Chapter ten
Tilly
Greyson just left, and I already miss him.
Shit, I feel like a stupid teenager with a crush on my high school teacher.
Everything about him makes me feel safe, from the way he closes my car door to how he held my fingers in his as we slogged through the woods.
If being chased through the dark had to happen in my life, there’s no one else I would have wanted to be with.
As alien for me as it is, I trust him, and I trust no one.
I didn’t want him to leave, but he’s at my uncle’s mercy when it comes to work. The relief I felt when we were assigned the same room of the hotel was immense. I’m not sure I’d be able to sleep if he wasn’t here. Just hearing his breathing settles the constant fear running through me right now.
So many parts of my life are out of my control, and it feels completely unfair. From the sham marriage I’ve been signed up for, to the fact that our enemies are trying to use me as punishment. I didn’t ask for any of this; I just want to be normal.
I would give up all the wealth and privilege in a heartbeat if I could just feel safe and in control.
Sadly, neither of those things will ever be possible unless I successfully flee my life.
But even then, I’ll never truly be safe.
Someone will always be looking for me. Be it an enemy or my family, and which would be worse is up for debate.
After deciding I can’t lie in my own muck any longer, I clamber out of the bed and make my way to the bathroom.
A huge walk-in shower sits at the back with one of those rainfall heads and various massage jets.
I switch it on and watch the drops begin to fall, my mouth salivating at the thought of clean water.
Not wanting to wait a moment more, I step underneath.
The hot water runs over my skin. In my head, as I lather myself up with the sweet-smelling soap, I am washing away the pain and horror of the past few days.
When I close my eyes and allow myself to feel only the sensations on my body, I can almost forget the events that brought me to here.
My mind allows me to pretend I am in this beautiful hotel with a man through choice.
That we’re here to enjoy ourselves, not hide from the blades of our enemies.
My hair has been washed at least three times when I hear noises coming from the bedroom. Turning the silver knob, I reduce the flow of water but don’t stop it completely, not wanting to alert whoever it is that I may be returning to the bedroom.
As I step out of the cubicle, I grab a towel and wrap the soft material around myself.
The small pen knife I’ve been carrying for protection sits next to the sink; I pick it up as I walk past.
When I come to the door to the room, someone dressed in all black is moving around, picking things up and putting them down.
What the fuck. I’ll fire that hopeless bastard meant to be covering my room door. Security guard my ass.
Massaging the knife handle in my palm, every inch of me starts to sweat.
The person in my room crouches, then stands and spins to face me when they become aware of my presence.
I act on impulse, not thinking, and throw the blade.
It stabs the maid in the shoulder and she wails in pain, just as Greyson bursts in.
“Tilly,” he roars, his eyes darting everywhere, trying to comprehend the situation. He looks from me to the maid, then that relaxed, professional persona reappears as he takes note of what’s happened.
It’s at this point I panic. Swallowed by my own fear, I’ve stabbed the poor woman sent to clean my room. Yet again, I acted before thinking. The story of my life.
My heart starts to race, and spots appear before my eyes. All I feel is heat—every inch of my body burns like a furnace as the scenario plays out on repeat in my head. My legs buckle, and I fall to the floor. There’s the sensation of a hand on my shoulder then everything goes black.
The next thing I know, Greyson is sitting on my bed beside me, staring down. He holds my hand which sits on top of the duvet, his thumb running over my knuckles.
“What happened?” I ask him, perplexed.
“You passed out,” he tells me simply. “That was some throw. Great aim. You tore her acromioclavicular ligament.”
“What?” I blink up at him, not comprehending the information he’s giving me.
But then, “The maid,” I shriek, everything coming back to me hard and fast.
The shower, the noise, the knife, the panic, and then the realization of what I did.
Another large hand settles on my cheek and Greyson gives me a reassuring smile.
“She’s going to be fine. A shoulder ligament will heal in time. Your uncle will take care of the rest.”
“But I stabbed her,” I stammer.
“I know. Your skill is impressive.” His warm fingers stroke my cheek, and I close my eyes. The gesture is so freaking comforting. “Trust me, I’ve done much worse. Sleep, Miss. You’ve had a difficult few days. You need to rest.”
“I’m not sure I can.” He continues to hold my hand and stroke my cheek.
His touch is a blissful sensation against my skin.
After taking a deep breath, I try to clear my mind of the nasty memories and upcoming fears that plague me.
My only focus is the man beside me, his breathing and his feel on my body.
Greyson doesn’t speak, but his presence is deafening.
He’s here with me, but for how long, I don’t know. I’ll absorb his strength while I can.
My eye lids rise slowly. The room is dark but light shines through the sheer curtains from the street outside. I sit up, troubled, because the heavy drapes were pulled across when I went to bed. Now they sit wide with only the white voile covering the glass.
Greyson is nowhere to be seen. I start to panic when I see a large shadow standing on the balcony outside.
Wrapping the duvet around myself, I climb out of bed and make my way over to the double doors that access the outside space.
I hold my covering in a knot over the top of my breasts.
As I push open the door, the icy Scottish air stings my skin and Greyson steps into view.
“Good evening, Miss,” he says, the deep tone of his voice making my stomach tighten. “Please step back inside. It’s not safe out here.”
“And it’s safe for you?” I challenge. He raises an eyebrow and smirks.
“Nowhere is safe for me, but I’m too addicted to this to care.” He holds up a cigar that he’s smoking. “At least if I’m taken out up here, I’ll die doing my favorite thing.”
“Smoking? Smoking is your favorite thing. That’s pathetic Greyson.”
He flicks some ash onto the tiled floor, then stubs out the disgusting stick on the railing before throwing the stub over the side.
“Do you have a better suggestion of how I can spend my time?” he asks, stepping toward me and placing his hands on my shoulders. He turns me in his arms and nudges me back inside. “Stay out of the line of fire.”
“If you want to keep me out of the way of bullets, why are the curtains open?” I challenge. He’s standing behind me, not touching, but I can hear each breath he takes. His large chest expanding and contracting.
“Because,” he replies slowly. “I was watching you sleep. My job is not to take my eyes off you when I’m here.”
I turn to face him, suddenly highly aware I’m naked beneath the sheet. His dark eyes widen, then drop down my body insanely slow before rising back to where they started. He takes a step forward and leans down, his lips millimeters from mine.
“You’re such a fucking tease, Miss. You’re going to get me killed.”
“But I’ll make sure you die happy.” Seeing this as my opportunity to have a man who isn’t the bastard I’m betrothed too, one I actually want, I open the duvet covering me and let it drop to the floor.
Greyson takes a step back. His eyes burn as he takes in my body while I stand in front of him, naked except for a small pair of lace panties.
A thick finger lifts to his lower lip as he enjoys the view.
My breath catches in my throat as my cheeks heat.
The feeling of being watched so intently is overwhelming.
“I think, Miss,” he says. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
His compliment takes me by surprise, and a huge grin splits my face.
He returns my expression with one similar, then his face falls more somber.
“But you’re not a lady who I should be with.”
I watch in horror as he moves to close the curtains.
“No, please. Even if it’s only once. I can’t marry without…” My voice trails off at the thought of having my first time with the man I’m meant to marry. He won’t care, I know he won’t. The idea of my first time being with someone I can’t even pretend cares is heartbreaking.
“You’re a virgin?” he asks, and I nod. That information shouldn’t be a surprise.
I’ve been watched my whole life, and even though I’ve run on multiple occasions, there are some family values I wouldn’t challenge, and maintaining my virtue is one of them.
Arranged marriage was always in the cards, and my role was to be pure when it happened.
There was never any other road offered to me.
But with the reality of my future staring me in the face, one I might not be able to stop without losing my life, the chance of lying with someone who wants me is too appealing. I need this. If I’m to be subjected to a loveless life in less than a year, then this moment is mine to have and enjoy.
Greyson returns to stand in front of me then reaches and takes my hand in his.
His expression is a mixture of lust and sympathy.
“Your first time is your husband’s,” he says, his voice low.
“It should be a special moment for you with the man…”
Once again, he doesn’t finish the sentence, realizing what bullshit it is.
“If you were going to say the man I love, I’ll knee you in the balls. You can’t believe that any more than I do. How can I be expected to love a man like that? A man old enough to be my grandfather!” My voice rises and Greyson squeezes my fingers in solace. “At least I can pretend you care.”
“I do care,” he shoots back. His second hand grabs my other and pulls me to him. I wrap my arms around his waist. His cock pushes hard against my abdomen. “And it’s taking every fucking ounce of my willpower not to take you on this spot. But Miss…”