Grayson's Vow (71)

“But apparently,” he said, running a finger along my bare thigh, “I don’t like blonds anymore. I like redheads. Or brunettes. Or the perfect mixture of both. I like you.” He squinted up at me, his expression suddenly confused. “Why aren’t you in my bed?”

I scoffed, turning my head away from him and crossing my arms over my breasts. “You must be kidding. You take off without so much as a word to me, leaving me to contend with your brother and your ex. And then you get drunk and let women grope you in a bar, and you expect me to be conveniently waiting at home in your bed? What do you take me for exactly?” I seethed, anger mixing with the hurt.

Grayson leaned up higher. “I take you for my wife.” His smile was filled with intimate warmth despite his inebriated state.

I raised my chin, refusing to let him charm me. He had hurt me. “In name only.”

“Let’s change that. Tonight. Earlier…you were willing.” He gave me a boyish smile and my stupid heart stuttered. “Please, Kira, tell me you want me. I just…I want you, I need you.” His voice sounded raw. He needed me? So I was nothing more than a convenience. Nothing more than a way to temporarily slake his physical desires. But I wanted more than his lust. I wanted… No, shh, don’t go there.

My chest filled with sudden panic. “Are you still in love with her?” I blurted.

Grayson’s expression hardened immediately, and he pulled himself to his feet, obviously—even in his drunken state—having no question about who I was referring to.

“You’re not going to answer me?” I lifted my chin, refusing to look away.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Kira. But the situation with Vanessa, my brother, and me isn’t any of your business. It has nothing at all to do with you.”

If he hadn’t wanted to hurt me, he had a funny way of proving it. I would not let him know how his words had caused a pit to open in my heart. I barely wanted to acknowledge it myself. “Please just go,” I said, my voice unwavering. “I don’t want you. I don’t want you at all.”

He ran his hand through his hair, seeming to be deliberating something, looking as if I was the one hurting him. But then he swayed slightly on his feet, catching himself and letting out a sharp breath. He swore softly, turned and walked out of my room, closing the door softly behind him.

If they weren’t staying here, I would leave for the sanctuary of my cottage. I had planned on sleeping with Grayson tonight. And now, sleeping in a room in the same house as him felt unbearable.

I collapsed on my pillow, hugging myself and refusing to cry.



* * *



If I had thought the dawn of a new day would have the Dragon flapping into my room and begging for forgiveness, I would have been sorely disappointed. In fact, I barely saw him at all over the next few days. Evidently, he had escaped to the winemaking facility, installing new equipment and ensuring everything was in working order. Or at least, that’s what I learned from Shane, who seemed nearly as frustrated as I was that Grayson was ignoring all of us. Clearly Grayson didn’t even care if our marriage appeared to be a sham.

“I’ll just stick around and put myself in his face whenever possible,” Shane said. “Eventually I’ll wear him down.” He gave me a wink, although his expression said he wasn’t particularly convinced by his own statement.

I, however, wasn’t willing to do the same. In fact, my MO had always been to run from hurtful situations, and that was my instinct now. But I had a party to plan and the clock was ticking on that. What had I been thinking to give myself such a short window in which to do it? I could barely remember now. All the same, invitations had gone out and people were expecting an event, one which my absent husband surely wasn’t going to put on. It was up to me, even though, at this particular point, it was difficult to remember why it even mattered at all.

I spent the first part of the week cleaning up Grayson’s office and trying to make some sense out of the financial files. Walter helped me where he could, since he’d been the one keeping the books updated as much as possible, although he didn’t know the programs as well as I did.

“Walter,” I asked, as he went through the accounts payable with me, “do you think I could see some of the financials going a few years back? I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but I want to get a better idea of where things started going downhill for the winery.” I thought if I understood why things had crumbled—literally and figuratively—so quickly once Ford Hawthorn had become ill, I would better be able to help manage the vineyard accounts, maybe even offer some advice to Grayson—not that he deserved it. I should probably watch in glee as he failed to fulfill his vow. But I couldn’t do that. My heart wasn’t in it, and I wanted to see Gram’s money go to good use as well.

Walter cleared his throat, and I thought he looked vaguely uncomfortable at my request. “The records weren’t well kept back then. Everything was neglected once Mr. Hawthorn became ill.”

“But surely there’s something? If I could just take a quick look at whatever there is, I think it might help. I don’t know how effective I can be now if I don’t understand what happened in the past.”

Walter was quiet for so long, I didn’t know if he’d heard me. But when I looked up, he was staring at me intently. I blinked. I’d never seen a look that was anything other than impassive on Walter’s face. “I’ll see what I can find,” he finally said, turning away.