by Mia Sheridan
I finished chewing the bite of toast I'd just taken before answering. "I'm going to do some more cleaning at the cottage first and then I thought I might take a walk around your property if you don't have any objections."
He froze. "The cottage? You can't mean to actually stay there. That was a joke, Kira."
I shrugged. "I don't mind. It's a place of my own—away from you . . . out of your hair, I should say. It'll be like I'm not even here." I offered him a big smile, which he didn't return.
Grayson eyed me for a second, but then casually picked up the magazine. "Suit yourself."
A few minutes later, Grayson excused himself—seeming just a tad less frosty—and went off to work, stating he'd meet me in front of the house at three o'clock. I finished my breakfast and offered to help Charlotte clean up, but when she refused, I asked if I could borrow some cleaning supplies and then returned to my cottage fully armed.
I spent the next four hours cleaning decades of dirt and grime from the small bathroom—most likely a relic from the seventies—scrubbing windows, floors, and even the walls in the bedroom. There was nothing much I could do about the front room given it was filled with gardening equipment, so I simply created a path through the mess and cleared out the worst of the cobwebs. I could close the door to that space and simply live in the two cleaned rooms.
I only took a break to walk to the house and eat a quick lunch, which Charlotte had said would be waiting for me.
When I was finished with the cottage, every muscle in my body ached, but I felt accomplished as I stared around the new spic-and-span rooms. My home for the next couple months. It was far from elegant, although luxury had never brought me true happiness anyway. No, I liked this place because it was my own little space. And it was where I had landed . . . where the path I'd chosen to take had led me.
It had been a warm day, but the cottage was completely shaded by trees, and the temperature had dropped now that it was late afternoon. I squealed when I stepped under the frigid water of the shower and danced in place with discomfort as I speed-washed my hair and body with the toiletries I'd brought with me. I had forgotten to ask Charlotte for towels—maybe I'd go buy a few to have my own—so I dried off with a T-shirt and pulled on clean clothes. Thankfully, the blow-dryer warmed me as I used it to dry my hair. Not bothering to put my long hair up, I left it hanging down my back.
Outside, the sky was a peaceful baby blue with a scattering of white, gauzy clouds. I stood admiring the rolling hills of grapevines again. I didn't know much about the winemaking process, but I hoped to learn. Not that I'd be here very long, but it was interesting to me in general—an age-old practice holding so much tradition. I strolled behind the house, just meaning to get an up-close look at the maze. When I was standing in front of the huge natural structure, I saw that the entrance wasn't closed off in any way so I ventured inside, walking cautiously, only intending on turning a corner or two. It was terribly overgrown, the pathways far more narrow than they should have been, the ground patchy with weeds and grass, but it was magnificent. And it was at least fifteen degrees cooler in here. If I could be assured I could find my way out, I'd stroll through it endlessly. I wondered if there was anything in the center. Why ever would Grayson want to tear something so special down? It was a travesty. I hoped he would change his mind once he had the funds to maintain it.
Turning around before I became hopelessly lost, I began walking down the small hill toward a large stone structure I assumed was where the wine was made and stored. There were several tractors and trucks parked in front of it, and I could hear equipment operating inside.
As I got closer, I noticed a couple men standing next to a tractor close to the building, a pair of muscular thighs on the ground under it. One of the men called a greeting, and I waved back. The man underneath the tractor scooted out and stood. Grayson. My heart stalled. He was shirtless. He came to his full height and waited for me to walk the short distance to them. I had already noticed he was powerfully built in perfect male proportions, but the sight of his wide shoulders, rippling chest muscles, and flat, ridged stomach made my breath catch and my cheeks flush. God, he was beautiful everywhere, broad but lean, his smooth, tanned skin glistening under the sun. He was a study in masculinity, and I couldn't help the way my body instinctively responded to him, the muscles in my stomach flipping and clenching. Damn dragon.
Grayson took off the baseball cap he was wearing, smoothed his hair back, and then replaced it that way men do. I made an effort to shake off his effect and smiled brightly. He introduced the two men with him, a Hispanic man with a small mustache who wasn't much taller than me named José, and a giant of a man with a shy smile named Virgil. I greeted them both and nodded to Grayson who nodded back.
"Tractor broken?" I asked.
"No," Grayson answered. "But it's one of the only things that isn't. I was just giving it a tune-up, ensuring it's ready for the harvest."
"Well, you do it all, don't you?" I smiled. "No wonder you work from sunup to sundown."
"Have to. As you can see, my staff is pretty limited." He nodded to José and Virgil.
The man named Virgil, who I suspected was mentally delayed, stepped forward. "I'm real happy to meet you, ma'am. Mr. Grayson says he might be marrying you, and I think that's real fine. He says he can't figure whether you're a spoiled princess or a little witch, but I think if you are a witch, it's the good kind ’cuz you sure are pretty." He blushed and looked down. At his words, I bristled, and smiled tightly at Grayson, who had the grace to look just a tad embarrassed. José coughed slightly, obviously trying to hold back a laugh.
"Is that so? What else does Mr. Grayson say, Virgil?"
Grayson laughed tightly. "Well, I think that's enough chatter," he said. "We should be—"
"He says the reason he likes you is ’cuz you have a whole bunch of money," Virgil continued cluelessly. "I'm gonna have a whole bunch of money someday so people like me, too." His brow wrinkled up in thought. "’Course, my mama says it's not what a person has, but how he treats others, so I don't know . . ." He scratched the back of his neck, looking confused.
José rocked back on his heels, a quiet smile of amusement on his face. He was enjoying this.
"Well, Virgil, if I were you, I'd listen more to your mama than to Mr. Grayson." I shot Grayson a dirty look. What was he thinking flapping his jaw in front of this innocent man? Plus, he'd let more people in on our business arrangement. Hadn't he heard a word I’d said about my father?
My consternation had nothing to do with what he'd said about me. None at all. It was information I knew already anyway. He didn't have to like me. And he could think I was a witch if he liked. What did I care about the regard of a dragon?
Grayson took the T-shirt that must have been hanging from his back pocket, removed his cap, and pulled the shirt over his head. I let out a silent sigh of relief. Naked reptiles disturbed me. "Gentlemen," Grayson said, nodding to José and Virgil. "See you in the morning."
He took me by my elbow and led me away as I smiled and waved to the two men watching us. Then I looked disinterestedly up at Grayson. I would not let on that I cared in the least about his assessment of my character. I needed him for one thing and one thing only.
Grayson chuckled. "Come on, I'll drive you back to the house. Then we'll go find out if we're getting hitched or not."
CHAPTER SIX
Grayson
I looked at the woman sitting next to me. The woman who was going to be my wife in a matter of days. My wife. I shook my head subtly, hardly able to believe the course of events that had transpired in the last twenty-four hours. The marriage was nothing more than a business venture, but still, the fact remained, fake or not, I was going to have a wife. When I was younger, I had always assumed I'd get married someday—hell, I'd even thought I'd known exactly who that woman would be. I'd had a deep desire to create a family of my own—the type of home life I'd always longed for, but never had. And then Vanessa . . . and well . . . s
uffice it to say, life was full of surprises. And not all good ones either.
She shifted in her seat, chewing on her lip. "Do you think it's wise to tell your workers that our marriage is anything other than legitimate?" she huffed out. "I told you about my father, and the fewer people that know, the—"
"I trust José like a brother," I interrupted, pulling into a parking space and shutting off the ignition. I couldn't help the non-humorous chuckle that rose in my throat at my own words. Not all brothers were trustworthy—who knew that better than I?
"José can be trusted," I amended. "As for Virgil, I doubt if anyone is going to listen very carefully to his account of anything."
Kira shot me a look that was a cross between disdain and nervousness as she opened the door. I opened my door as well and hopped out. "He seems to be a wise judge of character," she said when we met on the sidewalk.
"Sure, in the same way dogs and children are. In any case, I wouldn't worry about what either of them knows." Someone was approaching on the sidewalk. I got in her space and walked her backward until she was pressed up against my truck, a look of utter panic on her face. I grinned as I pressed my body into hers.
"What are you doing?" she hissed.
"Convincing the general public our relationship is very legitimate," I said close to her ear. God, she smelled good. Not just good—incredible. Her scent was faint, like distant flowers on a breeze. I hadn't known what she smelled like until my nose was right up against her. I nuzzled my face into the side of her neck, inhaling deeply and feeling the warmth of her skin against my own. She felt as stiff as a tree branch. I pulled away. Jesus, despite the fact that it'd only been a couple days since I'd been with fruit-flavored Jade, I needed a woman. "You're going to have to do a better job than that if you hope to persuade anyone I'm marrying you and not molesting you." I turned and started walking. After a second, she caught up to me. When I glanced in her direction, I chuckled at the stiff set of her shoulders and the way that little chin was thrust in the air. Why did I enjoy needling her so much?
During the meeting with Mr. Hartmann, the executor of Kira’s grandmother’s trust, he went over the terms with both of us. It was straightforward, he said. The payout would occur immediately once we brought him a copy of our officially filed marriage license. Kira and I had sat next to each other, holding hands like a pair of lovebirds, the heat of her skin searing into mine. Mr. Hartmann seemed delighted as he looked between the two of us.
"Your grandmother was a fine woman, Kira. She would be so pleased to see you in love."
The wince was slight and Kira covered it immediately with a smile. "Thank you. She would have loved Grayson. I just know it."
"I don't doubt it. And of course, she'd be so pleased you were planning to make your life here. She did love this town."
"Yes, she did," Kira said, smiling a gentle smile. Clearly she'd loved her grandmother very much. Guilt coiled in my gut, but I ignored it as best as I could. This was Kira's choice. I hadn't even known her grandmother. I had no loyalty to her—or her money.
"You know," Mr. Hartmann continued, "your grandmother believed that if age and maturity didn't make a person more aware of the needs of others, or at least one other, marriage certainly would. It's why she put the conditions on the trust money. She wanted it to be used well, and ideally in partnership with someone you chose to share a life with." He winked at Kira. "I'm so glad that's the case with you."
Kira looked vaguely ill as she smiled and nodded at him.
"I haven't seen your father in quite some time. How's he doing?" he asked.
Kira visibly swallowed. "He's fine, Mr. Hartmann." She paused. "I haven't told him about Grayson yet." She gave me a tight smile. "If you wouldn't mind not mentioning this until I've had a chance to tell him myself . . ."
Mr. Hartmann furrowed his brow, but answered, "Of course."
Once the appointment was concluded, we sat in my truck and I called the lawyer in town that had handled my father's affairs for years. I thought he might see me quickly and I was right. We were able to make an appointment for the following day. My head started spinning. This was happening very fast. But that's what I had wanted. Again, the quicker this marriage got started, the quicker Kira would leave.
"If Mr. Kohler can have the agreement drawn up within a week, we could get married next Friday," I said, glancing at Kira as I drove back to the vineyard.
She nodded. "I'm agreeable to that," she said quietly.
"I'll make the appointment, then. We'll need one for the license and then for the actual ceremony. I looked at the website."
"Oh. Okay." She pulled her skirt down modestly and my eyes slid down her bare legs. She had great legs. Sleek and slim. The kind of legs a man wanted wrapped around him as he—
I clenched my jaw, shutting those thoughts down immediately. When I noted her silence, I said, "Not getting cold feet, are you?"
"No! No. This is all good. Quick, but good."
"The sooner we get this done, the more quickly we can get it over with, too," I said, voicing the thought I'd had more than once.
"Yes. True." She gave me a small smile, not showing any teeth. I still hadn't seen that dimple in person. Maybe I'd imagined it on my computer screen.
I glanced over at her as she took her long hair in her hands and used a rubber band from her purse to put it up in a knot. Tendrils slipped down around her face where they always seemed to be when her hair was up, apparently too silky to stay put for long. I wondered what that hair would feel like wrapped around my fist.
Damn it! Shut those thoughts down.
She was a conundrum. A pretty princess with the temper of a fiery little witch. I liked to make those crystal green eyes flash with heat. I wondered what she'd be like in bed. A hot little temptress who . . . Goddamn. I gritted my teeth, frustrated with my thoughts as I slowed in front of the gardener's cottage. She'd surprised me by making the choice to stay in that dirty little hovel. With only cold water, surely she wouldn't have used the shower, yet somehow she looked fresh and clean. I cringed. It really wasn't even livable. Why she wanted to spend five minutes there, much less inhabit it was beyond me. I'd lived in a small concrete cell for five years and even I wouldn't have any desire to live there. Of course, maybe that was precisely why. I couldn't abide small spaces for long. Many nights I’d woken up in a cold sweat from nightmares of my time inside. I'd never spoken to anyone about my experience, and I doubted I ever would. For a very brief moment, the feelings of loneliness and grief, my constant companions during those five years, assaulted me, and I felt heavy with the weight of my own failures. I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed the memories away, turning my thoughts back to Kira Dallaire and the fact that she was living in my gardener's shed. Apparently, I'd misjudged her at least in some small measure. I wondered what other secrets I'd discover about her if I cared to look hard enough.
Which I didn't. Not in the least.
When I came to a complete stop, she hopped out of my truck and stood in the open doorway for a moment. "I'll be ready for our appointment in the morning and then I'm going to drive to San Francisco tomorrow to take care of a few things. I'll be gone through the weekend."
I nodded. That suited me just fine. And I figured she needed to shower at some point. The less I had to see of her before our wedding, the better. The less I'd have to think about the reality of it. "Okay, meet me out front at eleven."
She nodded and closed the door, turning and walking through the foliage. I sat there for a minute warring with myself. It really wasn't right to let her stay there. Christ, screw it. It'd been her choice. Maybe a dose of hard living would be good for the princess. Or was it that witches preferred small houses in the woods? I couldn't help chuckling to myself as I pulled away.
**********
The appointment with Mr. Kohler went smoothly and quickly. We weren't agreeing to a settlement "should" there be a divorce, but rather stating we would both leave the marriage with only that with which we'd ar
rived. The contract was extremely straightforward, and we made an appointment for Thursday to come in and sign the paperwork. And with that, we were finished with the red tape involved in our union. I made an appointment at the clerk's office for the following Friday morning at ten a.m. The only thing left to do was to show up. My stomach felt slightly queasy. If Kira's green-tinged complexion was any indication, she did as well.
I dropped Kira off at her cottage and told her I'd see her on Monday. She didn't look back as she walked away. As quiet as she'd been after our appointment, I half wondered whether she'd return at all. Maybe it'd be best if she didn't. But I didn't believe that. For the first time in a year, I felt an eager anticipation for the future. That morning I'd opened the list Walter had made of equipment needing repair or replacement and felt a flutter in my gut. Soon, I would be able to go down it and check the items off one by one. Tension had released in my shoulders and I'd finally allowed full-blown hope to surge through my system. The power of it had left my heart beating wildly. When was the last time I'd felt that sensation? I couldn't remember. "I won't let you down," I vowed for the hundredth time, addressing my father. "I'll make you proud of me, I swear it." I had to believe that somehow, he'd know. It was what kept me going.
I spent the weekend working with renewed vigor. There was going to be a lot of work to get done, despite the incoming funds. And I still had a meager staff. I'd have to hire a couple more people once I had the actual check in my hands, or at least knew it was coming very shortly.
When I arrived back at the house Sunday night, I remembered the bottle of Vosne-Romanée I'd asked Walter to bring up to the main wine cellar. Pangs of guilt and despair had crippled me when I'd considered selling my father's pride and joy—his rare wine collection—to bring some much-needed income into the vineyard. The thought alone had felt like a betrayal. I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to salvage all that was precious to you. Relief at not having to go through with selling it was overwhelming. Success—another thing I hadn't felt in years settled in my heart.