Guarding Grayson (7 page)

Their cheeseburgers were plump, juicy, dripping with melted cheese and piled with fresh lettuce, tomato and dill pickles.

Gray watched to make sure E’ea picked up her food instead of levitating it, then dug into his burger and salad. It was as delicious as it looked.

E’ea studied him briefly to see how he ate, then picked up her own burger and took a huge bite. Brynne’s eyes closed in bliss as she chewed, her cheeks bulging. “Mm-mm,” she moaned.

A jolt of sheer lust hit Gray, and he frowned at his own burger. Did she have to sound like she was having great sex?

They all ate quietly for a time, the other couple clearly enjoying their food as well. E’ea finished hers well before Gray, and then gave him a hopeful look. “Is there any more?”

“Ah, yeah,” he said, a forkful of salad held in midair. He eyed her empty plate in astonishment, as the portions here were not small. “It’s a café, there’s always more. But … you’re still hungry?”

“Yes, Gray-son. Cheese-burgerzz are delicious.”

Gray opened his mouth to remind her she was in Brynne’s body, and Brynne watched every bite she took, or had since he’d known her. But he couldn’t say the first in front of Lacey and Frost, and as for the second … not his problem. Every time he thought of Brynne gaining a few pounds, it tickled him. She was already looking a little curvier.

“Order another one,” he offered.

She did, and Gray watched her devour it too, along with the remainder of her shake.

“So what have you folks been up to this fine morning?” Lacey asked.

“We have been to Rozzzwell,” Brynne-E’ea said. “It has many false representations of galactic beings. They are quite hideous as well as unreliable.”

Lacey giggled again. “That’s Roswell for you. Why, I’m sure there aren’t any aliens around
here
.”

She and Brynne-E’ea exchanged a look, and Brynne started to snort again.

Gray drained his iced tea and shoved his chair back, nudging her.

“Well, we’ve got things to do,” he said. “Nice to meet you folks.”

“You too,” Lacey said.

Her husband inclined his head to Brynne-E’ea, as if to a respected equal. Then he looked to Gray. “Stay close to her.”

Startled, Gray merely nodded, then followed Brynne to the cash register, where he paid their bill.

“Bring her back anytime,” the waitress said cheerfully. “I like to see a young lady with an honest appetite—none of this picking at food and leaving most of it."
 

If she only knew the real Brynne.

“Sure will,” Gray said.

Gray went straight to his makeshift studio and got to work. E’ea curled up on the sofa for a while, and sensed the surrounding area. Finding no threat, she woke her host gently.

“
Brynne, wake
.”

“What?” Brynne stirred, and took possession of her body. She looked around the small sitting room, her pulse quickening as she took in her surroundings. “Oh. Where am I?”

“
You are in Grayson’s temporary home. All is well, for the time
.”

Brynne looked around. “Gray’s here? Where is he?”

“He is painting. Take some time for yourself now. I will rest
.”

“Time for myself? But I should see if Gray wants anything.”

E’ea sighed, then let herself sink into stasis. She would rest and renew for a few hours. Surely Brynne couldn’t get into any trouble in that amount of time.

* * *

Brynne sat for a moment on the sofa, her hands working in the soft fabric. She looked around her. This house was so old-fashioned. It looked more like somewhere her grandma would live than Gray. His place in Coeur d’Alene was beautiful, all wood and leather and granite countertops … she’d wanted to decorate it since she first spent her night there.

Mostly, she wanted to be with Gray. She shifted restlessly. Where was he, anyway?

She rose, grimacing with discomfort at how full she was. Wow, she felt as if she’d eaten a huge meal. And her mouth tasted like chocolate. She hadn’t binged out on chocolate ice cream, had she? That had been a comfort mechanism in her teens, but she’d finally trained herself out of it.

She rubbed her tummy—ugh. Good thing these shorts were stretchy.

She looked down at herself, taking in her attire. Cute—she loved the sandals. Then she lifted her head to flip her hair back and froze. She slowly lifted both hands to her head … and then dashed for the mirror over the old-fashioned sideboard by the dining table.

She let out a high keen of anguish.
Someone had cut off her hair!

Gray appeared behind her, holding a pistol in one hand and a baseball bat in the other. “What? What is it? Did something happen?”

Brynne gestured to the mirror, tears filling her eyes. “Yes, something happened! S-someone snuck up on me and
cut off my hair
, that’s what happened. It took me
three years
to grow it out to that length, and do you know how many keratin treatments I paid for to keep it shiny and healthy?”

She pushed her fingers into the short, tousled waves and pulled, as if she could cause it to assume its former length.

Gray straightened, hands dropping to his sides. “Brynne. You’re, uh, awake, right? You’re not E’ea right now.”

“I’m awake.” She sniffled, still pushing her hair this way and that. She turned to him, blinking away the tears. He hated it when she cried—well, all guys did. And she hadn’t even
gotten
to the subject of how she’d apparently
gained weight while she was dead!
How did that even happen?

He was already stepping back, in a hurry to get away. “Okay, well good. So, make yourself at home—anything you need, food, drinks, television, anything. I need to finish some work, and then we’ll … talk. Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay. Um … bye.” This last was said to an empty doorway. She sighed. She’d been gone, dead really, and he had to work before they could talk? She had vague memories of him laughing and talking with her guardian light. Why wouldn’t he talk to her when she was herself?

Her eyes filled with tears again, and she hurried into the kitchen, sat down at the kitchen table and wept as silently as she could into a paper towel.

She wished she was back home in Coeur d’Alene. She missed her tiny apartment on 4th St, she missed her best friends Sasha and Gilly, and she missed her mom. She even missed her job as a law clerk, spending hours and hours chasing information on computers for her attorney bosses.

And she missed her beautiful little Camry. Now it was at the bottom of the lake, where it would stay. And somehow that was the last straw. She bawled like a baby—although a quiet one.

After a while, she felt a little better. She got up and padded down the hall, past Gray’s studio where he stood painting—not that he would notice if she stomped past, when he was working he concentrated like crazy.

She washed her face at the bathroom sink. The bathroom was sweet in an old-fashioned way, with mauve tub, toilet and sink, and lacy curtains at the window. When she opened the medicine cabinet, it still smelled of lady’s face powder and perfume, the kind her great-aunt Tilly used to wear.

Gray’s black leather shave kit sat on the back of the toilet, his toothbrush, toothpaste and shaving gear strewn across the small counter around the sink.

She wished she had her cosmetics, and some hair product. She wrinkled her nose at her reflection, flushed with swollen eyes and a pink nose, and as for her hair—she couldn’t stand to look at it.

Brynne rubbed her fingers up and down her crossed arms. She needed something to do. Stay busy, that was it.

Then she wouldn’t have time to be scared of what was going to happen next, or how to get Gray to love her again, or how long E’ea was going to expect to borrow her body—and God knew that alone was enough to send a girl whimpering into a fetal position in the nearest corner—or how she was supposed to walk back into her life and explain to everyone that she wasn’t dead after all.

That is, if she got to stay here this time.

“I don’t have to go back there again, do I?” she asked, rubbing harder. But there was no answer, and ouch! Her own touch was too rough. Her skin felt fragile, as if she was getting over the flu.

She drew a shaky breath, nearly a sob again. Yeah, she was getting over being dead.

Don’t think about that, don’t remember the weird headlights that had blinded her, or the car lurching over the rocks and then falling like a rock only to slam into the water, and sink down, down into the cold blackness, until the windshield cracked and water began to stream in around the airbag …

Brynne sucked in a huge, desperate breath, hanging onto the sink. It was okay, she was okay. She was here, in Gray’s house, and he was in the other room, and there was no water anywhere except the tap dripping slowly into the sink … which was gross, now that she looked at it. Gray wasn’t much good at cleaning up after himself.

She dove under the sink and pulled out the cleaning supplies, relief buoyant in her chest. Okay, something to do that she understood. She’d clean this bathroom, and then move onto the rest of the house. She’d make Gray happy that she was here to take care of him again.

* * *

Gray set his brush in the jar of turps, and then turned back to survey his painting, moving his shoulders to ease their stiffness. He was tired, but it was a good tired—he’d been painting for a couple, no three hours by the clock on the wall. The painting was coming along—he’d painted in more details of the ship and the man, his face recognizable now. And damn if this Logan Stark didn’t look a little like Gray.

He wasn’t painting himself into the picture, was he? He examined the painting and then shook his head. No, the man’s face felt right—the harsh angle of his cheeks, the determination in his jaw, the curve of his wide mouth, as if it could turn sensual or adamant, and the glint in his gray eyes, gazing out at his world with an arrogance that said he’d take it on and tame it to his specifications—already had in fact.

“You’re a selfish bastard, aren’t you?” Gray muttered to him, grinning wryly. “You got that from me. Although, the empire building … Don’t know where the hell that comes from.” Some other future family member, maybe.

Gray wiped his hands on a cleaning rag. It would be good to finish the painting, then maybe the dreams would let go of him.

Time for a cold drink, and then … he smelled something good cooking. E’ea couldn’t cook. That meant Brynne was still around. Guilt roiled in his gut. Brynne—she’d awakened, and been upset, and he’d meant to keep an ear tuned to her. Be there if she got too upset. Not hang with her, exactly, because he didn’t want to be sending the wrong signals, like he wanted them back together so he could watch over her and make sure she stayed safe, until time erased that lost look in her beautiful brown eyes.

But she’d been quiet, and he’d gotten engrossed in his work. It was nearly six o’clock, time to see what she was up to, and check out that savory scent too.

Then he walked into his bathroom, and found it sparkling, smelling of cleaner, all his untidiness cleared away. Hell, she’d even straightened his shaving kit. She was doing it again—pampering him. Next she'd be sitting near him, watching him with that look that said she was ready to figure out what he needed before
he
did.

He washed his hands with the brusqueness of irritation, and then strode along the hall.

The sitting room was in perfect order as well, the old oak furniture polished, the magazines on the coffee table arrayed as if for a photo shoot. His shoulders tightened. He could feel Brynne’s anxiety, her eagerness to please rising up around him like warm, scented water, so pleasant but if he didn’t watch out it would rise right over his head and drown him in her neediness.

He stalked into the kitchen and stopped short. It was spotless too, something simmered on the stove in one of his Gran’s big cooking pots, and Brynne stood at the counter, arranging a centerpiece out of flowers he recognized from the neighbors’ gardens and stems of sage and other brush. It looked unique and pretty, and he wanted to stand and just admire her with it like a study for a painting … no, no! He wanted to grab the arrangement and throw it out the open back door. This was
his
space.

“What are you doing?” he asked, keeping his voice level with an effort.

She started, and then looked over at him, her brown eyes going wide, her lower lip sucking in under her teeth. Did she have to do that right now? It always made him want to do his own nibbling on that lip.

She rubbed her hands up and down her shorts, another move he recognized. “Oh, hi. I’m … um, I’m just fixing a nice supper and I thought these flowers would look pretty on the table.”

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be … napping, or something?” Anything but straightening up his world and messing up his libido?

“I wanted to do it,” she said quickly, her words tripping over themselves. “You know I like to do things for you, Gray. Are you ready for a cold beer? I’ll make the salad, and we can—"

“No,” he interrupted, because he had to stop this before it before she went any further. “Brynne … just, no. I’m going out. I’ll eat later.”

And then, even though his stomach was growling at the smell of good food, and his mouth was watering not just for the food, but for the damp, sweet curve of her lips and his palms itching to fondle other curves, he turned and walked away from temptation.

It would only make it worse if he stayed. He was going to hurt her sooner or later—better to make it clear now that this was only temporary. And damn him for a fool that as he walked away, he felt the weight of her soft gaze pulling him to go back, to stay with her, to go under without a murmur of protest.

* * *

E’ea woke with the sure knowledge that all was not well in Brynne’s world. She unfurled carefully, staying in the background of Brynne’s mind, watching, listening, sensing. Brynne was crying again. This meant she was deeply upset, even hurt.

“
Brynne
?” she asked. “
What is wrong
?”

“Nothing. Just … same old, same old. Gray’s never going to love me,” Brynne said brokenly. “No matter what I do. I thought … this was my second chance to have him as mine. But he—he doesn’t want me here. I want to go home.”

“
Not yet
,” E’ea said briskly. “
Brynne, I think it is time I shared some of the knowledge I have gleaned from studying your human race—and your Grayson Stark.
”

Brynne started. “You’ve been studying him? Stop it—he’s mine. Except he’s not, is he? I guess you can take him if you want to … he won’t mind.”

E’ea sighed. “
I do not wish to take him from you, Brynne. I am here to keep both of you alive. But since I am here, I will counsel you.
”

“What, like Oprah?” E’ea felt Brynne’s astonishment.

“
Hmm, yes
,” E’ea replied. “
And also Chuck Norris
.”

Brynne snorted. “
Chuck Norris? He's some old MMA fighter. What on earth would he know about relationships
?”

“
I have no idea. But he knows a great deal about self-defense. And you, my Earth friend, need both. Come into the sitting room and we will get started. Then we will enjoy some of the delicious supper you have prepared
.”

“Without Gray?”

“
I believe the correct expression here is ‘Phooey on Gray-son. Who needs him?
’”