Grayson
I wake to the revelation that Eliza is a koala.
A soft, warm, cuddly-as-hell koala who smells like flowers and sex, and snores quietly like a kitten.
I’m lying on my back, the entire left side of my body immobile. She’s wrapped around me, one leg hitched high over my abs, half her chest pressed into mine as her head rests on my shoulder and nuzzles into my neck. Her arm locks her in, wrapped tight across my torso.
Warm affection settles into my chest, along with pride and wonder that I get the privilege of witnessing this side of her. Eliza Attleburn may be a strong-willed, independent woman, but she’s a goddamn sweetheart with a thousand soft layers beneath that sharp-witted shell.
I’ve seen glimpses of those layers before, but usually when she’s hurting or distressed.
This isn’t one of those instances. It’s freely given.
And it feels like a gift.
One I’d like to continue enjoying for the rest of the morning, but dawn is coloring the sky outside the window, and it’s busy season.
Part of me is tempted to say to hell with it all and soak in the feel, the rightness, of her in my arms, but I can’t throw work to the wayside.
I’m the fucking farm owner. Responsibilities don’t take a day off. Problems don’t magically disappear.
Doesn’t mean you can’t put them off for a few more minutes.
Eliza’s thigh shifts, dropping closer to my up-and-ready dick, and I decide that logic’s fucking flawless.
I take my free hand and drag it down her back, reveling in her toned curves and soft, bed-warmed skin. I was too fired up last night to take my time and savor it all. Then I was too spent from a grueling few days of work and the best sex of my life to start up a second round and do it justice.
Now that I’ve taken the edge off and slept, it’s a new playing field.
I cup one round ass cheek and lightly squeeze. Her face nuzzles further into my neck. Fingers splayed wide, I caress that perfect globe, sweeping close to her pussy before making another pass. This time, her hips shift, pressing into me.
My cock hardens all the way.
I repeat the cycle, dragging my fingers close to her heat, then grabbing a palmful of ass, coaxing her awake. With every second, the sleepy rhythm of her breathing changes, growing stuttered. Aroused. Her fingers curl into my skin.
When her hips suddenly shift to bring her closer to my fingers, I’m certain she’s awake. Still, I softly ask, “You with me, gorgeous?”
She nods against me.
So on my next pass, I stop teasing us both and dip my fingers right into that tight little spot to find her dripping. That’s my girl.
A husky moan shudders out of her chest, and I can’t wait anymore. I roll her onto her side, back facing me. She goes easily, limbs still lax with sleep even as she hums with need.
The shadowed column of her spine imprints itself in my retinas as I work a condom onto my length. Then I slide in right behind her, secure her back right into my chest, and enter her with one easy thrust.
We groan at the same time.
I set a slow, lazy rhythm as I palm one of her pert breasts and squeeze. Perfect little handful. Then I bury my face in her soft hair, focusing on the feel of her supple body, the way she grips me like a vise, the hypnotizing sounds that float from her mouth as I fuck her.
It’s indulgent. Thick with languorous pleasure.
Her body is both relaxed and trembling, welcoming every thrust, trusting me to take care of her.
I’ve got you, baby.
When her breath begins to quicken, and her core shakes against me, my fingers wander to her clit. One of her hands flies on top of mine that’s still kneading her breast, anchoring herself to me as those trembles grow more violent.
It doesn’t take long. She’s silent this time, head thrown back toward mine as she comes.
Five more seconds, and my balls explode. I come hard inside her heat, hissing into her hair.
Then I’m as lax as her, floating on a little cloud of endorphins, content as hell. I should get up and go—at least remove myself from her body—but I can’t bring myself to right away. Instead, I borrow a few more seconds from work to enjoy this. Enjoy her, here in my arms.
Because even though this might not last, even though she might leave, I’ve got her right now. And considering I’m in for a world of pain if she goes, I might as well make that hell worth it.
She’s the first one to speak, her voice rough with sleep. “Do I sleep in my own bed tonight?”
The directness of the question puts me at ease. There’s no night-after awkwardness. No attempt to reclaim some of that piss-poor distance we’d tried to shove between us the last time we got close.
Thank fuck, because I have no desire for that.
“Can’t help but plan ahead, huh?” I tease.
“It’s ingrained in my bones.” She sighs, giving the hand she’s still holding onto a little squeeze. “And I don’t want to stress about it all day.”
Her honesty flays me.
“You’re sleeping in my bed tonight,” I confirm, every part of that statement feeling right.
“Good,” she says, a smile in her tone.
“Though if Joy brings us cinnamon rolls and you try to take them all from me again, we might have to reevaluate.”
“Hmm.” She wiggles her bum into my groin. “Challenge accepted.”
A year of celibacy and I’d forgotten what a fucking miracle drug morning sex is.
The shitty overcast weather that welcomes me at work might as well be sunshine. Defouling our gear is therapeutic. The oyster cages don’t feel as back-breaking when I haul them out of the water.
And when Amanda reminds me that we have a table at an oyster festival in two days, a loaded tour schedule coming up, and that Steve—the only other person besides us who’s qualified to lead tours—is taking time off, I’m not concerned.
“Think Kenny’s ready to do some on his own?” she asks, pen tapping on the schedule open in front of her.
“He’s got the license, but he doesn’t know the script. And I don’t think he’s ready to talk to adults on his own.” Who knows what shit would come out of his mouth? “Assign them between you and me however you want.”
“There’s two more bachelorette parties. You definitely don’t want those, I’m guessing?”
“Whatever you want.”
She blinks in surprise. “You specifically told me a few weeks ago to keep you off those tours.”
Yeah, I did. But she hates them as much as I do, and those tours are an excuse to take Eliza out with me.
“Split them with me,” I tell her. “Anything else?”
Puzzlement twists her features, but she doesn’t press. “Nope. All good.” Her eyes catch on something behind me in the warehouse.
I track them to Eliza, in khaki shorts and a Gold’s tee, hair wavy as it falls down her back. Salty, probably, from her morning swim. My blood heats at the sight of her, using a phone tripod to film a wide-angle shot of my crew packing a restaurant shipment.
Never thought something so pretty would look right at home in this place.
“I heard what happened to her boat,” Amanda says. She’s no longer looking at Eliza, but me. Maybe it’s the light, but there’s a gleam to her eyes.
“Yeah. Unfortunate,” I say.
“Wonder where she’s staying,” she muses.
I like Amanda—a lot. She’s reliable. Responsible. Good at what she does, bullshit and drama-free. But this seems suspiciously like she’s nosing into my business.
Eliza and I aren’t trying to hide that she’s staying at my place. We drove here together early this morning. But we’re also not actively announcing it to the team.
Even if we did, what would we say? That we’re platonically living together? That we’ve entered a—what do the kids call it—situation-ship?
Stupid fucking term.
“You know, my buddy Jake works over at the marina,” Amanda casually continues. “He told me they’re down a few guys, and it’s looking like her sailboat won’t be repaired until after she’s gone.” The corner of her mouth quirks. “Guess she’ll be staying wherever she’s staying until her contract’s up.”
I smother the instinct to smile like an idiot. “Sounds like it.”
Amanda’s grin spreads, but I’m spared more of her innocent musings by my phone ringing.
It’s Anson.
For a second, some na?ve part of me thinks he could be calling to tell me Eliza accepted the job. Then common sense rolls in to remind me it’s only been a day, and she’d probably give me that news herself. Which means Anson’s calling to deliver some kind of problem.
I answer. “Hey, brother.”
“Gray, where are you?” Anson’s always got a serious edge on work calls, but this time, his tone’s urgent. Severe.
Wariness sinks in. “In the warehouse.”
“Operating anything dangerous?”
“No. What’s going on?”
In true Anson fashion, he rips off the bandage right off. “A hospital called me. Dawson’s been in a car accident.”
My heart thumps once in my chest. Then his words register, and the organ divebombs into my stomach. The sounds of the warehouse fade to the background. The floor disappears beneath my feet.
“How bad?” I force out.
His hesitation tells me all I need to know. “He’s in the ICU, Gray. Medically-induced coma. They said—” a loaded breath comes over the line. “They said there’s a good chance he’ll pull through and be fine, but that’s not a guarantee.”
Worry and panic hit like a wall of ice-water, flushing my body cold. I want this to be a lie. Some fake news story. A random guy with the same name as my brother. But I know Anson’s already vetted it.
He speaks over my silence. “There’s a flight to Ohio leaving in two hours. I already made arrangements with people to watch Lala. I’m booking us both tickets now—unless you need to wait until morning?”
Like hell I’m waiting. Dawson could…he could—
No. I shove the worst-case scenario from my head. Our family’s lost enough. Dawson’s not fucking following our parents right now.
“I’m not waiting. I’ll head home right now to pack and meet you at your place.”
Anson gives an affirmative, and I woodenly hang up.
“What’s wrong?” The two softly spoken words bring the warehouse back into focus. Eliza stands before me, hazel eyes wide with concern.
“Dawson.” My voice cracks. Amanda’s chair scrapes against the floor as she stands. Two other team members glance over in concern.
Get your shit together. Taking a breath, I shove out, “Dawson’s been in a car accident. He’s in the ICU, in Ohio. I need to go.”
I’m expecting hysterics. Some mirror of the volatile emotions tumbling in my gut. But Eliza merely grasps my arm, her thumb stroking my skin.
It feels like a fucking life raft.
“What do you need?” she asks calmly.
Her question pulls me from the storm. Helps me focus.
It also slaps me with the reality of the next few days. Of all the times to have an emergency, this is one of the worst. All that panic spirals up again.
“Fuck,” I mutter, yanking off my hat and tugging my hair. “I can’t…I can’t go—”
Eliza’s grip firms around my arm. “You’re going.”
She doesn’t understand. “Steve’s out. We have a full schedule, and that fucking festival…”
Fuck.
I can’t leave, but I need to. Dawson’s fighting for his life. Nothing is more important than him right now. “I guess—we’ll have to skip the festival, cancel some tours. Amanda, can you—”
“We’re not skipping or cancelling anything,” Eliza states.
“You’re leaving, and Amanda and your very capable team and I are going to cover everything.
” She steps closer, using her free hand to pull mine away from my head.
“I will take care of Dave. I will get a ride back to your place. All you need to do is go home, get your things, and go see your brother.”
The steady confidence of her voice is like a heaven-scent balm, breaking through my panic.
But it’s not just her voice. It’s the fact that I know she’ll follow through on her word. If anyone can make hard things work, it’s this incredible woman, with her stubbornness and drive and sheer capability.
And she has a damn good team with her—though she’d do it on her own, no doubt.
Eliza isn’t some flimsy fucking life raft. She’s a full-fledged rescue boat.
Not caring that everyone can see, I yank her to me and lock her in a hug. She comes easily, wrapping her arms around me, like us embracing is the most natural thing in the world.
It feels like it—the way she fits into my chest, her salt-tinged, flowery scent wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.
“Thank you,” I say into her soft hair.
Then, because I can’t help myself, I kiss her right there in front of everyone.
When I’m in the airport with Anson two hours later, slugging through security, the thought of what lies ahead twisting my stomach with dread, it’s the memory of that kiss that loosens the knot enough for me to breathe.