Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Sometime in the middle of the night, Grayson woke up with the distinct sensation that something was different.
Something warm, soft, and curled against him.
He opened his eyes, sleep clinging hard, confusion fogging his brain for half a second before reality set in.
Lark.
She was tucked against his side like she belonged there, her head pillowed against his shoulder, her hand resting lightly against his chest. Her fingers flexed every so often in sleep, as if, even unconscious, she needed to reassure herself he was there.
Her body was molded to his in a way that felt so natural, it stole his breath. His arm was wrapped securely around her waist, holding her close in sleep.
And the damn pillow wall was gone.
Grayson blinked in the dim space, trying to orient himself. A faint golden glow spilled across the room from the cracked-open bathroom door, providing enough light for him to make out the stretch of mattress where the ridiculous barrier had once been.
Had he moved it?
He honestly couldn’t remember. Then his gaze dropped to the woman sleeping against him, and another possibility occurred to him.
Had she moved it?
The thought sent a slow, dangerous heat through his chest, because if she had…
Jesus.
Had she felt the same thing he had today?
His pulse kicked harder.
Everything that happened today had shaken him straight to the foundation. The festival, the laughter, and the easy teasing between them had been unexpected. He’d been dreading this weekend, yet today was seriously one of the best days he’d had in a long damn time.
Probably because of the way she’d looked at him sometimes, when she didn’t think he was paying attention.
He struggled to remember the last time a woman had looked at him like that.
He’d purposely eschewed dating after the Staci debacle, though he hadn’t intended that to be a permanent thing.
He’d only planned to take a break from women, so he wasn’t sure why he’d let that stretch out for three whole years.
Carefully, trying not to wake her, Grayson shifted slightly so that he could see her face. Sleep softened her, making her look younger, vulnerable, trusting.
Beautiful.
Grayson had caught glimpses of Lark nearly every single day at the farm for over a year.
Her hair was always shoved into messy ponytails, and she was never without that constant smirk, the one that had been missing most of today.
The Lark he was used to was always laughing too loudly, talking too much, and annoying the shit out of him.
Apparently, he’d been a blind fool who had never truly looked at her. Because he’d never felt so overwhelmed by her sheer fucking beauty.
How the hell had he missed it?
A strand of blonde hair had fallen across her cheek, so he brushed it back, gently. Too afraid of waking her up and ruining this moment.
Her breathing changed slightly, but she didn’t wake.
Thank God. This moment felt strangely fragile and way too important to disturb. Because, despite the confusion spinning through his head, one thing was terrifyingly right.
Holding her.
The weight of her against him settled something deep inside, a restless ache he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying around. For the first time in longer than he could recall, his mind was quiet and there was no pressure.
Just her. Warm in his arms. Trusting him enough to sleep there.
He replayed the festival over in his mind, memories from earlier reappearing with startling clarity. When that drunk asshole had grabbed her, Grayson had seen the flash of panic in her eyes before he’d intervened. Then Lark had stepped into his arms like she belonged there.
Because she did.
Growing up a Storm meant growing up with the legend. It had begun with his father, who swore he’d known the second he met their mother, the moment their hands touched, that she was his.
Grayson had always believed the story, because he had eyes. He could see how utterly in love his parents were.
Then the same thing happened to three of his brothers, all of them swearing that they’d been flattened by a single touch and impossible certainty.
He suspected the concept of love at first touch must sound insane to those on the outside looking in, but Grayson never doubted it was true.
Anyone with eyes could see Theo, Levi, and Maverick were absolutely wrecked for their women.
Hell, Boone wasn’t even a Storm, but within a month of living on the farm and working in the vineyard, he’d been claimed by the legend as well, falling head over heels for Mila.
Hadn’t Grayson just spent the last couple of months watching Ella twist his stubborn bachelor of a brother, Maverick, into knots? The whole reason he’d had to work this festival was because his “never getting married” brother was determined to have his woman wed to him before the year was out.
For most of his adult life, however, Grayson hadn’t assumed the same thing would happen to him.
He was too much of a realist for that kind of cosmic lightning-strike bullshit.
Too practical and grounded. So, despite believing in the legend, he always figured he’d meet a girl the normal way.
That he would date someone for a time, fall in love the usual way—over months or years, instead of in a split second—build something steady, and then he’d get married.
He’d seen nothing wrong with that route.
Except for the fact that he always—ALWAYS—picked the wrong woman.
Not only had he given up on his practical search for the one, but he’d also stopped trusting in the legend.
Not feeling anything when he touched women in the past could have been his early warning system, if he hadn’t been so damn stubborn, trying to force square pegs into round holes.
Until Lark.
The instant she was in his arms, something inside him had locked into place with terrifying finality, and he’d known.
Not suspected.
Known.
She was the one.
Even as his gut screamed that this had to be some kind of mistake, his heart knew it with absolute certainty.
Not hope. Not infatuation.
Just…yeah…certainty.
He tightened his arm around her waist before he could stop himself, and Lark made a soft, sleepy sound, burrowing even closer against him. That tiny movement nearly fucking destroyed him.
Mine.
The word struck hard and fast and fierce, and possessive enough to wake some hidden part of him that was all alpha, all chest-beating Tarzan. Every cell in his body recognized her in that instant before his brain could catch up.
Lark stirred again, but this time, her lashes fluttered before she opened her eyes slowly.
There was enough light in the room that he could see awareness creep over her face, along with a blush.
Until this weekend, he would have sworn Lark McCoy wasn’t capable of embarrassment.
She was too sharp-witted, too confident, too fearless.
Now, he was discovering there were layers to her he’d never seen before, and they called to him in ways he didn’t understand. Not that he was going to overthink or resist them.
Reluctantly, he loosened his arm from around her waist, even though letting go of her felt all kinds of wrong. “Sorry. Not sure what happened to the pillow wall.”
She bit her lower lip before admitting, “I moved it.”
He wasn’t sure what to make of that response, but he sure as hell liked it. His heart kicked against his ribs. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t.”
“You just couldn’t resist curling up to all of this, could you?” he teased, flexing one arm, his attempt at flirting rusty as hell.
“So cocky,” she replied with a playful grin.
She didn’t have a clue, he thought, grateful the lower part of the bed was cast in dark shadows that hid his current fully erect state.
Her gaze briefly dropped to his chest as she only now seemed to realize she was touching him. She lifted her hand. “I’m…restless tonight.”
He smirked. “Lark, you’re restless all the time.”
Grayson was relieved when she laughed rather than taking offense. The sound slid through him, warm and easy.
“You can say that again.”
Despite moving her hand, the two of them were still facing each other, only inches separating them.
He remained on top of the covers, while she was tucked beneath.
He thought that might make her more comfortable, but not even that tiny layer of fabric stopped this moment from feeling incredibly intimate… and dangerous.
The room was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner and the rustle of sheets whenever one of them moved.
While they’d pay for the lack of sleep in the morning, he refused to close his eyes again. He didn’t want this night to end, didn’t want morning to come. Daylight would bring reality back with it, and reality was complicated.
“Can I ask you something?” There was something Grayson had been wondering about but hadn’t known how to ask.
She nodded, but stilled when he added, “It’s kind of personal.”
He and Lark were two people who worked in the same place and whose paths occasionally crossed. Before today, they hadn’t been close. Friendly enough, sure, but not like this. Not middle-of-the-night, heart-to-heart conversation kind of close, while together in the same bed, no less.
Still, something about the dark room made him feel like the distance between them had disappeared. Or maybe that was just what he wanted to believe.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Why did you and Tommy break up? Haven’t you two been dating for a while?”
She sighed slowly, and he was worried he’d crossed a line. He felt as if every wall between them had fallen in the course of a single embrace, but that obviously wasn’t going to be true for Lark.