42. Then
FORTY-TWO
then
“Gray, I swear ,” I growled.
His swoon-worthy grin twitched before he clamped his lips into a tight line. “I wasn’t laughing.”
But obvious amusement danced in his vibrant eyes. After a very somber Saturday, his good mood on Sunday morning would have been completely irresistible… if it hadn’t come at my expense.
Muttering under my breath, I yanked a hairbrush through my loose locks for the fortieth time before pulling half of the hair back. “This isn’t funny! We have to leave, and I look like—like?— ”
Me .
I looked like plain, old Ella Callahan. Not nearly dazzling enough to impress the Strykers, surely.
Gray pushed away from his place against the doorjamb and drifted into his luxurious bathroom, still smiling at our reflections in the wide mirror.
“You look beautiful, Ellie.” His grin broadened. “Like I said the first twelve times you asked.”
I worried my lips with my teeth and glanced down at my clothes. “This skirt isn’t too short?” I fretted.
“Hey.” Grayson’s fingers lifted my chin, putting us face-to-face. His eyes glowed with warmth—an intoxicating blend of mirth and tenderness. “Listen. You are perfect. I’m proud to introduce you to my parents exactly like this. You don’t have to do anything with your hair or change your clothes. It’s just brunch. And I think you look gorgeous, as always.”
His fingertips traced the short hem at the back of my thighs, trailing over the place where they met. A heated languor collected low in my belly.
“Especially here,” he rumbled, kissing my forehead. “So gorgeous.”
“No, you,” I murmured back. It was true, after all. In black slacks and a thick, cream V-neck sweater, he could have stepped out of a men’s magazine.
Sighing, I let him lead me away from the mirror and started digging through my backpack for lip gloss. Out of the corner of my eye, Gray’s brawny hand reached past me to pluck up the green scarf.
Oh Lord .
I spun on my heel, lunging to snatch it from him and stuff it back into my bag. But Gray held it carefully in front of his face, inspecting it with a wide, boyish smile.
“A scarf ,” he exulted, glancing over to flash his heart-melting grin at me. “I knew I’d figure it out eventually.”
For some reason—either my own embarrassment or his ungallant urge to snicker at my bad hair day—I reverted to a frosty tone. “Yes, it ’s a scarf. One I spent three weeks knitting. For you .”
Gray’s expression froze. The teasing twist gradually drained from his lips. His eyes heated. “You made me a scarf?”
Pinned by his intensity, I no longer felt quite as haughty. “Yes,” I mumbled. “I saw the green yarn and thought it would bring out your eyes.”
Before I glanced back up, Gray practically tackled me into the nearest wall, cushioning my back with one arm wrapped around my waist while his other hand fisted the scarf between our bodies.
Instinctive fear swelled in my throat, but his lips chased the nervous pulse, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses up my neck until he reached my chin, my jaw, my cheek. He gentled himself as he brought his lips to mine, brushing slowly, offering me a soft kiss full of gratitude and veneration.
A second later, he broke away, once again grinning crookedly. “I love it.”
To my horror, he looped the scarf around the strong column of this throat, then stepped back to let me drink him in. “What do you think?”
“I think…”
My heart sank. The scarf did, in fact, highlight his arresting emerald gaze. It did not, however, stand up to his masculine elegance. Draped against the fine cashmere of his sweater—which probably cost more than I made in a month—my yarn creation looked hopelessly crude.
“…it’s nice of you to even try it on.”
Gray frowned. “Try it on? I’m wearing it out.” My mouth dropped open while he flicked his gaze over his watch. “Are you ready? We should leave now.”
Gaping, I shook my head at him. “Gray, don’t be silly. You can’t actually wear that.”
He slipped his expensive black peacoat over the mismatched sweater and scarf, ignoring me. All buttoned up, Grayson was more handsome than any m an had a right to be while chin-deep in thrifted yarn. He flashed a deliberate, panty-dropping grin.
“Let me get this straight,” he said, holding out my own coat and helping me shrug into it before setting his long, capable fingers to work on my buttons. “You made me this scarf?”
I scowled at him. “Yes.”
“Because you thought the color would complement me when I wore it?”
My eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
His dark brow arched. “And scarves are for going outside? In cold weather?”
“Yes,” I gritted a third time.
He widened his smile, sensing a sure victory. “Then what could possibly be the problem with me wearing this very nice scarf out on this cold autumn morning?”
“Aside from the fact that I may choke you with it?” I asked, shooting him a murderous look.
The triumphant tinge to his smile doubled. “Well,” he intoned grimly, playing along, “If you’re going to kill me on our way to brunch, I suppose I should give this to you now while I have the chance.”
His eyes softened with unfettered affection as he reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a jewelry box. My heart stuttered to a stop when I saw the crimson square with Cartier embossed on the top.
My throat thickened. “Grayson, I can’t take that.”
His grin turned teasing. “You’re in a fighting mood today,” he pointed out, unbothered. Wryness crept into his tone as he shot me a look full of mock admonishment. “Though I sort of figured giving you a present for no reason wasn’t going to be easy.”
Despite my misgivings, my shaking fingers had a mind all their own. They traced the edges of the red leather case before I could help myself.
Pressing his free hand underneath mine, Gray held me steady and set the box in my palm, flipping it open as he withdrew .
“There,” he said, satisfied. “Not so bad, right?”
Not so bad? The words echoed through my blank brain. When compared to the necklace nestled into the container’s velvet clasps, they were an insult. Blasphemy.
Because it was truly, simply beautiful . A thin gold chain adorned with two delicate circles, linked around one another. Tiny gold screws studded one, while a row of flawless diamonds encrusted the other.
I didn’t realize I had tears in my eyes until my vision swam, turning the necklace into a watery swirl of gold. “Gray,” I whispered, breathless. “I love it.”
He lifted the gilded chain and brought it up to my neck. “I went for a walk yesterday while you were at work and somehow wound up in the jewelry store,” he murmured, trailing his warm fingers around either side of my throat, settling the entwined gold circles into the hollow above my sternum.
“This piece made me think of you.” His eyebrows furrowed. “Made me think of us.”
He paused to press a slow, chaste kiss to my temple. “I wanted to give it to you before we go to brunch because I want you know that whatever happens today has no bearing on how I feel or what I want.”
His hand held my cheek the same way I held the Cartier box. With tenderness that threatened to make my wet eyes spill, he turned my face in his direction, showing me the certainty saturating his features. “You look beautiful,” he told me again. “Now, let’s go.”