by Mia Sheridan
She sighed contentedly again and snuggled into my chest. As I drew lazy circles on her hip, trying to tamp down my still raging arousal and the confusion of my emotions, I recalled how I'd told her she wasn't my type. I almost laughed. Not only was she my type . . . it was as if she were made for me. I pushed that disturbing thought aside, though. I couldn't let myself think things like that. It must have hurt her, though, hearing those words from a man's mouth—even one she disliked at the time—after what she'd been through with her fiancé. Thoughts of Cooper Stratton worked to cool the blood in my veins, but only moderately. I heard Kira's breathing even out and she let out a small, delicate snore. She was asleep. God, if I'd realized being married would be so sexually frustrating, I might have asked for more compensation. She'd driven me crazy, riled me more than anyone else I knew, and turned me on much the same. Yet, she'd made me laugh, made me smile. She'd even bought me a damn dog. And now she'd given me even more. She'd given me her trust with her delectable body. Horny? Fuck yes. Satisfied? Absolutely. I smiled to myself, kissing the top of Kira's head.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kira
Knocking softly on Grayson's bedroom door, I bit my lip and waited for him to answer. I'd woken alone in my own bed this morning, still nude and wrapped in the hotel sheets. When I recalled what happened between Grayson and me, I felt embarrassed, but underneath that was a deep feeling of tenderness. He had obviously understood the pain Cooper had caused and had sought to remedy some of it. And funnily enough, it had worked. He had made me feel beautiful and desirable, at a cost to himself. In fact, I was pretty sure he had been left severely frustrated. I felt badly about that, but when he finally answered his door and smiled at me¸ I let out a relieved breath. He obviously wasn't angry about it. Still, he'd left my room. I wondered why he hadn't stayed, why he hadn't tried to satisfy his own arousal. I would have let him. I might have begged him if I hadn't fallen asleep directly afterward, half drunk with pleasure and the exhaustion of a long, emotional day.
"Morning," he said.
"You left my bedroom last night," I blurted out, feeling my cheeks heat.
He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes moving over my face for a moment as if trying to read my thoughts. I lowered my lashes to conceal my eyes. "I thought you needed a good night's sleep, and I didn't know if you'd be okay if I stayed. I didn't want to wake you to ask. You’d had a hard day."
His thoughtfulness flowed over me like a warm embrace and I looked up into his dark eyes again. "Thank you," I said. "For, um, everything."
A strange smile crept over his mouth. "You're very welcome," he said. "Ready to get going?"
I nodded, still staring at his mouth—that beautiful, sensual mouth I now knew could bring so much pleasure. When I realized those lips were curving into an even bigger, knowing smile, I ripped my eyes away and looked down at my suitcase in my hand. Grayson chuckled softly as he grabbed his bag and we both walked out to the hall.
"You sure you don't mind making a stop at the drop-in center?" I asked, changing the subject I knew we were both thinking about, eyeing him sideways as we walked toward the elevator. I loved the way he looked fresh from the shower—dark hair partially wet and tousled, his clean masculine smell enveloping me. I wasn't sure how what we'd done the night before was going to change anything as far as our relationship went, so I waited for a signal from him. Maybe it wouldn't change anything at all. That's what he'd indicated to me when he'd first talked about altering our deal. Temporary, I reminded myself. He wants our relationship to be temporary. Don't get any ideas in your stupid head, Kira.
"Not at all," he said. "As long as we don’t stay too long. I'd like to get back to the vineyard early enough to get some work in today."
"We won't stay long," I reassured him. "Just long enough to say hi and write them a check. I have a few other charities I'd like to write checks to as well, but I can put those in the mail."
Half an hour later we pulled in to the drop-in center’s parking lot in the Tenderloin district, arguably the most dangerous neighborhood in San Francisco. But rent here was affordable, unlike most other locations in the city, and there was a high homeless population.
When Grayson and I entered the building, an old, obviously homeless man pushed past us, and the noise of talking, laughter, and a crying child somewhere in the background filled the air. The smell I recognized as sloppy joes hit my nose.
A woman with short, black curly hair came rushing toward us, the familiar face I knew well. "Is that you, Kira Dallaire?" She let out a small screech as she drew me into her arms, hugging me to her soft, large body. I laughed.
"Hi, Sharon."
"Girl, I was so upset I wasn't here the other day when you stopped in. Carlos told me you'd been by. It's been far too long." She looked at me with motherly concern, sizing me up. "Well you look good. But how are you? And what happened to your face?" she asked, pressing her fingers gently on my cheek and turning my head so she could see the large mark that still hadn't entirely faded.
I smiled, letting Sharon's warmth move through me. "I'm good. And that is courtesy of my father, but I'm okay."
Sharon scowled, pressing her lips together. "I'm glad I never voted for that man. Anything I can do?"
I shook my head. "It's taken care of." I looked at Grayson beside me. "Sharon Murphy, this is Grayson Hawthorn." I purposefully didn't offer an explanation of our relationship. Sharon eyed me suspiciously, but held her hand out to Grayson and smiled warmly at him. "We can't stay long, Sharon, but I wanted to write a check. I talked to Carlos about the situation with funding."
Sharon sighed. "I have to be honest, Kira, we're going to have to close the doors until the grant comes through."
"Well, now you don't." I smiled.
Sharon hugged me again. "You have such a huge heart, sweet girl. Bless you." With tears shimmering in her eyes, Sharon turned to Grayson. "Would you like a tour of our facility? Kira, there are a few kids you know outside. They'd love it if you went and said hi," she said, winking at me.
I glanced at Grayson who was looking around the facility I'd spent so much time in. It was so strange to see him there. "Do you mind?"
He looked back to me. "No, go ahead."
Fifteen minutes later I'd written out the check and was outside playing a game of tag with the kids. I looked up, laughing breathlessly and trying in vain to control the hair wildly flying all around my face, and caught Grayson's eye. A small boy named Matthew tagged me and shrieked with delight and I laughed again, high-fiving him for his stealth moves. Grayson was standing just outside the door, his gaze dark, a small smile on his face as he watched our game. I felt momentarily embarrassed that I'd been so involved in child's play and went jogging over to him, calling goodbye to the kids.
"Hey," I said, attempting to catch my breath.
"Hey, yourself. Looked like you were having fun."
I shrugged. "Oh, yes. They're great kids. Ready to go?"
He nodded. "I can see why you're so supportive of this place. It seems like they do great work."
I smiled brightly at him and his eyes moved to my cheek, a frown appearing, before he looked away. It still bothered him that I'd been hurt. The realization warmed me. "They do," I said, simply.
After saying goodbye to Sharon, we got back on the road, heading for Napa, headed back home. To my temporary home, I reminded myself. And yet, I found myself excited at the prospect of returning to my small cottage and seeing Charlotte, Walter, Virgil, and José, and sweet Sugie Sug. The feeling concerned me, though. I was acting like Hawthorn Vineyard was my home, but it wasn’t. In fact, I'd be leaving there in a matter of weeks. Although Grayson had offered me the option to stay longer, I now knew that would only make things harder. I'd relented and been physical with him, and while I didn't regret it, I knew it would only make our parting difficult for me—even if in some small measure. I'd never let him know it, of course, but I knew it was the truth. However, now that the damage was done, was there
really any reason not to enjoy him while I could? Perhaps I'd leave Grayson with my heart slightly bruised. But wasn't a slightly bruised heart worth the electricity we created together? I shivered just remembering the way he'd touched me the night before, the way he'd seemed to know my body better than I did.
"Cold?" he asked, putting his hand in front of the vent to test the temperature of the air.
"No," I said, but didn't explain why I'd shivered.
The ride went quickly with us chatting mostly about casual topics. I knew for myself, I'd had enough heavy with what had happened at my father's house and then at the hotel.
"Oh," I said when we were about half an hour into the drive, "I forgot to mention your party has a theme."
Grayson raised one brow. "Oh? What?"
"Well, I thought about the first thing I said about your house when you took me on a tour."
He was silent, obviously not remembering. Finally he said, "That it was the lair of a dragon?"
I huffed out an impatient breath. "No, I said that about the maze."
"Oh, right. You'll have to remind me what you said about the house."
"I said it looked like a fairy-tale castle."
"Okay . . ."
I laughed and rolled my eyes, pretending to be even more exasperated with him. "The theme will be a fairy-tale masquerade. It's perfect. And the date is two weeks away. I circled it on the calendar in the kitchen and in your office."
"Two weeks? Will anyone even show up with such short notice?"
"They'll be even more likely to show up. Planning it with such little notice sends the message we don't care whether they're there or not. They'll be intrigued. The whole town will come." Hopefully.
Grayson chuckled. "Okay. I'll save Party Psychology 101 to you."
I smiled. "Plus, I have limited time to make my mark on your life."
"Oh, you've made your mark."
I chuckled softly. "I mean a positive mark. Something lasting," I mused, thinking about all the ways I hoped my plans for the party would benefit him for the long term.
He glanced at me for several beats and then looked back to the road. A small smile played on his lips, but he didn't say anything.
When we arrived back in Napa, it was just after noon. Grayson took our bags out of his truck and started for the house. "I'm going to put these in the foyer. Why don't you come down to the winemaking facility with me and see what you've invested in." He shot a charming smile over his shoulder, squinting into the sunshine, and my stomach flipped.
"Okay." I'd lived here for weeks now and had never been invited inside that mysterious building where Grayson seemed to work constantly. I was eager to find out what was inside.
He was back outside thirty seconds later, saying it appeared Charlotte and Walter were out and they must have taken Sugie with them. I walked with him down the hill, past the lush smell of roses and small white flowers that smelled sweet and woody. I inhaled deeply, sighing. "It smells so good right here."
"Roses and hawthorn flowers," he said, his expression grim. "My stepmother planted them years ago when she was pregnant with Shane. Charlotte told her the rose symbolizes balance—the flower is the beauty and the contrasting thorns are a reminder that love can be painful. The hawthorn flowers are obviously for our name. They're the last things she ever planted here."
"Oh, why?" I asked, thinking about the rose pin Charlotte had let me borrow on my wedding day.
"Because she was planting the day my mother—the woman my father cheated on her with—showed up to drop me on their doorstep. She never ceased telling me that the fragrance of these flowers reminded her of the worst day of her life: the day she'd discovered she’d been betrayed, and that every time she looked at me she’d be reminded of that fact."
My heart froze and then thrummed painfully in my chest. "Oh," I breathed, taking his hand and squeezing it as we walked. "That's . . . I'm so sorry. How cruel."
You must favor your mother, I'd said. Yes, to everyone's dismay, he'd answered. Oh, Grayson. Now I understood his bitterness, and also his . . . deep loneliness.
He smiled over at me grimly. "She actually tried to have them ripped out several times, but they just wouldn't go away. Kind of like me, she’d said." He smiled again, as if unaffected. It must have wounded him deep inside his heart, though. Impossible that it hadn't. I squeezed his hand again and moved closer as we walked, offering the comfort of my presence if he wanted it. The thought of the beautiful man walking next to me being unwanted and unloved by anyone made my heart ache. But at the same time, I couldn't help but feel honored. He was such a private person, and usually so reserved. And yet he'd shared something deeply personal with me.
"My stepmother was involved in so many charities in Napa, I could barely keep track. I think she was mostly in it for the ladies' luncheons." He chuckled, but it held little amusement.
I looked up, studying his profile, understanding suddenly that initially, he had judged me to be like her. "I guess there are different types of generosity. I'm sorry your stepmother couldn't find the generosity of heart to show more kindness to a little boy who wasn't hers."
He looked over at me, the expression on his face almost shocked. "It's all in the past, I guess." No, I didn't think it was.
Hesitantly, not knowing how far he would open up to me, I asked, "Will you tell me about your mother?"
"My mother?" His brows knit together. "Truthfully, I don't know much about her other than she was a ballet dancer. She was a member of the New York City Ballet when she met my father. They had a one-night stand. She got pregnant. Because of her pregnancy she was asked to leave the company. She had trouble supporting me, blamed me for the ruin of her career, her body, and decided she couldn't look at me anymore. She dropped me here with my father and left. I never heard from her again."
"How terrible and selfish." And then to be dropped here to be the subject of even more blame, bitterness, cruelty, and exclusion. No wonder he was so guarded.
"We're quite the pair, aren't we?" he asked, a small smile of wry amusement on his lips.
I released a breath. "Yeah, I guess we are." I bit my lip considering our stories. "Funny how much we have in common."
"We don't balance each other at all, do we?"
I laughed softly. "Not at all. We're all wrong together."
He moved in front of me and turned around so I was forced to stop in my tracks. He took my face in his hands and smiled down at me. "Not all wrong," he murmured, bringing his lips to mine. His mouth was soft, his kiss slow, but it spread sensation through my entire body just as his kisses always did. He pulled away too quickly, leaving me gazing dizzily up at him, my hands flat on his hard chest. His smile was slow and filled with male pride, and I couldn't help but smile back at him. I shook my head in exasperation while I did it.
"Come on, dragon," I said, pulling on his hand. "I'm going to find out what you do in the depths of that dark cave you inhabit so often." He laughed, following me the rest of the way.
When we opened the door to the stone building at the bottom of the hill, Grayson called out, "José?"
"Back here," I heard José call.
The room we entered was large with overhead skylights that lit the entire area with shafts of sunlight. There were several large machines that stood to either side of the doorway and what looked like huge stainless steel barrels behind those.
Grayson walked over to the nearest machine. "This is a sorting belt where the grapes go when they first arrive after being picked. They're sorted by hand to remove any undesirable-looking fruit, any leaves." He walked along the enormous piece of equipment, past conveyer belts, and finally pointed up to what looked like a small escalator. "That's the destemmer. The stems come out right there," he pointed to a metal receptacle, "and go back into the vineyard soil." He moved along and I followed him. "This is the second sorting table," he explained, pointing to another table with room for at least eight people to stand at. "It moves the fruit past the workers, an
d they pick out any final pieces of stem or undesirable fruit by hand." He gave me a look filled with charm and a note of self-mocking. "Here at Hawthorn Vineyard, we believe the quality of the wine comes from the quality of the fruit. We spend a lot of time ensuring the fruit is sorted with care and diligence."
I gave him a smile, raising one eyebrow. "I have no doubt. How many people did Hawthorn Vineyard employ when it was in full running order?"
"A hundred seventy-five."
And Grayson had six employees: only one full-time, three part-time—one of whom was mentally slow—and two who were old and more family than staff. If I hadn't realized exactly how much he was struggling before, I sure did now.
He showed me the stainless steel fermenters and then walked me into a second large room where there was similar-looking equipment. José looked to be installing something and was focused intently on what he was doing. He gave us a quick nod and then went back to work. Instead of stainless steel barrels, this room held what looked like very large wooden fermenters at the back of the wall. As he took me through the room, I listened as Grayson described the varied functions of the equipment, paying attention to his descriptions, but also noting the enthusiasm emanating from his entire body. He loved this. I wanted to stand back and simply watch him as he moved, his eyes bright with pride and his broad shoulders held high. He seemed to be alive with energy.
"José is installing a new shaker berry sorting machine," he said. "One of the first things I ordered with the generous Dallaire investment."
I laughed softly. "A good investment, it seems." I studied him for a moment. "Your father would be proud of you, Grayson."
Very suddenly, an expression came over his face that made him look like a little boy—shy and vulnerable. He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets and rocked back on his heels. "I think he would have been," he said softly, finally smiling back proudly. "Do you want to see where the barrels are stored for aging?"