He snorts. “Didn’t want to follow in her footsteps instead of your father’s?”
I turn away to look out the window as we approach the harbor’s parking garage. I glance at the aquarium and frown. “No. She left me two days after I was born. I’ve only ever seen one photo of her. Hers isn’t a legacy I want to pass on.”
I glance at Grayson. He’s staring at me. His throat works a swallow, and he pinches his lips together.
“Plus,” I add. “Summer is the best mom. She’s always taken me under her wing.”
Grayson pulls through the garage entrance and takes a ticket from the automatic dispenser. He climbs several levels before finding a spot. When he parks, he shuts off the car and lets out a sigh. “My family lives in Cambridge.”
My mouth parts, a soft “oh” forming silently as I nod. “Do you head across the river a lot then?”
“No.”
Okay?
Grayson leans over the center console, his forearm stretching toward the glove box. The sleeve of his black coat slides up to expose the ink wrapped around his wrist and extending along his forearm. Several veins run taut, corded beneath his skin, and his muscles flex as he pops open the compartment and pulls out a Glock. The gun and his hand brush my thigh as he retracts, and I shift in my seat, clearing my throat.
“I can’t give you this, but I’m adding it to my holster with my weapon. If we end up in trouble, I won’t leave you out to dry,” he says, checking the magazine and loading the chamber. He lifts his hips, the badge and other gun on his waistband appearing, and I chew my bottom lip as he holsters the backup.
Flip. “I, uh—That’s okay. I got my own.”
He whips his head in my direction and scans my body, slow enough that goose bumps prick the back of my neck.
“It’s on me. That’s all you need to know,” I say.
He gives me a curt nod, then scrambles out his door.
I let out a shaky breath and open mine, stepping out onto the oil-stained garage concrete. Grayson’s halfway to the steps.
“Elevator’s this way,” I yell, my words echoing in the garage.
He doesn’t turn to acknowledge me. “Not my fault you wore heels.” Then he disappears down the first flight.
“Damn it.” I scurry after him. When I finally catch up, we’ve got two more flights to go. “I can walk in heels just fine, but all this concrete will ruin the leather.”
“You should buy cheaper shoes.” He runs a hand through his hair, and a breeze through the stairwell tugs a piece loose. It falls over his eyes.
My foot slips. One second I’m stepping down, the next there’s nothing.
A sickening rush causes my arms to flail, and then … an arm locks around my waist, and another hand braces across my back. I’m pulled up, and my feet find the step I’d missed. My breath hitches when I look over to find his gray eyes scrutinizing my face. He eases away, but his fingers brush over my ribs, and despite this thick jacket, I feel his touch all the same.
“Walk in heels just fine, huh?” He releases me, and I tug my jacket down.
“Yeah, well, you can’t truly appreciate the effort it takes unless you try it.” I grin, hoping to trick my thundering heartbeat.
“Let’s go,” he says.
I roll my eyes and follow, taking extra care to watch each step and pay attention to where I’m walking. As we near the harbor, I take in the Harbor Hotel’s towering Christmas tree, glowing with golden lights and red-ball ornaments, while festive green wreaths frame the façade and entrance. Closer to the marina, several vendors serve mulled cider, the spices filling the air along with the salty harbor breeze.
“Know where to start?” Grayson asks.
“The marina on the North End. Yacht Haven will be the place bigger vessels and mega-yachts stay. It’s where my dad always had his.”
“Not there anymore?”
“He and Summer are in Europe for a few years. He asked if I wanted to keep it, but I’m more of an on-land person.” I shrug. “Didn’t feel right to keep it without him here, so he sold it.”
“That’s sad.”
