Chapter 22 #2
Greyson turned his head, his attention slowly returning to Drummond as if he were a glob of shit on his new shoes.
Before he could say anything, Wren pushed him into the stock room closet.
“Pardon us. We’ll just be a minute.” She shut the door and turned on him. “Grey, you cannot growl at my guests.”
The cramped space reeked of industrial cleaning supplies and fresh linens, but underneath it all, Greyson’s familiar masculine scent of cedar and something uniquely him, made her pulse quicken.
Shelves of toilet paper and towels boxed them in, creating an intimate prison where every breath seemed to echo.
“Fuck that guy.” Thankfully, his voice muffled behind the shelves stocked with paper products. But she still worried the guests might overhear.
“Keep your voice down.”
“Why were you touching him?”
“I wasn’t—“
“Wren.”
“Fine. I did. But only in a professional sense. I simply pointed out that he carried some tension in his shoulders so he would get off my back about the sound therapy starting in an hour.”
“I don’t want you touching him.”
The possessive rasp in his voice sent heat spiraling through her belly. “Well…I don’t want you ignoring me to chop wood all night. Why are you even here?”
He drew back. “I told you I’d come to take you home.”
She frowned. “No, you didn’t.”
“I texted you.”
She pulled out her cell and flashed the screen. “No, you didn’t. I’m the one who texted you.” She showed him her thread of unanswered texts, and he growled.
“This is why I tell you to use a radio. These things are completely unreliable.”
In the cramped space of linens and supplies, tension seemed to ricochet off the walls as quickly as it radiated from his broad shoulders. There wasn’t enough oxygen to think straight, especially when he was sucking it out of the room with one threatening look after another.
The rough metal shelving pressed against her back while his imposing frame blocked any escape. “Look, I’m sorry if I missed your text, but that’s not my fault.”
“Well, it’s not mine either. I’ve been texting you since I woke up alone this morning. Where did you go?”
“Home. And you woke up alone, because you went to bed alone.”
“Only because you were sick and I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Are you sure about that?” She held his stare.
“Yes, Wren,” he said through gritted teeth. “You were coughing all night. You needed rest.”
“Well, I’m better now.”
“Good,” he snapped. “Glad to hear it.”
“Me too,” she snipped back, unsure why she was using her illness as the means for this argument.
But her feelings were hurt and her head was a mess all day, and she needed some damn answers.
If he wanted out, she wanted to know, sooner rather than later, so she gave him an open invitation to exit.
“We can pretend it never happened, Grey.”
His eyes narrowed. “Oh, it happened.”
She shrugged. “It could have all been a dream.”
He took a step, crowding her against the racks of toilet paper in the already cramped pantry. The heat from his body enveloped her, and she could feel the steady thrum of his pulse where his chest nearly touched hers. “It wasn’t a dream. It happened.”
“Did it?”
“You know it did.”
She lost her courage and lowered her gaze, fearful that he might have regrets. Maybe she pushed him further than he wanted to go. Maybe she used her body to seduce him into a situation he otherwise wouldn’t have chosen.
Shame softened her voice to a rasp. “It doesn’t have to stay this way, you know? We could just…go back to the way things used to be.”
Another step. He gently lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. The rough pad of his thumb traced along her jawline, sending shivers down her spine.
There was too much reality in his stare. Too much feeling.
That’s how it always was with Greyson. He gave her the most intense looks but never validated his emotions with words.
Claiming he loved her didn’t excuse him from answering for other things. She was tired of guessing how he felt, and it wasn’t fair of him to walk out on a conversation when she had questions.
“Is that what you want?” he whispered, his chest heaving slowly as he commanded nothing short of honesty.
Her chin trembled, and her vision wavered. “No.”
“Me neither, Wren.” He took another step, pressing his front to hers. The solid wall of his chest trapped her against the shelving, and every nerve ending sparked to life. “I told you how I felt. One little argument isn’t going to undo those feelings.”
“You walked out.”
“I’m sorry.” He brushed a kiss to her mouth.
She softened and closed her eyes. The tension that had been building inside her all day slowly subsided to a gentle hum.
Tracing the backs of his fingers over her cheek, he rasped, “You asked me a question I didn’t know how to answer.”
Her heart dropped and unease returned. If it was that difficult for him to answer, did that mean his actions actually did revolve around his dad on some level? “Oh.”
“Before you get ahead of yourself, let me make myself crystal clear. This—us—it’s happening because we want it to. No one else has anything to do with it.”
She looked up at him, needing to read the truth in his eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Very.”
“Then why did you get so defensive?”
“I wasn’t angry, Wren. I needed time to think. I went to get soup, and the next thing I know, I’m being questioned about my future career plans and how my dad’s death might play into that. It’s a lot.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
“Well, what the hell am I supposed to say, Greyson? I am sorry. I never meant to upset you.”
His mouth formed a flat line. “We’re both coming off of whatever bug we had, and neither of us was thinking clearly. My fucking brothers aren’t helping matters either.”
As much as it might seem like Logan said those things to spite Greyson, Wren understood his warnings were more out of concern for her. “I don’t like fighting with you.”
“We’re not fighting.” He stepped back, giving her space to breathe. “I came by to tell you something.”
She looked up at his intense blue eyes. “What?”
“I’m going home with you. Tonight.”
“Because…?”
“I don’t wanna talk anymore, Wren. I’m done with talking and I’m done with waiting.”
Her belly swooped. “You mean…”
“Yes. It’s happening. Tonight.”
She looked up at him, once again finding it difficult to breathe. She was suddenly aware of every hidden crevice on her body as strange sensations fluttered at every nerve ending.
Her voice trembled, “O-okay.”
“I’ll pick you up at five.” He pinched her chin and brushed another kiss across her lips, and whispered, “We’re crossing lines that can’t be uncrossed, and that will be the end of it. No more mixed signals. Understand?”
Her entire body had a pulse as he released her, and she clung to the inventory racks so her knees didn’t give out. She nodded her consent as he opened the door.
In a daze, she watched as he exited the stock room. Astrid, Lilly, Bodhi, and Drummond still gathered in the hall.
Greyson stepped out and looked directly at Drummond and growled, “Watch it.”
The four turned to stare as Greyson exited The Haven.
“Wait until Lady Lovewatch hears about this.” Astrid fanned her flushed cheeks.
Bodhi looked at Wren in confusion. “Did I miss something?”
Drummond frowned. “So, what’s the verdict on earplugs?”
Lilly turned on him. “Seriously, dude?”
Wren snapped out of her daze. “Lilly, find Mr. Drummond whatever he needs. Dad, you and Aunt Astrid need to make sure the studio door is closed for tonight’s session. I need my keys.”
“Where are you going?” Bodhi followed her out of the supply closet and down the hall.
“I have errands to run.”
“Now? We have a class tonight.”
“I can’t make it.”
He stopped, and she paused, realizing the sudden change of plans might trigger an episode. Calmly, she clasped his shoulders. “Dad, you and Aunt Astrid are going to have an amazing class. You’ve got this.”
He smiled as something shifted in his eyes. “You sound like your mother.”
She grinned, never disappointed to hear that. “The towers are out, so if you need anything, use the radios.”
He drew back his shoulders and lifted his chin. “I won’t need anything. You go run your errands.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
As soon as she found her car keys, she drove to Jocelyn’s. Her friend didn’t like having her writing time interrupted, and as Wren pounded on her door, she vaguely heard grumbles from the other side—something about the vicious fate of those who rudely interrupted a Viking’s orgasm.
“This is exactly why the Vikings died out.” The door whipped open mid-threat. “Don’t you people—Wren?” Her scowl flipped to a blasé greeting. “Come in.”
Wren didn’t move from the threshold as Jocelyn drifted through the house.
“We really need a secret knock,” her friend continued from somewhere in the kitchen. “I almost castrated you for interrupting my sex scene. Ragnar the Fierce was just about to blow his load.”
“I’m losing my virginity. Tonight.”
Jocelyn’s head popped back around the corner. “About-fucking-time. Let me see what I have in terms of champagne. Give me a sec.”
She disappeared again as bottles clanked from the bar. “So, who is it?”
Wren shut the front door. “What do you mean, who is it? It’s Greyson, of course.”
Jocelyn reappeared with a bottle of prosecco. “This is the best I can do for bubbles and stems.” She snickered, twisting off the cork. “Sounds like an idiom for tits and dicks.”
Wren followed her into the newly renovated kitchen, numb from face to chest. “I thought you’d be a little more shocked.”
“Shocked? Wren, honey, you’re thirty. The shock lies in the fact that you made it this far. It’s about fucking time you got that cherry smashed.”
She blew out a shaky breath, her body processing the strange anticipation in a thousand strange ways.
“My god, look at you. Relax! Fucking is fun.” The cork popped, and she filled two tall glasses.
Wren pulled out a leatherback stool and sat before her legs gave out.