“Apparently, you do not find that funny. Fair enough. I need a shirt to sleep in.” I explain about my luggage being lost.
His broad shoulders, always held at attention like he was once in the military, drop on a sigh. He turns back the way he came and calls softly over his shoulder. “Come on.”
I follow Grey down one of the many hallways in this manor—the place is a maze. We reach a wooden door almost identical to mine.
“Be right back.” He goes inside.
“I’ll wait right here then,” I say to the door as it closes inches from my nose.
Note to self: instruct Grumpy-pants, er, Grumpy-shirt, about accessway customs.
When Grey returns, a moment later, he passes me a T-shirt. “This okay?”
Like a little weirdo, I bring it to my nose and inhale.
“What are you?—?”
Inhaling his fresh split wood scent was a mistake because my voice gets all raspy when I say, “Just making sure it’s clean.”
“I wouldn’t give you a dirty shirt. I’m not some kind of caveman.”
“Could have fooled me,” I say with a smile.
The comment prompts the vision of Grey doing domestic, normal, and everyday things, which is at odds with his Viking appearance. And, not going to lie, it’s hot, like this oven is on the fritz hot. The heat from the pair of ovens occupying my cheeks travels through the rest of my body.
“You good?” he asks.
“Oh yeah, great. Just...baking, thinking.” A sigh spills out of me as I look dreamily into the distance.
“I should be sleeping.”
“Mmhmm. Me too.” But gazing up at Grey, backlit by the soft light in his room, I have a feeling I’ll be dreaming of a domestic Viking, who, after splitting wood, comes in and sorts his mixed colors warrior-wear for the washing tub.
Leaning in the doorway with his arms folded, he says, “Night.”
But gazes locked, neither one of us moves. I’m recalling the light streaming through the windows in the courthouse. The smudge on the wedding officiant’s eyeglasses. Grey’s heavy hands in mine and the exact moment when I met his eyes.
Much like now, our gazes hold as if we’re both asking whether we are actually going through with the marriage of convenience. And much like now, neither one of us backs away.
When the words,You may kiss, met my ears, there was no question.
Grey and I are physically in a similar position now, facing each other. All I’d have to do is lift onto my tiptoes. He’d close the space between us. Our lips would press together in less than a breath.
It’s like we both dance with desire, temptation, and the lingering memory of the kissituation.
But neither of us makes a move in any direction. The building creaks, snapping me out of my trance. The corner of my lip lifts when I see just how heavy Grey’s eyes are, focused on me, no doubt mirroring my thoughts.
Or it could be jet lag.
At last, when I turn to leave, I expect to hear the door close, but he remains there, watching me walk away.
Over my shoulder, I say, “Sweet dreams, Viking.”
11
EVERLY
Despite the settling sounds the manor makes, which are decidedly unsettling—I’m pretty sure a house can’t crack its knuckles, which is exactly what I hear as I try to fall asleep. I toss and turn in bed.
