by Mia Sheridan
"Kira?" Kimberly asked. "Do you want to sit?" She was obviously repeating the question I'd just missed.
"Oh, yes. See ya," I said to Grayson who was already walking past us. "Um, thank you, again." His head turned slightly, but he didn't say a word.
"Get over here," Kimberly said, pulling my hand. "What is going on? I haven't gotten a decent update from you since you two got married, and then you didn't answer even one of my calls or texts this weekend—"
"I was sick. Like, really sick." We plopped down on the couch and I brought a pillow into my lap, hugging it to me. "Grayson took care of me." I was still confused about that and hadn't had the chance to ask him anything about it. Why had he done it? How had he found me? And God, had it really been only a couple days since he'd kissed me and touched me with such tender passion, causing me to lie awake, tossing and turning with frustrated confusion? I'd finally gotten out of bed and made a list of details for the party and emailed it to Charlotte. Putting my mind to work on something besides him had helped and I'd eventually been able to sleep when I’d returned to bed.
Kimberly raised an eyebrow. "I'm glad you're better and we'll talk about that in a minute. But I have a bone to pick with you. You purposely left out that he's a Greek god."
I scoffed. "Greek god? I have no idea what you're talking about. He's one of the ugliest men I've ever seen. I can barely look at him."
Kimmy grinned. "Liar." Her expression became pensive. "It does worry me, though. It's going to be easier to fall in love if you're already attracted to him. Since the plan is to walk away from him in a couple months, find a way not to let that happen, that's all I'm saying. And don't let him kiss you."
I sighed and leaned my head back on the couch. "Well, actually . . ."
I updated Kimberly on everything that had taken place since our wedding day. She listened, her expression moving between anger, mild horror, surprise, and finally pensiveness. "You did let him kiss you. I'm too late—but I'm not surprised. The way his eyes tracked you today when you came into the room . . . well, now what are you going to do?" His eyes tracked me? He was probably trying to make sure I could walk given how sick I'd been.
I shook my head. "Nothing. He just wants to turn me into a convenient wife and then watch as I walk away. That would never, well . . . you know me, Kimberly. I don't operate that way. It would be an utter disaster. For me."
Kimberly opened her mouth to respond when we heard Grayson yelling from the kitchen. I jumped up and Kimberly followed as I hurried to the other side of the house. Grayson was just exiting the kitchen. Charlotte, who must have returned while I was upstairs showering, was on his heels. "It was meant to be helpful," she called after him. He turned around, the lines of his body tense, his eyes shooting fire at Charlotte.
"I almost molested her. When she was feverish and unconscious," he ground out.
"Oh dear," Charlotte said. She looked up, placing one finger on her chin. "Was it meant to be halved, not doubled?" She took her finger down. "Yes, that must have been the problem."
"What's going on here?" I asked. Kimberly's head moved back and forth between Grayson and Charlotte. Walter quietly arrived and stood standing off to the side.
"She poisoned me," Grayson growled, pointing a finger at Charlotte.
Charlotte laughed merrily. "I didn't poison him. It's a simple herbal concoction my mother taught me, meant to increase male ardor." She winked at me. I felt my face drain of color. Charlotte had given Grayson some sort of herbal mixture to increase ardor before they'd left for the weekend? Why? And . . . oh, God. Had he said he'd almost molested me while I was unconscious? I swallowed heavily.
Walter moved forward. "It's hardly my place, sir, but—"
Grayson glared, pressing his lips together for a moment. "When has that ever stopped you, Walter?"
"True," Walter agreed without remorse before going on. "I've found personally that plenty of water throughout the day helps the, uh . . . effects wear off sooner. However, I do recommend the proper dosage. It's quite . . . helpful."
Grayson let out a pained sound, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm in hell."
Charlotte stepped forward. "Would you like me to prepare you—?"
"No! I'll never let you prepare me anything again. You're fired! I'm surrounded by crazy people." And then he strode off toward the door, slamming it behind him so hard, a vase on the shelf next to us wobbled and almost fell. I gasped, my eyes flying to Charlotte. She grinned at me as if she hadn't just been sacked.
"He fired you?" I breathed.
Charlotte waved her hand in the air as if it was nothing. "Oh, he's fired me twice a month or so since he was sixteen." She turned back toward the kitchen, calling after Kimberly and me. "Come join me for a cup of coffee, girls."
Kimberly, grinning broadly, led the way.
Charlotte stood at the counter, a large butcher block in front of her as she rolled dough for some type of baked good. I introduced her to Kimberly, and she poured three cups of coffee as Kimberly and I sat down.
"What were you thinking, Charlotte?" I asked her, trying my best to glare, knowing I could have been the victim of molestation while unconscious due to her actions. Only . . . did I believe that? Did I believe Grayson capable of such a thing, even if the reason was Charlotte's herbal meddling? I furrowed my brow. I didn't think so, but men had blindsided me before. From my experience, they were mostly untrustworthy. Lord knew my father's word had never held any weight, and my fiancé's even less.
As for Charlotte, her intentions, though misguided, had been pure. I was sure of it.
Charlotte's eyes twinkled. "It seemed to me you two were avoiding each other. But then you went to dinner. And I was thinking maybe Grayson needed a small push in the right direction. And then if you two were alone all weekend . . ." She frowned. "But, I may have gotten the dosage wrong, and of course, I should have considered his virility . . ."
I groaned and put my forehead in my hand for a moment before I looked back up at her smiling face. I hardly wanted to think about my husband's virility. "I don't know that he exactly needed a push in that direction."
Charlotte stopped what she was doing, setting her rolling pin aside. "And you?" she asked, clearly hoping I would answer that I wanted the same.
"I . . ." I tilted my head. "I'm attracted to him, too. I . . ." I circled one finger around the rim of my coffee mug. "Well, there are moments when I even like him." I shook my head. "But I can't give him what he wants, for several reasons." I glanced at Kimberly and bit my lip. She gave me a sympathetic look. "But the main reason is that he would probably have no problem sharing his body with me and then going on as if nothing had happened. But I wouldn't be able to." I looked down. It had always been the way with me—where my body went, my heart followed. Fear slid slowly down my spine at the thought of how Grayson Hawthorn could so easily destroy me if I gave him the opportunity. I'd learned that lesson once, and I didn't care to repeat it. This time, I would not give in to my stupid, reckless whims.
Especially not when it came to a highly virile dragon.
Charlotte patted my hand lying on the counter, leaving a small smudge of flour on my knuckle. "That's how us women are built, my dear. When we give our bodies, we give our hearts. When men give their bodies, well . . ." She looked up as if trying to come up with the right words.
"They give their bodies," both Kimberly and I finished in unison, and then the three of us dissolved into laughter. My heart soared with affection for both of them. I had missed having girlfriends around.
I smiled at Charlotte. "Yes. So that's off the table."
"Well, we'll see," she said, winking at me.
"No evil plotting," I said. Secretly, though, my heart was warmed to know Charlotte wanted to see a true relationship between Grayson and me. Perhaps, for her, it was mostly because she didn't believe in the fake marriage we'd arranged—making it real would allow her to be happy for Grayson, rather than disappointed for him.
"Oh no," Charlott
e said unconvincingly. "At least not so I get caught."
I laughed softly, and took a sip of my coffee. I was tempted to ask Charlotte about some of the things I'd learned about Grayson the other night, especially regarding Vanessa. But one, I didn't feel exactly right talking about those things behind his back, and two, Kimberly was there.
"Will he forgive you?"
"Oh, eventually. This right here," she said, nodding to the dough in her hand, "is for his favorite blueberry scones. He likes them with jam and cream. He'll act angry for a couple days just to preserve his pride, but after a few of these, he really won't be." She smiled merrily, but then went serious. "Oh, that reminds me, Kira. I’ll need to go to the south field to collect the apricots so ripe they’re falling on the ground. Do you want to help me make a couple batches of my apricot jam?"
"Oh, sure. I made strawberry preserves with my grandmother once," I said, thinking back fondly to that day.
"I like this place," Kimberly suddenly declared taking a sip of her coffee. "I think you belong here, Kira." Her words alternately brought me happiness and dread.
And as we sat in the warm kitchen, fragrant with the smells of blueberries and coffee, eating oatmeal honey muffins, Charlotte prattling on about her weekend trip, it suddenly hit me: Grayson had said that, for all intents and purposes, he'd grown up with no parents at all. I still didn't understand the exact dynamics of that situation. But he'd been wrong on one account. He'd had parents all along. Their names were Walter and Charlotte Popplewell, and they loved him as if he was their own. I wondered if Grayson even realized it.
We chatted for a while longer and then Kimberly told me she had to get going. I walked her outside and, as we stood at her car, she smiled at me. "This has been such a nice visit. I meant what I said," she looked around at the Hawthorn property, "it feels like you fit here." She studied my face for a second. "But take care of yourself. I couldn't bear to see you hurt again, Kira Kat."
I gave her a brief smile. "I will, I promise."
She nodded. "I almost hate to tell you this, after seeing how well you're doing here—"
My heart sank. "My dad's been calling you, hasn't he?" I asked, guessing immediately. She always got the same tight look on her face whenever my dad came to her mind. She nodded.
"He's called several times, even hinting once that if I didn't get you to call him, he'd pull some strings at Andy's job somehow—and I don't think he means to get him a promotion."
"That controlling bastard," I seethed. Andy was a police dispatcher, and I supposed it wasn't out of the scope of impossible that my father had some pull at the San Francisco Police Department, but for my father to even consider that? Was there no limit to the depths he would sink to control me?
Kimberly put her hand on me. "Now listen. I didn’t tell you that so you'd contact him on our account. Andy is a little bit worried, but frankly, we'd rather collect unemployment than let your father influence our lives. I just thought you should be aware. Who knows what else he's up to? It might be best for you to go to him now, so he doesn't figure out where you are before you're ready and come here."
I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. I agreed, though. And I would not let this become my friend's problem. Nodding my head, I said, "I will. Thanks, Kimberly." Please let that marriage license come soon. I just needed to cash that check first . . .
I hugged her goodbye tightly, promising to visit soon, and update her frequently, and then I watched her car drive out the gate.
Again, I wrapped my arms around myself and stood, staring blindly at the non-working fountain, wondering what it would look like when it was fixed and working, wondering how far it was down on Grayson's list of priorities. Grayson . . . He had spent the entire weekend in a state of utter torment thanks to Charlotte, and yet he'd selflessly cared for me, soothing my fever, and making sure I was never alone. Apparently, I'd been wrong about The Dragon, in some ways at least. He wasn't the uncaring beast I'd originally thought. I pondered momentarily how he'd been betrayed by his brother, father, and stepmother. He was just a man—a man who held deep hurts and was trying his best to get by in a situation that, until me, had offered very little hope.
And I thought again about how I knew he'd been wronged not only by his own father, but by mine, too. Would he understand why I hadn't mentioned that if he knew? I thought about telling him now . . . only, our plan hadn't changed. We would still part ways soon enough. What purpose would it serve?
My mind filled with worries, I wandered back into the house and headed toward the office—the room where I'd first officially met Grayson Hawthorn. I sat down at the large desk and started rifling through the pile of new mail Charlotte must have retrieved from the mailbox when she returned this morning, along with the large pile of old, unopened mail, separating it all into three piles: what looked like bills, junk, and personal correspondence. There were several unopened letters addressed to Grayson in what looked like a feminine script. I set those aside, but when I came to a postcard with the picture of a bicycle leaning against a tree and turned it over, I noticed the same handwriting and that it was dated very recently. I hesitated only briefly before letting my eyes drift away from the address to the message.
Grayson,
Remember when we were thirteen and I splashed mud all over you with my bike and felt so badly? You told me it was impossible to stay mad at me for long. I'm praying you still have it in your heart to forgive me. I'll never stop trying . . .
All my love, Vanessa.
Vanessa. All my love? She still loves him? She was trying to persuade Grayson to forgive her? For marrying his brother? A strange ache had settled in my chest, making my skin feel prickly. I didn't like it. I started to put the most recent mail aside, deciding I was done with the task, when I came upon a business envelope addressed to me. I sucked in a breath, tearing it open. I let out a small shriek when I saw that it was our official marriage license, the prickly feeling dissolving into hopeful excitement. Tossing the other mail onto the desk, I walked quickly to the front door, calling toward Charlotte in the kitchen, "I'm going into town. I'll be back soon."
I heard her sing-song, "Okay," before the door swung shut behind me.
I had some money to collect. Quite a lot of money, in fact.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Grayson
By three o'clock, I was too exhausted to work for another minute. I returned to the house where the smells of Charlotte's blueberry scones hung sweetly in the air. I walked to the kitchen. "You don't play fair," I said, feigning hostility. "I was going to give you the silent treatment for at least another day and a half. Give me one of those."
Charlotte beamed happily at me, placing a warm scone on a plate with a dollop of clotted cream on top, and a spoonful of jam on the side. "Cheater," I mumbled. "Don't think this means I forgive you."
Charlotte smiled knowingly at me as I took a big bite of heaven. "I do apologize. I caused you pain, and I would never have done such a thing on purpose." She studied me for a moment. "I just . . ."
"You want Kira and I to have a real marriage." I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Charlotte, that's not going to happen. I don't have the time or desire for a wife." As far as the physical aspect . . . I had tried. Not that Charlotte needed to know that—it'd just give her false hope. In any case, Kira had said no. But we'd see about that. I wasn't going to give up on that front. For now at least, we were husband and wife—why not reap the benefits for a little while? She was like a little fire in my blood—beautiful, unpredictable, and full of life. And surely two months, perhaps a little less, would be plenty of time to quench that fire. I'd know the feel of her under me, around me, on top of me . . . and then it would be over. I'd be sated. And I would move on.
"I didn't give you that herbal mixture so you'd act on a physical attraction to her, you know," Charlotte said, seeming to read my thoughts. "I hope more for you than that. That was just to get the blood flowing, if you know what I mean." She winked at me and I scow
led. Disgusting that we should discuss this. She had practically raised me. But she continued on before I could stop her. "To the body and the heart. And as for Kira, she doesn't want a purely physical relationship with you either, you know."
I paused, not able to help my interest. "How do you know that?"
"Because she's a woman. That's how I know that."
I considered her words. If we enjoyed each other's bodies, would Kira really want more? No, she barely seemed to like me half the time. But she did like my touch. That much was clear. Thinking back now, that constant hum of sexual awareness had been there from the very beginning, had been present the first time my skin had touched hers. I just hadn't acknowledged it because I'd been too busy judging her, resenting her, and then being driven to distraction by her ridiculous antics. But I wasn't denying it anymore. I didn't think there was any reason we couldn't keep things on a physical level. For my part, I knew I could enjoy her body without falling for her. I would. I was finished denying myself where it came to the mostly exasperating, but highly desirable little witch. Now I'd just have to convince her, too.
The protectiveness I'd felt toward Kira when I'd found her sick and feverish in her bed had worried me for the first couple hours I'd cared for her. But then, before I'd had time to fully consider it, Charlotte’s herbs kicked in, and it had just been all I could do to survive my own body, the effort at self-control making me too exhausted to think. Perhaps in some strange way, it had been a good thing. But considering it now, I concluded it was just a natural male reaction to want to protect your own wife—even one of nothing more than convenience.
Eventually, I expected, that would go by the wayside. Just like our marriage.
"Speaking of Kira," I said, "where is the little troublemaker?"
"I don't know. She went tearing out of here several hours ago."