Chapter 3 #3
Greyson pulls up to a gate, punches a code into a keypad, and waits as it swings open. The bike rumbles up the gravel drive, coming to a stop before the house. Behind us, Kyle and Chrystal roll to a halt.
"Home sweet home," Greyson says as I dismount, removing my helmet. "At least for now."
I stare up at the house, its windows glowing with golden light. Someone must have called ahead to prepare for our arrival. The thought of staying here, alone with Greyson, sends a flutter through my stomach that has nothing to do with fear.
"We'll do a perimeter check," Kyle says, already striding toward the tree line. "Make sure everything's secure."
"I'll help Olivia get settled," Chrystal offers, her arm linking through mine as we head toward the front door.
The interior of the house is even more impressive than the exterior with soaring ceilings, a stone fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling windows that would offer stunning views in daylight. It's masculine without being spartan, comfortable without sacrificing style.
"Guest room's upstairs, second door on the right," Greyson tells his mother, though his eyes remain on me. "Bathroom's en suite."
Chrystal squeezes my arm. "Let's get you situated, and then these men can explain the security protocols while I make some tea."
I follow her up the wide staircase, glancing back to find Greyson watching me, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
The guest room, when we reach it, is larger than my entire apartment in LA with a king-sized bed dominating one wall and a sitting area near windows that presumably overlook the forest.
"He had this room redone last year," Chrystal says, opening drawers to show me where to put my things. "Though I doubt he expected his first guest would be under these circumstances."
I set my small overnight bag on the bed. Mom and I had packed hastily, just enough clothes for a few days, my toiletries, and the gun Dad insisted I keep with me. "It's beautiful," I say, running my hand over the plush comforter.
Chrystal studies me for a moment, her blue eyes so like her son's, seeing more than I'm comfortable revealing. "He's a good man, Olivia. Complicated, stubborn as hell, and too much like his father sometimes, but good where it counts."
"I know," I say quietly.
"Do you?" She sits on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside her. When I join her, she takes my hand in hers. "Because what I see between you two isn't just attraction or some old crush. It's something that terrifies fathers and thrills mothers."
I feel heat rise to my cheeks. "Mrs.…" I start.
"Chrystal, please. And I'm not trying to embarrass you. I just want you to understand what you're walking into." She squeezes my hand. "My son has been waiting for you to come home for two years. He may act all cool and controlled, but inside? He's a mess."
"I didn't know," I admit, though part of me had hoped. "I thought maybe he'd moved on."
She laughs slightly. "Honey, that boy hasn't looked at another woman since you left or, hell, even before.” Her expression grows more somber. "But being with him comes with complications. The club, your father's concerns, and now this stalker situation."
"I'm not afraid of complications," I tell her, surprising myself with how true it feels.
"Good." She stands, smoothing her jeans. "Because I have a feeling you're about to face plenty of them."
After Chrystal leaves to make tea, I unpack my meager belongings, trying to ignore the flutters of anticipation at the thought of being alone in this house with Greyson once his parents leave. I'm hanging the last of my clothes in the spacious closet when a knock sounds at the door.
"Come in," I call, expecting Chrystal to be back with tea.
Instead, Greyson fills the doorway, his broad shoulders nearly touching both sides of the frame. He's removed his cut, wearing just a black t-shirt that stretches across his chest and dark jeans that hang low on his hips.
"Getting settled?" he asks, though his eyes are saying something entirely different.
"Yes, thank you," I reply, suddenly very aware that we're alone in a bedroom. "Your mom was just helping me with—"
"She and my dad are leaving," he interrupts, taking a step into the room. "We’ve checked the perimeter, everything's secure. Dad's installed some extra cameras, and they'll be monitoring everything remotely."
I nod, trying to ignore how my pulse has accelerated. "Thank you. For all of this."
He moves closer, until only a few feet separate us. "You don't need to thank me, Livie. I'd do anything to keep you safe."
The intensity in his voice makes me shiver. "Greyson—"
"I know the timing is all wrong," he tells me, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that seems almost vulnerable. "You just got home, this stalker situation, your dad ready to murder me in my sleep… Not exactly how I imagined this going."
I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. "How did you imagine it going?"
His eyes darken. "That dinner I promised you, for starters. Somewhere nice, where I could see you in candlelight. Get to know the woman you've become without an audience watching our every move."
My heart flutters at the image he's painting. "Rain check?"
"Definitely." He reaches out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face with such tenderness it nearly undoes me. "But for now, you should rest. It's been a hell of a day."
I lean into his touch, unable to help myself. "What about you?"
"I'll be down the hall if you need anything. My room's at the end, door on the left." His thumb traces my cheekbone. "Anything at all, Livie. You just call my name."
The double meaning isn't lost on me, and heat pools low in my belly. "I will," I promise.
He seems reluctant to leave, his hand lingering on my face a moment longer. Then, with visible effort, he steps back. "Good night, Livie."
"Good night, Greyson."
After he's gone, I stand in the middle of the room, my skin still tingling where he touched me. Outside, I hear the rumble of a motorcycle, his parents leaving. And then silence, broken only by the sounds of Greyson moving around downstairs.
Just the two of us now, in this beautiful house hidden in the woods. Despite the circumstances that brought me here, despite the danger lurking somewhere out there, I can't deny the thrill that runs through me at the thought.
I change into sleep shorts and a tank top, brush my teeth in the luxurious en suite bathroom, and slide between the cool sheets of the king-sized bed.
The mattress is firm but comfortable, the pillows soft beneath my head.
Exhaustion from the day's events washes over me, but sleep remains elusive as my mind replays everything.
The stalker at the gate, the fear in my parents' eyes, the feel of Greyson's lips on mine in the parking lot.
Just as I'm finally drifting off, a sound jerks me fully awake. It's the creak of a floorboard somewhere in the house. My heart rate spikes, and I reach for the gun on the nightstand before remembering it's just Greyson moving around in his own home.
I release a shaky breath, settling back against the pillows. But now I'm wide awake again, hyperaware of every sound, every shadow. After twenty minutes of staring at the ceiling, I make a decision.
Slipping from the bed, I pad barefoot to the door and into the hallway. A golden glow from downstairs guiding my way, I descend the stairs slowly, each step bringing me closer to the man who's occupied my thoughts for longer than I care to admit.
I find him in the living room, sitting on the couch with a glass of amber liquid in his hand, staring into the flames that crackle in the stone fireplace. He looks up as I approach, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of me in my sleep clothes.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, his voice rougher than before.
I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself. "Too many thoughts."
He sets his glass down and pats the space beside him. "Join me?"
I cross the room and sink into the cushions, close enough to feel his warmth but not quite touching. The fire casts dancing shadows across his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and his eyes as they track my movements.
"Every time I close my eyes, I see him at the gate," I admit, pulling my knees to my chest. "Hear his voice saying it's not over."
Greyson's expression hardens. "It will be. Soon."
"You sound very sure of that."
"I am." He takes a sip of his drink before setting it aside. "No one threatens what's mine and walks away scot-free."
The possessiveness in his tone should alarm me, but instead, it sends a thrill down my spine. "Is that what I am? Yours?"
His eyes lock with mine, stealing my breath. "You've been mine since the first time I saw you across that crowded room, Livie. Whether either of us was ready to admit it or not."
The honesty in his voice disarms me completely. "I used to dream about you," I confess, the firelight making me braver than I'd be in daylight. "In LA, when I was lonely or scared. I'd imagine what it would be like if you were there."
His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. "I was there. More than you know."
"What do you mean?"
He hesitates, thumb tracing circles on my palm. "I checked on you. Made sure you were safe."
I stare at him, processing his words. "You came to LA? When?"
"Every few months. I'd make excuses to my VP about business in California." A hint of sheepishness crosses his features. "I'd watch you leave that salon, follow at a distance to make sure you got home okay."
"You were stalking me?" The irony isn't lost on me.
"Protecting you," he corrects, though a small smile plays at his lips. "There's a difference."
I should be angry or at least unsettled. Instead, I find myself oddly touched. "Why didn't you ever say anything? Let me know you were there?"