by Mia Sheridan
I smiled and nodded realizing how very much he was still affected by his father's judgment of him. I understood it more than most, but for some reason, it made me incredibly sad. Grayson took my hand and led me to a door at the back of the room. The air was suddenly cooler and there was barely any light. Grayson took my hand and I followed him down a long, cement hallway of sorts. The hallway opened up and there were rows upon piled rows of barrels. The air smelled of pungent wood. I inhaled, drawing the damp earthy air into my lungs.
"These are burgundy barrels, made with burgundy wood from France," he explained.
"Hmm," I hummed. "How long do you age the wine?"
"This wine has been aging five years. It's almost ready to be bottled. Which, again, thanks to the Dallaire investment, can now happen." So it was put in barrels right after his father became ill. One of the last things accomplished here at Hawthorn Vineyard. Until now.
"You bottle it here?"
"We will," he said, "once my new bottling machine arrives."
"I never knew so much went into the process," I mused, looking around at the barrels.
"I've just shown you how the fruit is processed. Even more goes into the winemaking itself. I'll show you that someday, too." Someday . . . and yet, my days here were numbered. Before I could dwell on that, I realized Grayson had moved closer to me. I sucked in a breath, noting the look of intensity on his face. Even in the dim light, I could see the fire in his eyes. I took a step back and pressed my body into the cement wall behind me. His hands came up on either side of my face and he leaned toward me. The air in this room was so cool, and his lips against mine felt especially warm and so very soft.
"You're so warm," he murmured, obviously having had the same thought. Leaning back in, he ran his tongue along the seam of my lips, and with a groan, I opened for him. He brought his hands up to my face, and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, holding him so I didn't slide down the wall. Why did his kiss enflame me the way it did, and yet relax every muscle in my body at the same time? His kiss was filled with confidence, his body so very warm and solid as it pressed into mine. He ran his tongue everywhere: along the sensitive ridge at the roof of my mouth, the inside of my cheeks, along my teeth, and then back to tangle with my tongue as if seeking to know every part of my mouth. I tried to hold back the moan that came up my throat, but it was a wasted effort. Pressing into him, I moaned yet again, my heart beating insistently between my legs, my sensitive nipples rubbing deliciously against his hard chest.
I had kissed men before—okay some of them more boys than men—but suddenly I realized that no, no, I had never been kissed. Not if this was the way a kiss made you feel. I had never, ever been kissed like this.
"You," Grayson said as he broke from my lips, "are so delicious. I can't get enough of you." And then, thank the Lord, he leaned back in and kissed me again, his tongue slipping into my mouth as I ran my hands down his lean, muscled back. He was so beautifully built, so broad and tall, so solid. A thrill shot through me at the intriguing feel of the unfamiliar contours of his masculine body. I wanted to know every part of him, every dip and hard plane. I could feel the hard press of his erection at my belly and it sent a jolt of arousal through my blood.
Moving my hand down between us, I rubbed it over the hard bulge at the front of his jeans. He jerked, pressing himself into my hand.
"Kira," he rasped, "I have to stop. God help me, if I don't now, I won't be able to." I shivered. I felt the same way, almost wanting to beg him not to stop, to take me right here against this cold wall. But no, José was right outside the door. He could walk back here any minute. When I gave myself to Grayson, I wanted to have lots of time, and I wanted it to be in a bed.
Grayson stepped away from me, and my eyes wandered down to the evidence of his arousal. The front of his jeans looked strained and full. I swallowed, wanting very much to feel it in my hand again.
Yes, I wanted him, I admitted. I wanted him with an aching desperation that scared me witless and excited me senseless.
I had thought I could resist him, but I had underestimated the power he possessed when he was not only bent on seduction, but when he allowed me to glimpse the tender side of his personality. And now, I had no desire to resist.
"We should get back," I said, smoothing my hair as best as possible.
He studied me for several beats before using one finger to move a wayward curl of hair off my cheek. "Stay with me tonight," he whispered. "Come to my bed, Kira."
Fear and want coiled simultaneously in my belly. It would be playing with fire. I knew it would be. And yet . . . I wanted to. I wanted to know him intimately. I wanted him to make me feel beautiful and desirable like he'd done the night before. I wanted to know the feel of his body as well, what he liked, what made him wild with passion. I might develop feelings for him, in fact, I probably would. Perhaps I already had. But I'd manage them. After all, what was life without a few exciting adventures? Wasn't it worth a little heartache to know a touch like Grayson Hawthorn's? One that lit me up from the inside out. What if I never knew one like it again? Shouldn't I snatch this experience up while I had the chance? Even if difficult, I would manage my emotions. And I would never, ever allow myself the foolish hope that becoming physical with my husband would lead to feelings on his part.
"Yes," I said, meeting his eyes.
Triumph filled his expression and he took my hand, pulling on it. We called goodbye to José and then stepped outside into the bright sunshine. We strolled up the hill and when we entered the house a few minutes later, I grabbed my suitcase, which Grayson had placed inside earlier and turned around to return it to my cottage.
"Hey, whoa, where are you going?" he asked.
I turned. "To my cottage."
"You're not staying there anymore. I moved you up to the house."
"You moved me?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. I liked my little cottage. I liked having my own space. And if things were going to advance between Grayson and me in . . . other ways, it was going to be imperative I had a place that was only mine.
"Yes. Part of the reason you were sick is that you were breathing in all that dusty air, taking cold showers—"
"That's ridiculous. I had a virus. You don't get a virus from dusty air or cold showers."
"Maybe. Maybe not. You're still moving into the house."
"I'm not."
"You are."
We stood in a standoff in the foyer for several moments, until Grayson crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall. "You already agreed to stay in my room tonight."
"Yes, tonight, but that doesn't mean I'm moving in with you."
"You are."
"I'm not," I ground out. The grand staircase caught my eye and I looked at Grayson, raising one eyebrow. "I'll race you. Winner gets his or her way."
He laughed. "Race me? Oh, little witch, you don't stand a chance in a race against me. You might as well surrender now."
"I'll never surrender. And I don't mean a foot race. I'll race you down the bannister. You take one side, I'll take the other." I'd been dying to slide down that bannister since I'd first seen it. This was the perfect opportunity. I was a bannister-sliding expert. If anyone knew grand stairways, it was me. My father's home had three.
Grayson laughed again. "You must be joking."
I raised both brows in answer.
"No, of course you're not joking. This is ridiculous, you do know that, right?" But he began walking toward the staircase. I followed and when we'd made it to the top, he moved to the right and I moved to the left. I positioned my butt up on the dark polished wood.
"I can't even believe I'm doing this," Grayson muttered, positioning himself on the other rail.
"If you're nervous, I'll give you a head start," I said, smiling prettily at him.
He grinned back devilishly. "No need, witch, let's do this."
I wiggled my butt on the rail, settling into place. "On your mark, get set, go!" I squealed as we both took off, slidin
g quickly down the smooth wood. I balanced precariously, shrieking when I almost tipped off the side, but righted myself before I fell. I heard Grayson's deep laugh next to me, but didn't dare look over at him. Gathering speed faster than I thought I would, the end came quickly and I went flying forward into empty air, unable to land on my feet and instead catching myself on my hands as I hit the hard marble floor. I felt briefly winded and thought I heard the door open and close in front of me, but couldn't help breaking into peels of giggles when I heard Grayson's deep laughter from next to me, and looked over to see him sprawled on the floor as well. I was pretty sure I'd hit the floor first. We both lay there for a moment catching our breath, our laughter fading. I glanced up and realized there were four pairs of shoes standing in front of us and when I raised my head, I saw Walter, one brow raised. Next to him, Charlotte's expression was shocked as she gaped first at me, and then over at Grayson.
I began standing slowly, the laughter fading entirely as I noticed the equally shocked looks on the faces of the tall, handsome blond man and the stunning blonde woman in front of me.
The blond man suddenly broke into a big grin and startled chuckling.
"Hi," I breathed, coming to my full height and taking a step forward. I held out my hand. "I'm—"
"Shane," Grayson said, his voice strangely clipped. "Vanessa."
I swung my gaze to him and saw his expression was very suddenly without humor and instead coldly removed. "What in the hell are you two doing here?"
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Kira
Oh my God. Shane: Grayson's brother. Vanessa: The woman he'd been about to propose to before he'd been sent to prison. Now his brother's wife. Here. In the flesh. I smoothed my hands down my jeans and tried my best to look cool, calm, and collected. Or at least as cool, calm, and collected as a person could look after having just removed herself from a sprawled position on the floor after flying off a bannister.
"Is this her?" Shane asked, apparently ignoring Grayson, and instead looking at me. I wasn't sure exactly what to make of his question, but the look on his face was friendly and his tone warm, so I smiled and held out my hand again.
"I'm Kira Dallaire," I said.
"Hawthorn now, isn't it?" Shane gave me an open, boyish smile and took my hand in his.
I glanced at Grayson whose expression was shuttered. "Oh, right. Well, yes." I cleared my throat. "I keep forgetting," I murmured.
"Well, it's still new, right?" Shane said, giving me an understanding half smile.
"Right . . ." I whispered.
The tall, striking blonde smiled warmly at me and moved forward, grasping my hand in both of hers once I'd let go of Shane's. God, she really was gorgeous—Grace Kelly's even more beautiful sister.
Shane looked at Grayson. "When Charlotte told us the news, you can imagine our shock. But we hoped it meant—"
"That you'd be welcome in my home?" Grayson asked icily. "You were wrong. You can turn around and leave again."
"Gray," Charlotte said, moving toward him. "They came all this way to see you and to meet Kira."
"You manipulated this, Charlotte," Grayson said, his livid stare resting on her.
"Grayson," I whispered, feeling awkward in the middle of this frigid family reunion. "Maybe I should . . ."
He swung his eyes to me, pausing momentarily. "I won," he said, and for a minute I had no earthly idea what he was referring to. Then I realized he was talking about our race down the bannister. I would have argued with him—for he certainly had not—but I thought what he really might mean is that I had no choice but to stay in the house now if we weren't going to raise suspicion with his brother and sister-in-law—his ex-girlfriend, nearly fiancée. Good Lord. That was if he was going to allow them to stay. And if he was going to make it look as if we had a real marriage. My heart felt like it was beating a mile a minute. I just nodded.
Walter cleared his throat. "I believe I'll excuse myself." I thought I'd do the same.
"I'll just," I nodded my head toward my suitcase and Grayson's overnight bag still sitting by the door, "take these upstairs and let you all talk." I felt severely self-conscious and on display as I moved to pick up the bags. The foyer went utterly silent except for the sound of my clacking shoes. My face burning hot, I turned at the foot of the stairs. "So I'll just, then," I cleared my throat, "see you at dinner." I looked around, but Grayson wasn't looking at me. He was staring at Vanessa with an expression on his face I'd never seen before. He didn't answer, didn't even tear his eyes from Vanessa long enough to acknowledge me. It felt like a fist to my gut.
I heard Sugie's nails clicking on the stone floor and she appeared around the corner, staring at all of us. She gave a small chuff and dropped her head. "Here, Sugie," I said quietly. She trotted toward me.
"Nice to meet you, Kira," Shane said, giving me a sympathetic look. He knows his brother still loves her. Charlotte nodded at me, wringing her hands at her stomach. Why had she pushed me toward Grayson if she knew? Does she want me to leave? Vanessa gave me a small half smile, her eyes darting to Grayson and quickly back to me, her cheeks pink. She loves him, too? Oh, God. It was all too much. I turned and hurried up the staircase, and into the room I'd stayed in when I was sick, Sugie on my heels. Tossing the bags down, I leaned against the closed door long enough to catch my breath.
Stupid, Kira, I admonished myself. A few kisses, a few personal revelations and you thought Grayson was what? Your friend? Your true husband? You are such an idiot! Idiot, idiot, idiot! The way he had looked at that woman downstairs was . . . not how he had ever looked at me. But she was married to his brother . . . it wasn't like he could ever have her again. God, but just the fact that he still wanted her hurt enough in and of itself. And I hated it. Hated it.
I stood up straight. Well, thank goodness I hadn't given myself to him completely. Things were fine. I was fine. So we'd shared a few moments. Now we'd go back to the original plan, which was a much better idea anyway. How I'd let myself veer so far off track, I had no idea.
There was a sudden knock at the door and I startled, stepping away from it and turning around. I pulled it open to find Vanessa standing before me. She smiled a little bit shyly. "May I come in?" she asked.
I swallowed, but returned her smile and gestured for her to enter. "I'm just showering in here," I lied. "The shower in the master bath is broken."
Vanessa sighed. "God, what isn't? It looks so different around here . . ." She trailed off, the look on her face saying it all—she didn't mean "different" in a positive way.
Sugie came over and sniffed shyly at Vanessa's feet. Vanessa stepped away, beginning to bend down to offer Sugie her hand, but then withdrawing it quickly when she got a good look at Sugie's face. "Oh, she's . . . is she—?"
"Her name is Sugie," I said, scooping her up and depositing her on the chair to the right of the bed and giving her a few pets before walking back to Vanessa.
She took a seat on the vanity bench and crossed her shapely legs. I sat down on the storage trunk at the foot of the large bed. Vanessa was wearing a short, flirty pink skirt and a pale gray, silky tank top that showed off her summer tan. There were several strands of beads knotted between her breasts. She slid her fingers down them in a nervous gesture as she studied me. I fidgeted under her scrutiny.
"I love your outfit," I said. And I did. It was classy, but fun and fashionable, too.
She smiled broadly. "Thanks. It's one from my own collection. I have a little boutique in San Diego. I'm considering opening one here, too, actually. That's part of the goal of this trip—to find a space. I didn't grow up with much, and dressing fashionably on a small budget has always sort of been my passion. That's the goal with my shop—fashion chic on a budget." She blushed prettily and lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm babbling."
She cleared her throat before raising her eyes to mine and continuing. "We were so filled with happiness when we heard Gray had gotten married," she said, changing the subject. And she looked sincere. I
wrung my hands in my lap.
"Thank you," I finally said. "I mean, I . . . don't know exactly what happened between Grayson and Shane, but I hope they can find a way to work things out . . . " God, this was awkward. Was I supposed to be pretending Grayson's and my marriage was real? I wished Grayson had taken a moment to talk to me before I had to have a one-on-one with Vanessa Hawthorn. Vanessa looked like she was struggling, too, and I had to wonder how much she felt for Grayson. Why had she done what she'd done? I wanted desperately to ask her, but it didn't feel right, and I wasn't even sure I should act as if I knew anything at all.
"Me, too," she said, biting her lip. "They're in the study talking. Anyway, I really just wanted to take a few more minutes to say hi to you and let you know how happy I am to have a sister."
"Thank you, I appreciate that. And me, too." I smiled. "I'm happy to have a sister as well." Even though I'll be a temporary one. I twisted the ring on my finger in nervousness as Vanessa stood. Her outfit was perfect and unwrinkled. How had she managed that if they'd been traveling? I really wanted to hate her for many reasons, but she was making it difficult with her kindness and sincerity. No wonder Grayson loved her. She was everything I was not.
Her eyes moved down to my ring finger. "May I?" she asked, her brow creasing slightly. I glanced down at my hand and then lifted it as she grasped it in hers and studied the ring Grayson had given me. She drew in a breath.
"An opal. Look!" And she lifted her engagement ring to show me her center stone was an opal as well. "It's my very favorite stone," she explained. "It signifies love and passion." She grinned broadly, her teeth straight and perfectly white. "Well this proves it, we both love opals. We were meant to be sisters." She moved forward and hugged me quickly, the scent of some light, expensive perfume that was just as lovely as her hitting my nose, and then just as quickly stepped away. "We'll talk more later?"