Grayson (8 page)

Jenny was going to be away and I’d promised Anna that she could spend a few days with me at my apartment. I groaned now with regret. Anna had hammered away at me at her birthday celebration. She always loved coming into the city and being away from the scrutiny of our parents, but she could be a handful.

I walked into the townhouse and a slow smile claimed my lips when I saw a cup of coffee waiting on the perfectly constructed table. The coffee was cold and I realized Grayson must have set it there this morning. I remembered seeing a microwave in the large kitchen and headed in that direction with my cup. I wondered if he waited for my arrival every day, if he looked forward to seeing me today as I did him.

I laughed at myself. Considering how I seemed to annoy him, I seriously doubted that. He most likely eagerly awaited my departure from this house so he could reclaim his solitude.

I heated my coffee and made my way back to the other room. Stopping at my oasis, I let my gaze roam the remaining debris. There was still a significant amount of junk in the room. Despite my best efforts over the past several weeks, it seemed I’d only made a small dent in the rubbish. There was a giant crate sitting in front of a row of elbow-high, neatly stacked books. It was stamped on the side and postmarked from Australia.

I’d found many interesting things from around the world while clearing out the room. Too bad most of them were in such shabby condition. I wondered if Grayson was the one who’d traveled the world and collected all these things. If I could empty the crate, I’d be able to access the books more easily. I made my way to it and set my coffee on the floor. It’s weight was tremendous, and after several unsuccessful attempts, I gave up trying to move it. There was no way I could lift it by myself.

Walking back to my table, I thought about what Charles had said about the heavy items in the room and getting me help. I took a sip of my coffee, feeling the warm liquid slide down my throat and heat my body.
Hmm
. A much better idea blossomed, and I smiled mischievously.
Seriously, why would I need to bother Charles when I had a very able-bodied man right upstairs?
I tried hard not to think of his body or its potential abilities. Plus, I’d rather not deal with Charles’ lecherous stares, or his whole I’m-God’s-gift-to-women attitude.

My head swiveled to the door that still had the ‘open’ sign taped to it and with a deep breath, I headed up to the second floor. I called out loudly from the top of the stairs, not wanting to intrude again on a private moment, although I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the thought of seeing Grayson naked was immensely appealing and set my heart aflutter.

I peeked into the room with the mismatched furniture and saw him sitting at the desk with his back to me, his fingers flying fast over the computer keyboard. I stood in the doorway, my hands on my hips.
Had he not heard me calling? And what was he doing on the computer? Was it the work he’d alluded to?

I cleared my throat. His hands stopped instantly, and he swiveled in his chair to face me. He looked delectable in a wrinkled blue button down shirt that matched his eyes.

“Hi,” I gave a small wave.

He just stared at me with one eyebrow raised.

“Um…thanks for the coffee,” I smiled brightly.

He speared his fingers through his thick waves, pushing the long hair back from his face. He didn’t look surprised to see me.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“It was very sweet of you.”

Was that an eye roll? I should know. I was the ‘eye roll queen’.

“Well,” I forged ahead, “I need your help. I’m having trouble moving a crate. It’s too heavy for me to move alone.”

“You seem to be rather helpless lately,” he tossed out as he stood, but again, I saw a hint of a smile on his lips.

I shrugged and looked away, trying to hide my own smile and the excitement he stirred inside me. “What can I say, I’m a damsel in distress.”

Would he catch me if I swooned? No, I had a feeling I’d just bust my ass on the floor.

His brows pleated skeptically as his long legs brought him to stand directly in front of me. I had to brace myself. His nearness was overwhelming, like walking out my front door into an explosion of morning sunshine. Beautiful. Warm. Filled with promise. Yet sometimes I needed sunglasses from its intensity.

There was something about Grayson that went beyond the physical, something magnetic that drew me in. Why he affected me this way? I didn’t know. But now, this ray of sunshine was frowning as he stared down at me, his eyes like cloudy blue skies. He was wondering what I was up to, I knew. He was trying to figure me out. I smiled, then held up my hands and wiggled my thumbs.

“I wouldn’t want to hurt myself. Certified klutz, remember? All thumbs?”

“Right.” He pursed his lips as he took off down the stairs. I followed, checking out the view from the rear.
Nice.
Downstairs, I indicated the crate and he tested its weight. It took the two of us to hoist it over and settle it on the floor next to the table.

It had an old lock on it that had almost rusted through. I chewed my lip, wondering how I’d get it open. It was already partially loose so I figured that some hammering might open it easily.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a hammer, would you?” I asked, my gaze shifting around the room looking for something heavy.

“
You?
Wielding a hammer? Miss ‘All thumbs’?” He asked, incredulous, already shaking his head.

That made me smile. “Wait here,” I ordered, an idea sprouting.

His sigh was almost palpable, but he stayed rooted as I sprinted through the dusty book maze to the front door. Outside, I grabbed a large rock and made my way back into the house. When I got back to the crate, he was gone. I gritted my teeth in frustration.
This man!

Trying to get Grayson to spend time with me was like trying to nail jello to a tree. Frustrating…I looked down at the stains on my shirt that had rubbed off from the dirty crate…and messy.

I’d hoped he’d give me a hand, that I could talk to him some more, maybe find out why he sequestered himself upstairs.
Perhaps he went to look for a hammer.
It was most likely he’d ditched me and went back upstairs to work.

“I guess I’ll just have to do this all by myself!” I directed my voice at the closed door to the stairs. I started pounding the lock with the stone, getting annoyed when it wasn’t opening.

“I hope the sight of blood doesn’t bother you! You might want to keep a phone handy to call nine-one-one if I pulverize a finger! Or lose a limb!”

Frustrated now, I started banging my side against the top of the crate, hoping to budge the loose top. “Or break a hip!” I yelled as I bent over the crate and started pounding again. My ponytail kept falling into my face and I batted it away. I was starting to work up a sweat.

I mumbled a series of curses under my breath when the stone started to crumble, raining gravel on the floor and my sneakers. I could see the floor through my legs, and my oaths trailed off as Grayson’s feet came into view between them. I turned to a smirk edging up his lips as he dangled a key from his fingers.

“You’re making a mess,” he said, nodding to the crumbled stone on the floor.

Seriously? Look around.
I bit my lip.

I sighed and ignored his comment, making sure my frustration was evident. I knew he was teasing me again.

“You think you could’ve told me you had a key
before
I risked life and limb?” 

“I wasn’t sure I still had it.” His lips quirked as I reached out and plucked it from his hand. “Plus, it was amusing witnessing your creativity.”

“Glad I could entertain you,” I rolled my eyes, but when I turned to open the crate, a grin broke out across my face.

At least I amused him. That was better than annoy, right?

I opened the lid and started unpacking the items that were wrapped tightly in yellowed newspaper.

“I think you’re out of danger now. It appears that all of your limbs are intact. I have to get back to work.”

I turned, biting back a snarky reply. My fingers were wrapped around a beautiful ceramic plate and I held it up to him, angling it so that light filtered through glass in a dazzling rainbow. “Did you collect all these beautiful things?”

He stared for a silent heartbeat, and I didn’t think he’d answer. Finally he said, “My father. He was a collector.”

I nodded. That explained all the things in the room. “These are from Australia?” I asked, pulling more items from the crate. I handed him a heavy object to unwrap.

“We went there when I was fifteen,” he offered cautiously. “My dad liked to visit the galleries. He liked to collect local treasures.”

“Were these made by the locals?”

He nodded. “These were made by Bendigo potters in a wood fired kiln. They’ve been doing it for over one hundred and fifty years.”

“They’re gorgeous.” I examined what looked like an ornate preserving jar.

I watched him unwrap the jug I’d given him and place it on the table. His long fingers gently caressed the floral pattern before he turned and regarded me, his head tilted and his eyes narrowed.

“You’re really interested?”

I nodded, surprised that he’d ask. The craftsmanship of the items was impeccable. I wanted to know more. I was also curious about the man in front of me. The way he handled the items clearly showed they meant something to him. Why were they so neglected?

“I’ve never traveled outside of the United States. I find this stuff fascinating.” I admitted, pulling another item from the crate

“We traveled extensively. My parents would sometimes take me out of school.”

I snorted. “My dad would never do that, even if we had the money to actually go somewhere.”

“You never took vacations?” He focused on me, his stare intense.

I shook my head. “We never had much, just enough for the essentials. My dad was—
is
—a strong advocate of education. I even went to school during the summer.” I smiled. “I’m the first one in my family to go to college—and now grad school.”

“They must be very proud of you.”

I nodded. “What was it like, traveling with your parents? It must have been cool collecting all this stuff.”

I watched his chest rise and fall with a deep, quiet breath.

“I suppose it was a different kind of education. My dad was obsessed with preserving humanity. His plan was to build an ark where he could store his treasures. He was convinced that the world would soon come to an end.”

I studied his face, trying to tell if he was joking, if his dad really believed that. By the look in his eyes, though, I could tell he was serious. But that had been a long time ago.

“What does he think now?”

His pause was barely perceptible. “He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered lamely. I listened as he continued, not really knowing what else to say.

“He thought that each country would be eventually swallowed up by the ocean and we’d lose pieces of human history.”

Grayson stood quietly, deep in thought as if reliving a memory. His expression was unreadable but there was a remote bleakness on his face indicating that his thoughts had turned inward.

“Like Atlantis.” I smiled weakly.

He blinked back to the present. His beautiful lips pulled in a half smile as his blue eyes met mine. “Like Atlantis.”

It took us two hours to empty the crate. We fell into a routine, me handing him objects to unwrap and him giving them back to me to sort. Unfortunately, many of the pieces we unearthed were broken or chipped. There were a few objects that I was able to pack into a smaller box for him to keep. He told me about each item I pulled out: it’s function, how it was crafted by hand on a wheel, then fired to perfection in an ancient furnace. He didn’t mention needing to return to his work even once, and I was happy to have this stolen time with him.

I took a break for half an hour and pulled out my text books, sitting at the table in my oasis. At one point, I looked up and found Grayson quietly regarding me, his expression masked. His gaze caused a shock of warmth to travel through my body, perhaps it was because I hadn’t expected it. He was so reserved, always holding back. My reclusive hero was an enigma. He did the most wonderful things for me, yet blocked every attempt I made to get close to him.

Every moment I spent with him, every piece of information I’d extracted was like a rare gem I’d stolen from a treasure chest. We stared at each other for a few heart beats, his blue gaze locked on mine. A ribbon of warmth coiled between us, a gentle spiral of emotion that sharpened an ache in my chest. Then with a frown, he abruptly lowered his lids and looked away, severing the connection.

I smiled to myself and returned my attention to my textbook, thinking that he was the strangest, most perplexing man I’d ever known.

CHAPTER FIVE

I arrived at the house early the next morning. My coffee was still hot, and as usual, it tasted delicious. Morning sunshine clamored through the small circle in the window, trying to cheer up the dull spaces in the room. I thought about my time with Grayson yesterday. I’d really enjoyed talking to him and hearing about all the wonderful places he’d traveled with his family. I’d felt as though I was living the experiences through his memories.

Even though there was an easy comfort between us, he was still hesitant to open up or to talk more about his past. There were times his memories would travel down a lush path, keeping me enthralled. Then he’d come to a sudden dead end. No matter how I pressed, he wouldn't detour around to continue. He’d simply change the subject and move down a different road.

I took another sip of coffee and smacked the flavor on my lips, loving the rich spice. It reminded me of Grayson, unique and addictive.

I wanted to get to the tall stacks of books cluttering the entrance. Maybe I could make an easier and more direct path to the back of the room. It was only nine o’clock. I wondered what Grayson was up to. I pictured his wide shoulders hovering over the computer keyboard. Or maybe he’d made my coffee and gone back to bed. Needless to say, that idea led my brain down a path where it conjured all sorts of sexy images: wrinkled sheets twisting around his long legs, a bare chest nestled against a pillow, his beautiful face and chiseled jaw relaxed in slumber with a slight frown marring his brow. I smiled. He always seemed to wear that frown.

Would he have a morning boner?
I recalled this other impressive feature of his yummy body and my sex clenched.

Stifling a groan, I turned my gaze back to the stacks. There must’ve been a leak or small flood at some point because many of the books looked water damaged. I peered up to the impressive domed ceiling I’d admired on my first day, now noticing an intricate network of cracks that reminded me of delicate spider veins. I wondered what was going on above it. Most of the ceiling, though, was in good condition, with the lovely mural depicting pastel cherubs frolicking merrily.

I sighed, deciding that I needed help with the books. After all, four hands were better than two.
God, I was so obvious!
My grin filled with mischief and my breath quickened, excited by the thought of seeing Grayson. I headed toward the door to the upstairs. Grayson was coming down just as I reached the bottom step. I was caught by surprise, and I almost spilled my coffee.

“Careful with that,” he warned, his eyes bright and shining.

I blinked. “You were on your way down?”

He walked past me, shrugging his wide shoulders. I noticed his hair was damp, the gray almost invisible. He must have just come out of the shower. I wanted to groan out loud at the images  knocking around in my brain.

“I figured I’d save you the trip upstairs.”

I opened and closed my mouth soundlessly, wondering if I should be affronted by his presumptuousness.

“Out with it,” he coaxed. “What task have you concocted for me today?”

I twisted my lips and regarded him, a hand landing on my hip. I guess I hadn’t realized I’d been interfering with his active social calendar.

“You sure you can fit me in to your busy day? I’m thrilled you’ve put me on your schedule.”

His lips jerked with a smile, almost a full one. My heart leapt. “Luckily there was room. There was a small space labeled miscellaneous. You got it.”

I made a face and turned away, trying to keep the twitch from my lips.

“Lucky me,” I threw cheekily over my shoulder.

“My thumbs are fully functional and ready to go,” he quipped.

From what I’ve seen, so is the rest of you…
I took a large gulp of coffee and kept my back to him. I knew that my face must be beet red.
Dear, God…this man…

“We should start with the tall stacks of books by the entrance. I’d like to get them out of the way.” When I didn’t hear a response, I twirled around to look at him. “Too much for you? Thumbs not up to the task?” I shot him a teasing smile, but the look on his face turned it to stone.

His lips were pinched tight and his brows zipped together, tracking across his forehead. His gaze was riveted on the giant stacks of books. I pivoted to look at them, then turned back to his hard stare.

“You can just help me move the heavy ones and we can get rid of the ones that are water damaged,” I said, guessing he might be concerned that we were throwing out books that were sentimental.

“No.” he grated roughly.

I shook my head, perplexed. “All of these books are really a fire hazard, especially when stacked as they are. Plus, you can’t even get around the room. They’re old and musty and contribute to the dust.”

“No!” he said more forcefully, causing me to frown at his tone. I didn’t understand.

“Why not get rid of them?” Surely he couldn’t like the mountain of debris. And even if he did, we could consolidate them and arrange them so the room wasn’t a hazardous death trap. My thoughts were scrambled and confused. I watched his inky lashes lower, but his expression didn’t lose its severity.

“I put them there. They protect me.”

I shook my head again, not sure I’d heard him correctly.

“What?”“The books, they keep me safe. They’re my protection. I won’t help you move them.”

I swiveled my gaze back to the stacks, almost doubting my ears. Had he really said that they
protected
him? Then like a puzzle, a pattern slowly emerged. The stacks of books, some taller, some shorter, barricaded the entrance of the house, almost like a castle wall. The stacks formed a thick layer, a fort blocking off the back of the room. It was a make-shift battlement of books with alternating merlons and crenels. It was only through the twisted path that you could gain access to where we were standing. I thought of the iron fence outside the house and realized that none of the other townhouses on the block had one. I swallowed hard and turned back to him, really not understanding.

“Keep you safe from what?” They were just books. If a burglar wanted to get into the house, he could still easily do so. A pile of books would not be a deterrent. The house already seemed to have a state-of-the-art security system. I told him that, but he didn't answer. He stood silent, his body rigid.

Charles had said that Grayson was particular and that he was paranoid.
Was this part of his illness? Could this belief that piles of books can protect him be a product of his disordered thoughts?
Up until now, Grayson had seemed pretty normal.

A strange despondence filled me, driving away my previous warmth. The last thing I wanted to do was to make a big deal about piles of old books, or make Grayson upset or feel uncomfortable.

“Okay,” I smiled and took a step toward him, hoping to thaw the sudden friction between us. He parried with a step back, looking wary.

I stopped in my tracks, taking a deep breath. I watched his face closely. His countenance was tense. His gaze was zipping around the room, suddenly skittish and leery, filled with anxiety.

“It’s okay, Grayson. We’ll leave the books as they are. I’ll assign you a different task.” I smiled gently. “Those fully functioning thumbs are still mine, right?” 

His gaze skidded to mine, but he didn’t smile. I scanned the room, tapping a finger against my lip. I assigned him the task of stacking the portraits into two neat piles. His muscles visibly loosened as he headed in that direction, and I remembered a question I’d had for him.

“What do the numbers on the bottom of the paintings mean?”

He stopped and looked at me, a thumb jerking behind him to the beautiful rendition of himself. “That one?”

“Yes.”

The corner of his lips kicked up slightly. “The amount of times I almost strangled the artist.”

I laughed and rolled my eyes, relieved that he was back to himself. I’d been afraid he’d completely shut me out again.

“This particular artist had numbered every portrait he’d painted. I was number one thousand nine hundred and eighty,” he explained.

I nodded as he started toward the painting, thinking he was too unique to be just another number. My cell buzzed, interrupting my thoughts. A text. I rolled my eyes, thinking it was my sister again. She was excited about coming to stay with me and was making all sorts of plans. I reluctantly looked down at the phone. It was Charles.

Have dinner with me. Tonight.

I read the text and my gaze slid over to Grayson. He was just reaching out to grasp the frame of a large painting. I watched his muscles bunch and flex under his shirt and tried to ignore my pathological fascination with his body.

Chewing on my lip, I contemplated a response to Charles. There was no way in hell I’d ever date him. Even though I’d made that abundantly clear, he still wouldn’t take no for an answer. This was the second text I’d received from him in the last week asking me out.

My phone buzzed again and l looked down.

Let me take you to dinner. Any place you want. Le Cirque? Le Benardin? I’ll pick you up in the Bentley.

I snorted aloud, quieting when Grayson shot me a curious glance.
Seriously? Was that supposed to impress me? Fancy restaurants and an expensive car?
I silenced my phone and shoved it back into my pocket. Perhaps the best thing to do was ignore him. Hopefully he’d eventually get the message.

Over the next week, I made sure that I found one chore or another for Grayson to assist me with. It was sometimes the most menial of tasks. One afternoon I asked him to help me sort a pile of colored paperclips that I’d pulled from my backpack. He frowned, but sat next to me in my little oasis, putting them into piles of their respective color. I assured him that this was imperative in keeping me organized and would guarantee me all As in school. He lifted his brow in marked skepticism, but I swore I saw a fleeting smile play on his lips.

Heat fluttered up my arm each time our fingers accidentally brushed together and I tried not to read into the fact that he kept encroaching on my space, reaching for my pile of paperclips. I loved watching his long fingers dance as they sorted. I even found the tiny hairs on the back of his knuckles intriguing. I watched his eyes flick back and forth with concentration, and wondered if he knew I’d invented the task just to keep him nearby.

Determined to banish the thick layer of dust from the heavy drapery, one afternoon, I found a ladder and decided to tackle the onerous task. I was perched on the top rung, reaching for a dusty fold in the curtain when a deep voice sounded behind me. Startled, my arm jerked and I watched the duster drop to the floor with a thud. Frowning, I stared down into Grayson’s upturned face. He was standing at the bottom of the ladder, his forehead deeply creased and his hands planted on his narrow hips. He was wearing a loose white T-shirt and faded jeans. Gorgeous.

“What are you doing up there?” he asked.

Squashing the flutters in my belly from his sudden appearance, I smiled and waved casually.

“Dusting.”

He retrieved the duster from the floor and arced his head to look up at me. His lustrous eyes twinkled with amusement.

“It will be pretty difficult with this on the floor. Don’t take this the wrong way, but a self-proclaimed klutz should not be on a ladder.”

I snorted, again surprised by his bold teasing. Grayson’s words were usually measured, scarce, his humor like a clever afterthought. He’d say something and a minute later I’d find myself chuckling.

I started down the ladder to retrieve the duster, determined to glide down with the aplomb and grace of a queen. I scoffed, mildly irritated by his statement. I really wasn’t all thumbs. That had been a silly story I’d invented to procure his assistance. One that had worked admirably. But it was about time I told him the truth.

“I am not a—
ahhhhhh!
”

I was just about to set the record straight when my foot missed the second to last rung, and with arms flailing, my body went flying. My arms could have been propellers revving for flight, while my body was a stalled engine determined to crash in the opposite direction. It was only when strong arms gripped me, that I was able to upright myself and regain my equilibrium, if not my dignity.

We both stood there for a minute at the bottom of the ladder, surprised and breathing heavy. His arms were securely around me while my fists gripped the front of his shirt. There was not a molecule of space between us. Adrenaline was still pulsing though my veins, driving up my heart rate. I issued a nervous little laugh, mortified that I’d been anything but graceful. I knew, though, that it was Grayson’s nearness that kept me distracted and off kilter. Around him I
was
a klutz.

I was busy mentally berating myself when my senses backslapped me to stinging awareness. I couldn’t have contrived a better scenario.

Grayson’s solid body was fastened against mine. I did an internal happy dance and leaned impossibly closer, reveling in the feel of his tight body. Each glorious muscle was tensed with the force of his hold on me. His breath shuttled in and out, warm puffs like a heady cloud drugging my senses and flaming my desire. His mouth was mere inches from mine. I licked my lips, mad for a taste of him. That action shifted his gaze to my parted lips, and I could feel his chest rise and fall in earnest. I could also feel his dick growing thick against my abdomen and I started to overheat.