“Helping you let go of something,” I said, turning a corner and then quickly turning another. I heard Grayson behind me, walking slowly as I ran. “If you can find me, I’m yours.”
“Kira,” he said, and despite the distance, I heard the warning tone. “I know this maze well—there’s no hiding from me here.”
Ah yes, but I know that.
A thrill fluttered through me as I turned another corner. “Really, dragon?” I called. “We’ll see. I’m waiting.” I was already hopelessly lost, simultaneously feeling a small thread of fear and sympathy for what Grayson must have felt being alone in here all those years ago, but also the tingle of excitement at the knowledge that he’d find me. The shrubbery was tall and untended, and as I ran by, holding the hoops of my skirt as close to my body as possible, my long dress trailing on the ground behind me, branches seemed to reach out and grab me. The moon and stars and the glow of the house beyond cast the only light.
He didn’t say another word, but I heard him walking with purpose through the weeds and fallen branches straight toward me, as if he’d known where I would run. I turned one more corner and there in what seemed the middle of the maze was an old fountain in ruin and disrepair, a stone bench in front of it. I sat down and waited for Grayson to find me.
The distant strains of music and voices from the party took a back seat in my mind as I listened intently for his footsteps, my pulse quickening, my heart thumping.
“Where are you, little witch?” he asked, much closer now. But it didn’t sound as if there was question in his voice. Yes, he knew exactly where I was. He still remembered every turn. My heart rate increased.
He came around the corner at the far end of where I sat, and my breath stuttered in my throat. In the glow of the starlight, I could see his gaze was trained on me. I stood slowly and as he started to approach, I held up my hand, motioning for him to stop so I could come to him. Because here, in this place, he had always done the rescuing.
He watched as I approached, his eyes dark and fathomless.
As I drew nearer to him, it came to me that watching Grayson in front of the bank that day, I had fallen in love but only in some romantic, girlish way. I had fallen in love with the idea of him. But here, in the deep, dark of the maze—where he had once been lost and frightened and alone—I reached out my hand, and I fell in love with the man. I fell in love with my husband.
His hand in mine was solid and warm and real. And he grasped me back.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Grayson
The party was winding down as I made the rounds as fast as possible, stopping to chat quickly with those still there and say good night to others leaving. When I spotted Charlotte chatting animatedly with José’s family, I greeted them and asked if I could borrow Charlotte for a moment. When she stepped aside, I said, “Charlotte, I’m heading upstairs for the night. Will you encourage the guests to stay and enjoy the music and the food? If they ask, make Kira’s and my excuses?” My wife is waiting for me in our bedroom.
“Excuses? Are you sure? There’s still—Oh,” she said, understanding coming into her gaze and a smile gracing her lips. “Good night, Gray.”
“Good night, Charlotte.” I winked at her and strode away. I made it past a few guests who were deeply engaged in conversation and turned the corner to the stairs. I took them two at a time. It might have even been three.
When I opened the door to my bedroom, Kira was sitting at the small writing desk brushing her hair, a towel tucked around her. At the sound of the door locking, she turned and smiled softly at me. The makeup she’d worn earlier had been washed from her face, her hair hung soft and long down her back. She looked so beautiful and just a tad shy as she stood and stepped around the chair to face me.
“No longer a little witch,” I murmured, stepping up to her.
She smiled, a quirk of her lips. “On the outside anyway.” She reached up to undo the bow tie knotted at my neck. Though she seemed anxious to undress me, I noticed the slight tremor of her hands, and when I went to help her, she laughed self-consciously. “I feel like a new bride.” She delivered the words with a hint of humor, but her eyes were wide and vulnerable.
“You are. That’s what you are.” My bride. Suddenly I felt on shaky ground too. The air in the room seemed to close around us, so only she and I existed within it.
My hands dropped, and I let her finish removing my tie. Then she tossed it aside and unbuttoned the top two buttons of my shirt. My breath hitched as she leaned in and kissed my throat, her warm, soft lips feathering along my skin. Her tongue darted out to taste me and then she kissed the spot again, leaning back to undo the rest of my buttons. I watched her, her gaze focused on what she was doing with her hands. This woman is mine, I thought, my gaze drinking in the dark shadow her lashes made on her cheeks, the way her lips were slightly parted, the bottom one fuller than the top, the very tiny beauty mark to the side of her right eyebrow, and the exact spot on her cheek where I knew her dimple would appear if she smiled.
“You are so beautiful,” I said reverently.
Her eyes met mine, large and full of wonder, as green as grassy, rolling hills in some misty, mythical land that I’d stumbled upon in a dream. My beautiful little witch—there was magic inside her. Sweet secrets and hidden wells of strength. She could transform what had once been dark into light. I’d never again look at that maze and not think about her walking toward me in the moonlight with a look of love on her face as she reached out her hand.
She brought my jacket down my shoulders and let it fall to the floor, and then did the same with my now-unbuttoned shirt, her palms trailing down my bare biceps. “You are so beautiful,” she said. Her eyes met mine and she loosened the towel wrapped around her and let it drop to the floor. I sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her naked beauty, so lush and sweetly curved. I took her face in my hands and leaned in to kiss her, a moan coming up my throat. I felt weak with wanting, my cock surging fully to life within the tight confines of my pants. I kicked off my shoes as I sucked at her bottom lip, and brought my hands down to undo my belt and then tossed it aside.
We continued kissing as I unbuttoned my pants and let them, along with my boxers, fall to the floor, kicking them both off and bending momentarily to remove my socks. When I, too, stood naked before her, her eyes roamed down my body, stopping on my swollen erection. Her eyes shot to mine, the flush on her cheeks deepening. “Can I touch you?”
“Yes, God yes,” I choked. “I’m yours. Please touch me.” I had waited decades to feel her hands on me. Centuries. Eons. Forever.
She reached down and took my testicles delicately in her palm, testing their weight. A gust of breath emerged as I forced myself to remain still while she explored my body, both exciting and torturing me. I moaned when she gripped my length and slid her hand from base to tip, where she used her thumb to swirl around the head. God, it felt good. “Kira,” I murmured, placing my hand over hers and drawing it away. I wanted this to last.
Her lips parted as she gazed at our linked hands, and I watched her throat move as she swallowed. I brought my thumb to it, wanting to feel every reaction her body had to me. I moved my thumb up and down her neck, slowly for only a moment before I cupped the back of her head and leaned in again to taste her mouth. I shuddered at the feel of her silky smooth skin against my own, relished the feel of her softness melding against my hardness. Giving. Yielding.