that wasn't an issue. I’d never experienced being turned down for sex, though, especially when I turned on my charm. I wasn't being arrogant—it was just the truth. Did I actually know how to seduce a woman? An unwilling one? How ironic that the first woman I had to work for was my very own wife.
**********
"See you on Monday, Charlotte," I said, leaning forward and kissing her soft cheek. It was Friday morning, and she and Walter were taking a weekend trip to San Francisco to visit friends.
"There are several casseroles in the freezer, with instructions written right on top," she said. "Oh, and I baked a batch of those citrus butter cookies you like. They're in tin foil in—"
"Charlotte," I chuckled, "I'm a grown man. I can take care of myself for the weekend."
She smiled, shaking her head, and pinching my cheek affectionately. "I like taking care of you. Just let me dote. Oh! And please tell Kira I baked her the brown sugar oatmeal cookies she likes. Where is she anyway? I thought she'd come up to the house to say goodbye."
"We were out late last night. She's probably sleeping in," I said, picturing her tangled in her sheets in her little cottage, that glorious hair splayed all—
Charlotte eyed me as if she could read my thoughts. "How are things going with you two now that you're actually married?" She'd wanted to come with us to the ceremony, but I'd told her absolutely no. At the time, I hadn't wanted anything that would make the ceremony more awkward than it already was. Charlotte's presence there would have only served to make us feel more uncomfortable . . . and make me feel guilty. I couldn't deny that.
I sighed. "I don't know. It's hard to say with her. I barely know what she's going to do from moment to moment, much less what she's thinking." Except that she's resisting me, which is most likely why I want her so badly.
"Hmm," she hummed, looking thoughtful. "Yes, not many match that one for spirit, I'll say that. Except maybe you." She winked at me. "I'm glad you two went to dinner last night. It's a good start." She smiled, and before I could address that comment or tell her not to get any grand ideas, she continued, "Tell her to have a nice weekend. Oh! And tell her I got her list about the party. What a splendid idea! I'm not sure what the big rush is, or why she was emailing me at two in the morning, but Walter and I will stop in town this morning and order the invitations—I know a place that will print them right away. I still have Jessica's address label list of who's who in Napa and can email that to the printer once I've had a few minutes to go through it." Kira had been up in the middle of the night? Why? Had she, too, been unable to sleep after what we'd done on the patio? Had she been tossing and turning, remembering the feel of—
"Tell Kira they'll go out in the mail Monday," Charlotte continued, interrupting my thoughts.
"And here, drink your orange juice," she said, handing me my half-full glass. "There's a terrible flu going around." I did as she said, draining the glass just to stop her party-talk and incessant nagging. She watched me carefully as I drank it, something almost nervous in her expression. Was she that worried about a flu? When I was done, she took my glass and rinsed it in the sink before I shooed her out of the kitchen, calling goodbye to Walter who was waiting in the foyer with their small suitcase sitting on the floor at his feet.
"Goodbye, sir," he said, giving his wife a small, affectionate smile as she came toward him, fussing about all the things that were left undone, as if we might perish without her caretaking for the weekend.
I worked until late afternoon that day, and then made a trip into town for supplies, returning about five. After a quick shower, I went down to the kitchen to put one of the casseroles in the oven for dinner. I texted Kira to let her know dinner would be ready at six, but an hour later, when she still hadn't texted me back, I started to get restless. Was she ignoring me? I hadn't seen her once all day. Was she holed up in that little hovel of hers, avoiding me? Come to think of it, wasn't she planning on getting started in my office? I went to see if there was any sign she'd been there, but there wasn't. I puttered around in my office for a little while, but when my frustration levels had risen too much for me to focus on any one thing, I pushed away from my desk and went to grab my phone. I texted Kira again and then waited five minutes, drumming my fingers on the kitchen counter. Nothing.
I was striding past the fountain before I even realized I'd left the house. What if she'd taken off for Brazil like I'd m
entioned that day in the hotel room where she'd been staying? The little witch! Had she left me? Had what we'd done last night spooked her that much? Or had her supposed thoughtfulness and compassion been a well-performed act? My blood was pulsing through my veins with something I couldn't identify as either panic or anger—perhaps a mixture of both.
Would her suitcase be gone? Had she made a complete fool of me? Leaving me with nothing but shattered pride and a very real leg shackle, even if no true evidence of a bride? I didn't even bother knocking, striding through the cluttered front room and bursting into her bedroom, my heartbeat pounding in my chest at what I'd find.
I expelled a giant breath when I saw her suitcase open on the floor, her clothes falling out like they'd been the day before. My gaze swung around the room, resting on the lump under the bed covers. She was sleeping? At six at night? "Kira?" No answer. I moved to the bed and ripped the covers back. A small groan emerged and Kira pulled her legs up to her chest, rolling into an even smaller ball. "Kira?" I asked again, this time with worry lacing my voice.
Her face was covered with all that beautiful hair of hers, so I moved it back and put my hand to her forehead. Her skin was hot to the touch and she was sweat slicked, but shivering. "Oh no, Kira, you're burning up, sweetheart." She only groaned again, moving her face in my direction, but keeping her eyes closed. She mumbled something unintelligible, and then shivered violently. Fuck me. This was my fault. I'd let her stay in this drafty, dusty place, caused her to take frigid showers for days on end. What was wrong with me? Guilt hit me in the gut and I put my arms under her, lifting her gently along with the quilt. "You're coming up to the main house and that's final. I'm laying down the law. I know somewhere in there you're arguing with me, but I'm not taking no for an answer. You have no choice but to obey me. How do you like that, wife?" I asked, trying to get some kind of reaction from her. She gave none other than pressing herself closer to me, and shivering again. I walked her carefully through the dirty, equipment-filled front room and kicked the door closed behind me, moving quickly through the unseasonably chilly, mist-filled evening. As I climbed the stairs with Kira in my arms, my head suddenly grew dizzy and I stopped, leaning against the banister for a moment. Well, that was strange. God, I hoped I wasn't getting sick, too. It would not be good timing. After a moment, the feeling passed, leaving only a strange buzzing in my blood. I brought Kira to the bedroom that had once belonged to my stepmother and laid her gently on the bed. Pulling the blankets back on the other side and then moving her over onto the sheets, I covered her up. After smoothing her hair back and laying a cool washcloth on her forehead, I went to get some Tylenol. When I'd returned with the tablets, I shook Kira gently. "Kira, you need to tell me if you've already taken something. Kira?" She stirred, her eyes blinking up at me, the green even more vivid with the fever. "Kira, did you take anything? Any medicine?" She shook her head and winced.
"Didn't have anything," she croaked.
"Okay, good, then I need you to take these," I said, holding the pills close to her mouth. She swallowed them and took several long drinks of the water I'd brought up, collapsing back on the pillows, and closing her eyes once again. I took a moment to study her face. Her skin was flushed with the fever, her eyelashes long and dark on her cheeks, her lips dry and slightly parted.
"Beautiful little brat," I whispered, smoothing her hair back. I became aware of the strange buzzing in my veins again, frowning. The buzzing seemed to flow down to my groin and I grimaced slightly as I hardened. This was hardly the time for lust and yet my body seemed to have other ideas. I felt mildly ashamed. The woman in front of me was sick for God's sake.
Over the course of the next day and a half, I worked to keep Kira comfortable as her body fought to break the fever, and I struggled to keep my own body under control. Need raged through my veins in some sort of fiery swirl of uncontrolled lust. I found myself doubled over repeatedly from the pulsing intensity of an erection that seemed to come out of nowhere and last for hours. It wasn't normal. Something was drastically wrong.
I called José and told him I was too sick to work for the first time in the year since I'd been back. I wouldn't have worked that day anyway, as I wouldn't have left Kira alone—but the truth was, I was in no shape to leave the house. I was like an out-of-control animal. I wanted to fuck like a Viking—pillage and tear clothes and sate my throbbing desire over and over and over until the pulsating pain left me limp and finally satisfied. The thought itself seemed ridiculously dramatic, and yet I couldn't think of any other way to explain it, even to myself. I looked away as I wiped cool cloths on Kira's neck and upper chest, shaking to control the urge to roll on top of her and take her, unconscious with fever or not. I had to relieve myself four times alone in the bathroom just to function enough to care for the little witch. No, this was not normal. Had she put some kind of evil spell on me? I felt possessed by a sexually aggressive demon straight from the depths of Hades.
I was on the verge of calling a doctor—or perhaps a priest to perform an exorcism on me—when the symptoms finally began to abate late Sunday afternoon. Mentally exhausted and physically drained—quite literally—I lay down on the bed next to Kira for just a moment. She felt markedly cooler, her breathing smooth and even. The dusky beginnings of twilight filtered in through the edges of the heavy drapes, and the low whir of the ceiling fan lulled me to sleep almost instantly.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Kira
I came awake slowly, feeling as if I was emerging from somewhere deep and dark, the light far, far above. I blinked my eyes, trying to understand where I was, the feel of something warm and solid at my back. Turning groggily, I looked into the staggeringly beautiful face of a sleeping dragon. I tried to piece together what had brought me here and could only remember climbing into bed, practically unable to stand, feeling first like a boulder had fallen on my body and then as if I were being boiled alive. Even now, I felt groggy, my limbs heavy. I had been sick, with a fever, I thought. Visions of Grayson feeding me broth, putting cool cloths on my head and smoothing my hair back came to me in scattered memory. He had cared for me while I was sick. Tenderness flowed through me like a cool drink of water as I gazed at his peaceful male beauty. My mind not fully awake, uninhibited by neither fear, nor rationale, I brought my hand up to his face and moved my thumb down his rough jaw, shadowed with black stubble. This is what it would be like to wake to him. This is what it would be like if he were really mine. He hadn't shaved in a couple days. Had I been here, in this room, for that long?
Grayson's eyes blinked open and he stared at me for several moments, comprehension coming into his sleepy expression. "Hi," he murmured, bringing his hand to my forehead. He sighed as he brought his hand away. "Fever's gone," he said, his expression calm and placid.
"Yes. You took care of me," I whispered. "Thank you." He's kind. The thought came sudden and sure.
We stayed like that, the moment seeming to be caught between sleep and wakefulness, both of us still tangled in the foggy web of dreams. His eyes were so beautiful—as dark as the night sky and just as easy to get lost in. He brought his hand to my cheek and brushed his thumb over my cheekbone. I sighed, leaning into his touch. Suddenly, he blinked at me, his eyes opening fully as if something had just occurred to him. And the spell was broken. He rolled over onto his back, looking almost guilty as he brought his hand to his hair and ran his fingers through it, gripping it at the top of his head. "It was—"
The doorbell interrupted his thought. He sat up. "Walter and Charlotte are still gone. I'll get that." He stood, his jeans and T-shirt wrinkled, his hair in disarray, the dark shadow of stubble making him look even more handsome somehow. He was every inch a man, and I felt my breath hitch in my chest. His dark eyes ran over my body, and again, he looked away almost guiltily. I came up on one elbow.
"You didn't . . . take advantage of my feverish state, did you, dragon?" I raised an eyebrow.
He clenched his jaw, his eyes growing impossibly da
rker, and said tersely, "No." Then he turned and headed for the door. "Take a hot shower. I brought your suitcase up." I looked to where he nodded his head before he exited the room and indeed, my suitcase and toiletry bag were sitting beneath the window.
I did as Grayson said, taking a long, hot luxurious shower, savoring the feel of the heat raining down on my sore muscles, lathering and washing my skin with my shower gel again and again. It felt heavenly. When I finally emerged, clean and scrubbed, I felt fully awake and human again. After drying my hair and dressing, I went downstairs to find Grayson and get some food. I was ravenous.
Hearing voices from the living room, I walked in that direction, coming to a halt when I saw Kimberly sitting on the couch, Grayson across from her. They were both laughing about something, but stopped when I entered the room. Kimberly let out a small shriek and stood up, running to me and swooping me up into a giant hug.
"What are you doing here?" I asked breathlessly, taking her in, my heart squeezing in delight. She was wearing jean shorts and a flowered tank top, her smooth, olive skin darkened even more from summer sunshine, her small, voluptuous body as perfect as ever. She had her black, curly hair held back in a low ponytail.
"You haven't answered my calls in two days! I was worried. I came to make sure you weren't shackled in a wine cellar being tortured mercilessly." She winked, but then smiled back at Grayson as if it was a joke they’d already shared. They seemed mighty chummy already. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Grayson stood.
"I'll let you two talk," he said, his gaze fixed on me as he approached us. I couldn't help but notice that despite having recently woken up, he still looked tired, as if he hadn't slept much. "I need a shower anyway. Nice to meet you, Kimberly." I looked away, biting my lip at the sudden picture of Grayson Hawthorn naked under a hot spray of water. Soap cascading—