Chapter Thirty-Two
I t was happening— we were happening —here in Greyson’s home.
In his bedroom.
He had led me in and then turned and waited for me to make the first move. I had, moving closer and standing on my toes to kiss him.
At first, I had felt guilty that we’d left the party at the hotel, but now, those feelings had faded into oblivion.
Our first time making love. We were passionately kissing as we stood close to his bed. It was everything I wanted and needed it to be. My heart surged with happiness—he had finally realized that this magnetic pull between us couldn’t be denied.
And now I was where I was meant to be—in his arms.
It came in a rush.
At first like an ache in my belly, like my mind refused to allow me peace, conjuring grief, as though the memory of Hugo had invaded my space, our space.
I pulled away, covering my face with my hands, horrified that Hugo had gatecrashed my thoughts. I still wasn’t over the pain he’d caused me.
When I looked at Greyson, I could see he had read my expression. He was glancing around the bedroom as though shocked and confused by his actions.
Pressing my palm to my chest, I tried to convey my reaction had nothing to do with him.
He shook his head, stepping back. “Willa, I…”
“No, it’s not you,” I blurted out. “It’s…” I searched for the words as I struggled for air. “What he did…”
Greyson reached out to comfort me but then withdrew his hand just as quickly. “Hugo?”
I nodded, annoyed with my ex, annoyed with myself for allowing these wayward thoughts to encroach on this special moment.
“Look,” he said calmly. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”
He turned and walked briskly toward the door.
I wanted to say, “ Don’t go.”
But the words didn’t come, and his leaving so suddenly felt jarring to my soul.
I was left alone in his bedroom.
I had blown my only chance of being with him.
Tears stung my eyes.
I had convinced myself something was going to happen. It was the way he had smiled my way in the car. The way he’d squeezed my hand to comfort me. The way he’d wrapped me in his tuxedo jacket, sending tingles down my spine. Our closeness brought a mutual attraction impossible to resist.
Yet he had just walked out—walked away from me.
Back at the Beverly Majestic, he’d shown me how sensual we could be together, but all that slow build up had deflated with my reticence. It had absolutely nothing to do with Greyson.
Disappointment overwhelmed me. Part of me had hoped he might eradicate this residual pain caused by Hugo. Some part of me had hoped we would become more.
I left the bedroom and went downstairs, finding his home illuminated by the garden lighting.
Touring the ground floor, I strolled from room to room trying to get a sense of who he was—not to spy, but to find something to put me off this man and cure this obsession. Because he was annoyingly perfect.
Everything was pristine. Furniture comfy. His home a striking blend of futuristic design and nostalgia, with bold colors alongside welcoming touches like the velvet cushions and that large Lovesac I wanted to hurl myself onto.
Yet at the same time it felt like stepping into a time capsule from decades ago, where the promise of the future collided with a more carefree era. The atmosphere wasn’t comforting the way houses with happy memories could be. The silence wasn’t peaceful. It was thick with something like a dark tragedy.
Who are you, Greyson Grantchester?
Looking around, taking everything in, there was a sense that someone was waiting for something. Or maybe I was overthinking it.
A photo hung crooked on the wall, two parents and a child. The faces had expressions like echoes of joy, now since faded. The boy in the portrait was a young Greyson, perhaps around ten. But I sensed there had been distance between them all, a disconnect.
But it all seemed innocent, with no hints of the great story Greyson had teased me about.
Every room was filled with traces of his life—an old book left open, a chair slightly pulled out, everything frozen in time, as if the house itself was holding its breath.
Made me wonder if Amelia had spent time here.
In the kitchen, I couldn’t resist peeking in his cupboard, finding it well-stocked and filled with an assortment of choices.
The fridge hummed quietly, a lonely sound in a house where he ate alone. To be honest, the sadness was stifling. It was hard knowing Greyson was upstairs asleep while I was down here pining for the man who saw me as his friend’s baby sister.
I unlocked the door to the backyard and was hit with a burst of cooler evening air.
Stepping outside, I made my way toward the pool, soft grass beneath my feet. At the pool’s edge, I peered down and admired the exquisite blue tile beneath the shimmering water.
I felt a rush of grief for that poor girl who’d drowned here, and glanced up at the bedroom windows to make sure Greyson didn’t see me. When I turned back to peer into the pool again, I envisioned Amelia floating in the water, imagined Greyson finding her lifeless. The agony of that moment and what came next, unimaginable, having to pull her out and try to resuscitate her.
Holding her dead body in his arms.
Then, having to call the authorities. Facing questions. Making statements. Second guessing yourself as to whether you’d done enough to try to prevent it.
Wondering what had really happened that night.
The faint scent of flowers enveloped me, as if Amelia’s perfume wafted through the air like her essence had never left.
The pool was the centerpiece of this house, but now he probably hated the way it reminded him of her last night.
My heart heavy, I sat down and hiked my dress up my thighs, lowering my legs into the warm water, a welcome sensation on my calves.
Still…
The unspeakable horror of it was too monstrous to carry. I imagined Amelia taking her last breath, the truth slipping from her lips like an unanswered prayer, a silent cry to live. I wondered if she’d called out Greyson’s name. The weight of these dark thoughts pressed on my chest, so heavy I could barely breathe.
Life was heartbreakingly fragile.
Making the most of every second was the only way to live.
I pushed up and shimmied out of my gown, peeling off my bra and panties and throwing them onto the discarded dress, no doubt already stained by grass. I didn’t care, it was nothing, and I craved a midnight swim.
Naked now, I slid into the shallow end, submerging myself in the water. My hairstyle would be ruined, but I didn’t care. Resting on my back, I floated on the surface, trying to imagine what Amelia experienced—as if repeating her last few minutes might reveal more.
I was surrounded by a serene stillness, broken only by the gentle lapping of water and the soft whispers of nature—a hoot of an owl, a breeze stirring the fronds of the palm trees.
I lay still on the surface, as though, somehow, I could connect with Amelia.
“Willa!”
My breath stilted…
I raised my head and gasped at the sight of Greyson storming across the lawn towards me in only his pajamas, his expression fraught, as though no words could capture the enormity of his pain. He approached with terrifying speed, the air thick with his fury, and before I could grasp the gravity of the moment, he dived in with a splash.
I swam backwards, kicking my legs uselessly, trying to get to the side of the pool, the water resisting my efforts.
He resurfaced in the center, droplets cascading from his hair, a fierce glint of horror, raw and unmasked, in his eyes.
I’d unleashed something within him that was dark and unfathomable. Reflected in his eyes was his response to my careless indulgence. The silence between us dragged out his anguish. He shook his head to clear the water from his eyes.
I turned to go, pushing against gravity, against pressure, trying to think of what to say to placate him.
I glanced back over my shoulder. Moonlight filtered through the blue sheen of water, and I saw he was gone.
I was aware of my own sharp breaths, panic morphing into something primal.
Then he rose up out of the water right in front of me, nostrils flaring, his expression intense.
“I’m sorry!” I shouted, vulnerable and naked and painfully exposed by my recklessness.
“Willa.”
“Don’t be angry,” I whispered.
He shook his head no. “You were very still.”
Oh, of course.
I’d been wrong, so terribly wrong, now that I realized what this looked like to him.
Greyson sucked in a long breath; I’d scared him to death.
My throat tightened, knowing what he must have thought, the distress I’d caused, the dread of his nightmare happening again.
I covered my mouth, mortified that I’d done that to him.
He raised his hand to explain. “You’re okay. It’s okay.”
Tears sprang from my eyes. “Greyson.”
“I thought you were upstairs.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
He looked around, as though checking our environment. “It’s not safe.”
“But it is. All that is over now.”
“It’s not.” He swam backwards, giving me some distance. He was respecting my need for space.
He peeled off his soaking wet pajamas, throwing the top and pants onto the edge of the pool. His expression had changed to one of relief as he gripped the edge of the pool.
He glanced toward where my dress and underwear lay.
“I felt like taking them off,” I said.
His eyes lit up with a gentle amusement. “You scared me there.”
“I should have asked,” I said.
“I want you to feel welcome.” He ran his palms over his face to brush off some excess water.
We were both coming down from our adrenaline high, both of us still reeling from the last few seconds.
I’d brought chaos back into his life and felt terrible for it.
Entranced by him, my pulse quickened as though unsure if the danger was over. I braced myself when he waded back toward me.
“I’ll help you get out.”
“In a minute,” I said. “It’s cold.”
“You don’t have a towel.”
“It was spontaneous.”
He came closer. “You’re shivering. Come here.”
I felt a flood of gratitude as I moved closer, pressing against his warmth, allowing myself to be wrapped in the safety of his embrace, yet I was still weighed down by shame for causing him anguish.
I needed him, but in this moment, I felt unworthy.
He pressed his lips to my forehead, and his cologne smelled soothing. I buried my face in the crook of his neck so I could breathe him in.
“Talk to me,” he said softly.
The scent of chlorine, and something headier, our desire and his fierce embrace, filled me with lust. A charge in the air between us seemed to move into the water, and it was like an electric pulse had linked us beyond all understanding.
“I can’t be friends anymore.” I tried to swallow the truth, but it slipped out anyway. “I mean, just friends.”
“Then don’t be.” He cupped my face with warm palms and dragged me in for a kiss.
This time it was different, this time it was an earth-shattering kiss, eliminating all doubts that we shared a need to be more to each other.
His breath entered my mouth, and it was like he had sucked all the oxygen from my lungs, shocking me back to reality. This was what my heart craved more than anything.
Him.
Our bodies melded into one, perfectly, his body heat radiating into my flesh as we floated into the center of the pool together.
Weightless in his arms, flushed from his kiss, I felt safe cocooned in his embrace, yet the weight of my guilt lingered, heavy in the space between us. His strength seeped into me, offering comfort, but I couldn’t escape the ache of knowing I’d let him down. I needed him more than ever, yet I felt unworthy of his care, trapped in a paradox of longing and shame.
“It’s forgotten,” he said, as though reading my mind.
I shook my head refusing to accept that.
“I know what it’s like to carry guilt,” he said. “But I’m the one who can take yours away.”
I gave him a hesitant smile. “You are.”
He gripped my waist now with masterful control, and his right hand slid down my belly, reaching between my thighs, finding my clit—tenderly caressing and flicking it.
He watched my reaction, his eyes on mine as he played with me. “You like that?”
Oh, God, did I. He’d found the spot right away, his finger moving with a brilliant rhythm, applying just the right pressure at the exact point of pleasure.
“I feel seen,” I said breathlessly.
“Good.”
“But…do I make you happy?”
He smiled. “You make me very happy, Willa.”
I exhaled in a rush of relief. “Are you sure?”
“You look at me differently,” he said.
“How?”
“You make my complicated soul feel understood.”
With my right hand, I reached behind his neck and pulled him closer, conveying my surrender.
“You want this?” he asked, as though needing to confirm it.
I pressed my lips to his, speaking against his mouth. “Yes.”
We kissed again, mouths crashing against each other, tongues searching, a moan, his and then mine, born out of relief and need and wanting. He was touching me all over, exploring, as though this was what he’d always wanted to do.
We swirled and the water buffered us, only nature witnessing our friendship morphing into something more, something the stars had predicted, that Greyson and I would find each other in this chaos of life, finding refuge in one another.
Our caresses spoke in the silence, leaving no use for words that would have failed us. Each kiss, each embrace, was an unspoken promise, a delicate trust building between us. My eyes locked with his, offering a quiet understanding, sharing a depth of emotion and sensation, tender and rough and everything in between. In this moment, there was no other reality, no world other than ours, our affection was a show of devotion expressed through this whirling passion.
“I need you inside me,” I begged, unable to fight off this need anymore.
He bit my earlobe. “There’s no going back, Willa, if we do this.” But he was already gripping his shaft, aligning it, as though unable to hold back after hearing my cry of need.
“I want you.”
A moment of doubt flashed in his eyes and then he said, “Tell me what you need.”
“I need you to fuck me.”
His fingertip traced my mouth, and he pulled my bottom lip down. “God, your mouth is everything.”
Then, suddenly, he’d eased into me, gently, watching my expression, reading me, making sure I could tolerate his hugeness, the pressure of him inside feeling taut and then pleasurable, causing me to yearn for more closeness, even as we were one. I wrapped my thighs around his waist to grip him to me.
He was standing on the bottom of the pool and that allowed him full control, yet he let me lead, allowing me to find my way as I curved my hips, finding that perfect place where I could also rub myself against him, opening wider for his girth, that bite of pain inside dissipating leaving in its place a lustful pang.
My moan entered his mouth as he kissed me again, our tongues lashing in frenzied exploration as we proved we both needed more, needed this to never end.
Giving myself over to him, my heart pounded as I prayed this was only the beginning.
This , our second chance.
Another wave of desire hit me as his pelvis crashed against my clit, moving with a delicious friction. His left hand cupped my breast, fingers squeezing my pert nipple and bringing even more devastating pleasure.
Water swirled around us with the urgency of our bodies to find release, forcing us to cling to each other in shared longing.
His palm on the back of my head was holding our kiss together as though parting was too cruel to endure.
“Fuck,” he hissed against my mouth, breathing me in like oxygen.
I ground myself against him, searching out the friction I needed as he leaned in to nibble my earlobe and kiss my throat. His soft growls as he thrust into me made me feel even more wanton and needy.
Then, he stared into my eyes, watching me come, watching my jaw go lax as my groans escaped.
The world slipped away, dissolving, as the essence of who we were screamed out silently, a cry that reverberated through the very core of my being as this sexual fantasy came alive—so vivid, so brilliant, it gripped me in its inescapable embrace.
My orgasm hit, tearing me apart and yet making me whole, capturing my breath, my body and my soul, forcing me against him as he, too, shuddered his release.
We stilled, holding onto each other closely, panting our way to calmness with small content smiles as our heart rates slowed, beating together, his chest against mine.
Finally, he broke away, his gaze burning into mine, his expression full of respect and understanding.
Then he reached for me again, his hand caressing my face. “You don’t feel real,” he whispered.