13. A Rather Tempting Kitty
13
A Rather Tempting Kitty
GREYSON
“Are you stocking a battlement?” Alice laughed later that day, shaking her head shallowly as I showed her another stash of pepper gel. Her movements might’ve been stiffer than usual, but at least she was smiling. We had pepper gel in every vehicle, and after last night, I’d ensured she had one in every purse and gym bag, as well as on her keychain, insisting she take one running. Gel would be more effective than her canister of pepper spray and had less of a chance of coming back at her on the wind.
She didn’t seem to understand the lengths I’d go to to keep her safe yet. She would.
“Focus, Alice. I never want you feeling so scared for your safety that you send your body into shock like that.” Helpless . That’s how it felt watching her fight an invisible battle buried in her mind. Not even money can buy answers if they don’t yet exist.
Dr. Eastman hadn’t had much in the way of encouragement. Much like Alice had warned me, the study of migraines was evolving slowly, and I wasn’t even open to considering some experimental medication.
To see my fierce girl crippled in that kind of pain was a hell I didn’t know existed until she voluntarily fell into my arms. I might not be able to make her brain avoid short-firing, but I could equip her to function through her fear. That was what we learned first as Seals. Powering through the kind of terror that gripped your marrow.
I hadn’t slowed down to think too hard about when and how she became mine . The devil on my left shoulder told me the moment she’d sauntered into our offices in that tight dress and fitted blazer with stars in her eyes. But the guy on the right? He kept reminding me she hadn’t chosen me— this —beyond appeasing her conscience. Maybe our kiss during the ceremony tricked the chemicals in my brain into thinking I had some claim to her beyond that, but that’s all it was: a trick.
Her words were on an ever-present loop in my mind. Why didn’t you ask?
To her, I was still the asshole that signed her paycheck.
Her amused sigh brought me back into the moment, focused on those grey eyes as she said, “I am focused. Pepper gel is everywhere , and window breakers are on the keychains and in the center consoles of every car. First aid in every glove box, with a comprehensive kit in the mud room.”
Throat aching, I nodded. Ollie and I ordered everything we could get our hands on to have in the house for her, but I didn’t want to combat crippling headaches if we could just avoid them. If fear was her trigger, we could take steps to dismantle it.
“Good girl. Now, come on.”
“Come where ? Greyson, your tour has been thorough.”
Her irritation was welcome if it meant she was prepared. Was it a little overboard to show her all my emergency exits in this house? Hopefully. However, with my involvement in Thunderstrike , she needed to know a plan for each scenario.
I slid my hand against hers, threading our fingers and trying not to focus on the way her breath hitched.
Okay. Coercing a woman I found positively breathtaking into an arrangement like this was likely my least intelligent move to date. But as she wrapped her fingers around my hand, I found I didn’t very well care.
Because she just…fit. Here. In my house. Where my doctors fussed over her labs, and my staff was frantic to ensure the cartoon princess had whatever she needed.
They already loved her—this doe-eyed, silky-haired, brilliant brunette now rolling her eyes but following me, nonetheless. As we came around the corner, she smiled at Marianne, one of the housekeepers, and I watched her entire face relax the moment we were out of sight. She was still in pain and trying to hide it.
“Greyson,” she groaned. “Where are we going now? I’m exhausted. It’s Paxton’s party day, and I want to nap before we get ready.”
Stifling my smile, I said, “I have someone I want you to meet.”
As if on cue, a cheery baritone barked, “Hart! Where the fuck are you?”
Her eyes flicked to me, and I grinned, calling back, “We’re coming. Hold your fucking horses.”
“Oh shit,” she giggled, “he is human.”
“What?”
“Didn’t know you could swear,” she noted dryly, a silent smirk threatening her lips. Her humor could so easily be mistaken for indifference, but I was starting to get a feel for it.
“Oh, come on.”
“Mr. Serious all the time,” she said, puckering her lips and pinching her brows as she dropped her voice mockingly. I was still shaking my head as our hallway dumped us back into the foyer.
“This asshole?” Retired Captain Jackson—A.K.A. Jax—Reynolds was standing in my living room in unlaced motorcycle boots, his blond hair slicked back, hands casually stuffed in his back pockets. Fucker had gotten bigger while I was stuck behind a desk. “Nah, he’s a crack-up .”
The thing that won me over about Jax was the fact that he always had something sarcastic to say, even in the shittiest of situations. The more time I spent around Alice, the more I thought the two of them would hit it off.
“Motherfucker,” I said by way of greeting, grinning as I slipped my hand from Alice’s and opened my arms. He immediately came in for a hug, clapping my back as I did the same.
“ Pinman , how you been?” he asked, pulling back. The guys closest to me had given me the nickname after the surgeons put me back together with pins, plates and rods. Jax shot that trouble-making smile in Alice’s direction as his eyes did a far too thorough scan for my liking. Alice was not the kind of stunning that could be missed. “I hear congratulations are in order. Though I’m a little chapped, I wasn’t cool enough to be invited.”
Yeah, the way I wrapped her little waist in my palm and pulled her into me was possessive. Not even gonna apologize for it. “Jax, this is my beautiful bride, Alice. Baby, this is Captain Jackson Reynolds.”
“Jax,” he corrected, shaking his head reproachfully. “Call me Jax.”
Her smile was a bit too eager, and she was way too damn quick to take his hand.
This was a mistake.
“Nice to meet you.” To me she added, “You didn’t tell me we had company coming, honey .” Everything about the pet name sounded alien and I had to stuff back the laughter in my chest.
“‘M not really company,” Jax dismissed. “An unfortunate necessity, by the sounds of it.”
Curious gray-blues landed on me, obviously unsure of what to say or expect. Giving her a little squeeze, I said, “Jax is the second of my four and has agreed to be your personal bodyguard until things quiet down in the media.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she breathed, a bit panicked.
“Absolutely necessary,” Jax and I responded in unison.
“Starting tonight, at the party,” I added, bracing for her pushback. As expected, her eyes narrowed.
“I am not going to walk around with a tailat my brother’s welcome party.”
“Ill-advised unless it’s a costume party,” I said, smirking, holding her gaze even as she glared at me. Jax brought out the punk eighteen-year-old enlistee in me better than about anybody else. Just for fun, I slowly dragged my eyes over her chest and the exposed column of her neck. “Though I think you’d be a rather tempting kitty.”
Yep. It was official; I would say anything to make her flush like that.
“ Okay ,” Jax drawled teasingly as Alice bit her lower lip, eyes dropping to her feet. “Do y'all need to get a room, and I can come back later, or you gonna give me the lay of the land?”
“Come on, asshole, we’ll bring you up to speed.” As we turned to guide Jax through Hart House, I lowered my lips to her ear and whispered, “Careful, little Belle. Keep blushing like that, and it will be hard for me to keep this a gentleman’s agreement. You’ll give a man the wrong impression if you let his words affect you like that.”
Her throat bobbed audibly before she whispered back, “I’m not responsible for your lack of mental fortitude.”
“No,” I agreed, “but you are responsible for whatever thoughts had you biting down on your lip just now.”
“I’ll take the numbers for the producers you promised. If my performance has you convinced, maybe I am better than I thought,” she said smugly as she lifted her chin. But the blood coloring her cheeks didn’t lie.
“Maybe,” I allowed, smiling as I straightened. “Or maybe you remember exactly what that kiss felt like on our beach.” I certainly did. It was all that occupied my mind during waking hours. “What did you say before the wedding? Welcome to the fun part.”
Formal Alice was a vision no man could overlook. But casual Alice was infinitely more appealing. When she styled herself, she left her skin glowing, the light pattern of freckles over her nose was accompanied by a subtle pink like she’d spent too much time in the sun today. Maybe we had. One of her ridiculously flowy sun dresses was draped over her curves, hanging off her delicate shoulders. Half of my evening had been spent wanting to unwind the Roman-looking sandals wrapped around her calves or run my fingers over her bare collarbones.
I’d always found it fascinating the way she morphed into the socialite culture like the best of us; but she did the same thing in an event tent packed full of towering football players. Her shoulders were more relaxed, her smile a little less posed and more flirtatious, and she laughed a bit louder.
She was still the quiet one in most circles, always watching, rarely instigating, but just like she did with tycoons and politicians, she’d memorized a few stats on key players, making more than one of them take a step back to reassess her.
Paxton was just as at ease. If he was intimidated coming into a new team—one owned by his new in-laws, at that—he didn’t show it.
It was the tight end with his hand between my wife’s shoulder blades that told me we’d had enough socializing for the evening.
Abandoning my conversation with her brother and one of his most dependable, soon-to-be linemen, I rotated to her, pulling her into me and relieved when the idiot removed his hand with the sense to at least look a bit apologetic. I wasn’t sure exactly when the feeling of her in my hand became so necessary, but I’d have to think about it later.
“Haven’t seen you eat anything in a while, baby. Wanna grab a bite?”
“Would love one,” she answered a beat before I brought her mouth to mine. This wasn’t a beachside wedding, wasn’t the place to claim her, but god dammit, if her taste didn’t consume every inch of my being. Her pliant submission beneath my palms was exactly what I’d been needing since we left the island. Pulling away was a feat in itself, but at least every player in her radius had seen who she belonged to.
Jax, who’d been obediently hovering behind her without being overly intrusive, locked that navy gaze with mine. My dipped chin was enough of a dismissal for him to hang back as I led her away from the group of players and their significant others and over to the buffet of food.
Handing her a plate, I asked, “Having fun?”
“Yeah,” she admitted, a note of surprise to her tone. “I haven’t spent much time around your guys, but they’re entertaining. I think Pax will enjoy them.”
“Swell,” I said simply, nodding at the chafing dishes lining the white tablecloths. We made our way down the line, filling our plates as the party rushed around us. Relief washed through me when she wandered out of the tent and into the burgeoning dusk. I might’ve been born into this dynasty, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed the obligatory events any more than she did. Selfishly, I was sick of sharing her focus with a lineup of brooding athletes. The prepared oceanside bonfires down below would be a breath of fresh air.
“Oh my god,” she gasped excitedly, pulling my attention from the faces of partygoers to the light in her eyes. “Are those S’mores?!”
I chuckled. “Ollie has the pallet of a toddler, so I wouldn’t be shocked—” but she was already making a beeline for the table between the grass and beach. Vaguely, I was aware of Jax trailing behind us and glanced over my shoulder to see him with his own plate of goodies, nonchalantly making his way across the lawn. Good man. Sure enough, this table was full of supplies to make S’mores, and Alice was cheerily stacking them on a fresh plate.
She was cute when she was excited, even if she was trying to downplay it for appearance.
Fire no longer raging, plates cleared about half an hour later, she reached over and snagged a metal roasting stick before stabbing it into a marshmallow.
“Remind me not to piss you off.”
She grinned mischievously, “You don’t grow up on a boat and not learn how to use a blade.”
“Do a lot of stabbing?”
“Fireside?” she clarified, her brows shooting up as she strategically lowered herself onto the ground and hovered her marshmallow just over the coals, slowly rotating it. “Yeah. We spent the bulk of our summers in Mistyvale down on the water. Not a lot to do in town, so we’d all build fires nine feet tall and burn away the summer nights.” Her smile grew more authentic and endearing, eyes going distant as she reminisced. I grabbed my own marshmallow and joined her. “My big brothers and dad taught me how to build the perfect fire and when the embers were ready to use. We’d roast bratwurst and fill our bellies on skewers of veggies, then Rhyett, Jameson, and Brod would break out marshmallows and spooky stories.”
“Hmm,” I murmured. When her eyes widened, I said, “It sounds absurd, but I wish I’d grown up like that.”
“In some backwoods fishing town?”
“Bonding as a family,” I clarified.
Her brows knitted together. “You and Ollie are tight.”
“Now,” I admitted. “But when you grow up two steps removed from doing all the things, you miss all of the…”
When my words wandered off, she blinked, studying me before finishing, “Connection?”
I sighed, admitting, “Yeah. It’s not the same when your father pays someone to make you oven-roasted S’mores with ritzy Swedish chocolate and some ridiculous French wafer. God forbid you dirty your clothes actually enjoying the damn thing, bringing shame to the family name.”
“You and Ollie don’t do that to Mattie and Beau.”
“No. We’ve made a point of letting them be kids.”
We sat quietly for a long stretch as she processed all of that, but then a sheepish smile lifted her cheeks. “Your marshmallow is on fire.”
“Fuck,” I grumbled, yanking the stick upright as she burst out laughing. I blew the flame out like an oversized candle. She was covering her mouth when I lifted my eyes from the charcoal exterior. “You can laugh, you know. I can handle it.”
Forcing her face straight didn’t stop her chin from wobbling with the humor begging to go free. Her teeth dug into her lower lip, and I tracked the moment as she carefully freed it. “Nah, I’m fine.”
“It’s pretty pathetic,” I admitted dryly.
“ No ,” she scoffed. A little giggle broke free before she teased, “Poor rich boy can’t roast a marshmallow.” Before I could respond, she’d rolled her eyes and pulled up her golden-brown, puffed sugar ball, blowing on it like a textbook example. “Here,” she said, taking pity on me as she reached over, but instead of discarding my destroyed disgrace of summer dessert, she curled her nails around the lower lip of it, and slid off the crust in one smooth motion, revealing a gooey ball of melted confection. She blew on it, though I’m sure her fingers were protesting. “You can use it like that or roast it again.” With that, she popped the charred crust in her mouth. “I kinda like ‘em burnt anyways.”
Shaking my head, I questioned, “Twice-roasted marshmallow?”
“Exactly.”
Glaring at her, I slowly lowered it back over the embers. It’s not that I couldn’t cook outdoors; I just hadn’t spent much time out here since I came home. Who had the time for this? It didn’t help that she was sinfully distracting, even now, as she sandwiched her prize between crackers and chocolate.
“The real trick is to wrap them in foil afterward and set them back by the fire. This will do for now,” she explained, setting her sweets on the edge of the pit.
“Really?” I pressed.
“Really,” she confirmed. The chatter of the party and crash of waves seemed to vanish when the woman smiled. I’d always seen her beauty. Been painfully aware of her curves and those intense eyes. But I hadn’t ever seen her quite like this. Apparently, I was staring more intently than appropriate because she asked, “What?”
“I like it when you smile.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Ouch . “Wouldn’t have been appropriate to tell you that as my assistant.”
“But it is now that you married me like a mail-order bride?” A few weeks ago, I would have thought her tone was abrupt, but now…? She was teasing me. That subtle curve of her full lips? That was Alice having fun. Finding humor in our ridiculous setup.
“I believe calling you my wife buys me the privilege of appreciating you.” I dropped my eyes to my twice-roasted marshmallow as she skewered a second, refusing to humiliate myself by screwing it up again.
“For centuries, that title would buy you the privilege of heirs, too. Are we following all the customs of ancient nobility?”
“Luckily for us both, I have no interest in heirs. Ollie has successfully secured the family line.”
“The media will call for my head if I don’t give them a mini-Greyson. Force us to divorce for the good of the nation.”
That concept had me scowling at the fire as I rotated the rod in my fingers. “I’ll make a public statement that I’m infertile.” Maybe vasectomy advocacy was a thing? Everyone always left or died anyway; not much of a point in considering the alternative. The last thing I needed was more potential collateral—the kind that would bring me to my knees, that I’d burn the world to save.
“ Greyson ,” she giggled, shaking her head as she added, “it was a royalty joke.”
“Fine, but I don’t want their scrutiny on you.” I looked up right as she pulled her second masterpiece from the fire and mimicked the motion, catching mine on just this side of too-toasted. “It would paint you as a saint for staying with me. Couldn’t hurt.”
“You really do have to think of everything through the lens of the press.”
“I loathe them.”
“I would, too, if that’s how I grew up.” She nudged my hand, and I looked down to see the now-melting S’more she’d set by the fire. “Here. Mistyvale special.”
“That’s yours,” I argued.
“Shut up, husband , and eat my dessert.” She took my laugh as the opportunity to pop the corner into my mouth. Begrudgingly, I took a bite, shaking my head as she smiled a victorious, feline smile. She ran her thumb over my bottom lip before pulling back and taking a bite from the same S’more.
I took my time looking her over—that satisfied smile as she closed her eyes, soaking up the flavor. But all I could think was that chocolate was the last thing I wanted to be eating with Alice Hart’s exposed thigh on mine. Watching her throat work should not have been sexy, but all I wanted to do was slip my hand between those creamy thighs and slide my way up as I ran my lips over it. The only melted chocolate I wanted to eat would have been off her pebbled skin. Her words didn’t dissipate the need she planted in my body as she asked, “See, it’s better fireside, isn’t it?”
“You look gorgeous tonight.” All I could see was this woman in the flickering firelight. Her tentative smile, the glimmer in her eyes. The chocolate smeared on her lower lip. Like she’d done to me, I brought my thumb up to brush it away before popping it between my lips to suck it clean. Her mouth fell open in surprise, and need ate at my sense as her eyes tracked the movement, the long line of her neck working in the harsh firelight.
And then she closed the distance, sending any other thoughts skyward as her sugary lips crashed into mine.