“Anyway,” I said, changing the subject, “how will people be reminded I’m a human being? I thought you considered me more dragon than human.”
“True.” She smiled. “You’d have to curb your reptilian tendencies for one night. Do you think you could manage it?”
“Maybe.” I chuckled, studying the shadows and highlights of her features in the dim light of the moon and the few house lights still on behind us. “Seriously though, Kira, it’s a decent idea, but I don’t have time to plan a party.”
She shook her head. “No, of course not. I’d do it. It will keep me out of trouble. We could do a theme. Maybe a tropical luau or a masquerade ball. I’ll think of something perfect.” She grinned, and I got a flash of that witchy, little dimple.
My heartbeat stuttered, but I couldn’t help the small chuckle that found its way up my throat at her clear excitement. “You’re supposed to be helping me organize my books to stay out of trouble.”
“I can do both.”
I sighed. “Fine. Just wait until we get the check, please, to start spending money neither of us has yet.”
“I will. Well, except for invitations. I’ll pay for those. Do I have your permission to pick a date?”
“Go ahead. I can assure you I don’t have any social plans on the calendar.”
A few moments of silence settled between us. The mild night air was fragrant with nearby roses, the flavor of the wine crisp on my tongue, the rustle of the trees whispered all around, and the iridescent mist floated in the grapevines beyond. I closed my eyes, relishing the assorted sensations, wondering when I’d lived in the moment just as I was now. Have you ever?
“Do you plan on restoring this pool when you have the money?” Kira asked quietly, nodding her head toward it.
“Probably not. I’d like to tear it out.”
“Why? Don’t you like to swim?”
I shrugged. “It’s not that. I don’t have very good memories of this particular pool. My father decided he’d teach me how to swim by throwing my puppy in to the deep end.”
Kira drew in a breath. “Your puppy? Why would he do that?”
Jesus. I hadn’t thought about that in so long. Why was I remembering it now? I supposed because the pool was right in front of me and my mind had been wandering uninhibited… God, he was a mean bastard.
Yes, he had been a mean bastard. But in the end…in the end he’d held regret for the things he’d done. Him leaving me the vineyard was proof of that. And one of the reasons these memories hurt less than they otherwise would have.
“I was six and I was afraid of the deep end. No matter how my father threatened me, I wouldn’t get in. He would stand on the side of the pool in his damn business suit and rail at me as I cried.” Twenty-two years later and I could still feel the humiliation. “I had found this stray puppy wandering just outside our gates and begged my parents to let me keep it. They’d agreed as long as it was an outside dog and I solely took care of it.” I allowed myself to picture that little dog I’d named Sport, a brown-and-white mutt with these big, trusting eyes. I hadn’t brought him to mind in so long, and suddenly, it felt like a terrible travesty that I’d allowed him to go unremembered. “Anyway, we were out here for a lesson and I again refused to get in, so my father picked up the puppy, who was sitting right there on the patio”—I pointed at the exact spot—“and he threw him in. Told me either I jumped in after him, or he’d drown.”
“Oh God, Grayson,” Kira breathed, her eyes wide.
“It was a long time ago,” I told her. So why did my chest still ache as I recalled it? Why did regret sit heavy in my gut? “I stood on the side of the pool crying and screaming as that puppy drowned,” I admitted to her. “My father eventually scooped him out, but it was too late.” And the guilt of that still tore at my soul. I’d been a coward. “I just wish I had it to do over again… I’d save him this time. I’d drown myself if I had to. But I’d save him.”
“Of course you would,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “You were a scared child then. You’re a man now, with the courage of an adult,” she said, moving over to sit on my lounge chair. “I’m so sorry, he did that to you, Grayson. How did you ever learn to swim after that?”
I ran my hand through my hair, holding a handful of it as I recalled. “Walter. My father went away a couple weeks later, and Walter spent the weekend teaching me how to swim. He wore this weird black suit that went from his knees to his neck.” I chuckled softly recalling how Walter had had me practice over and over in the shallow water until I felt confident enough to go in the deep end, and then he’d come with me and let me hang on his shoulders until I told him I was ready to let go. “Later that year, I taught my brother to swim anytime my father was away so when he eventually tossed him in the deep end, he swam like a little fish. My father was so proud,” I said, trying to sound ironic, but the statement came out with the true pride I felt. I had been proud of my brother and proud I’d secretly helped him avoid the terror and guilt I’d faced. And maybe I’d been looking for some small amount of redemption for Sport, though I hadn’t found it.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly, seeming to know what I was thinking. “What your father did to you was an evil, awful thing to do to a little boy. I’m so sorry you experienced that.” She leaned forward and put her hand on my cheek, her expression gentle and filled with compassion. She’d done something similar at the restaurant—reached for me to provide comfort when she noticed me being shunned. Our gazes met and held. I’d been wrong about this little witch. Completely, utterly wrong. As I looked into her forgiving eyes, something inside me felt as if it unclenched and began to drift away.
I had surprised myself by telling her that story. Why had I when I rarely shared painful memories with anyone? Was it because, tonight at the restaurant, under the judgmental stares of all those eyes, she had made me feel like someone was on my side? Was it because she had come up with the idea of planning a party in an effort to help me elevate my social standing in people’s eyes for no reason other than she cared and thought she could do something to help? Or was it because I suddenly felt this unexpected friendship and understanding from my unpredictable wife?
Or was there some kind of spell floating on the mist tonight that would eventually dissipate?
“Sweet, beautiful witch,” I murmured, pulling her down to me so I could kiss her. I wrapped my hands in her thick, silken hair as our lips met. She tensed very slightly but didn’t pull away, and I traced her lips with my tongue slowly until she opened for me. I pulled her closer and delved inside, exploring the wet, silken contours of her mouth, heat coiling through my body. When she finally began participating in earnest, I wanted to groan with satisfaction, but I didn’t dare do anything to break the spell I was willingly under and have her pull away.
I brought my hands down to run up and down her back, and after a few moments, I felt her muscles relax. Our first kiss had been harsh and challenging, our second ravenous yet tender, but this one was slow, sensual, as if our mouths were making love. I’d never experienced a kiss exactly like this one. It confused me almost as much as it aroused me. I hadn’t known there were new types of kisses to experience.