Who the hell was she?
Grayson watched her over the rim of his cup, his expression softening in a way that told her she was in big, BIG trouble.
“I was going to grab a shower before we head back to the fairgrounds,” he said. “You want to go first?”
She shook her head, lifting the coffee cup again. “No, you go ahead. I’ll stay here and continue questioning my life choices.”
He chuckled, then grabbed clean clothes from his duffel before walking to the bathroom and shutting the door.
Wren thought she should feel more relaxed with him out of the room proper, but when she heard the shower start, all she could think about was how he was naked and wet right on the other side of that wall. Water sliding down his broad shoulders. Strong hands raking through wet hair. Soap gliding across that gorgeous chest.
Awesome.
Just what she needed.
Her entire body reacted to the thought, as a simmering heat burned low in her stomach. All her girlie bits woke up at the same damn time.
What the hell was this man doing to her?
Twenty minutes later, Wren was still in the same damn place—she really needed to get out of bed—when Grayson emerged from the bathroom.
Twenty minutes spent lying to herself, pretending she wasn’t wildly attracted to him.
Those lies became even harder when he stepped back into the bedroom.
His damp hair was pushed back from his face, a couple tiny drops of water still clinging to his neatly trimmed beard. He wore dark jeans and a fitted black Henley with the tiny Lightning in a Bottle logo emblazoned on the left-hand side. The shirt stretched across his muscular chest in a way that should have been illegal before eight in the morning.
You’re Lark. You’re Lark.
She began repeating those two words like a mantra, letting them sink in deep. She needed the reminder to cool her panic and her desire.
Distance, she decided, was the best answer.
She would simply keep her distance from him as much as possible.
So with that in mind, she excused herself to take her own shower, stalling in the bathroom until it was time for them to head back to the festival.
Which was where it became a hell of a lot harder to keep her distance.
The place was buzzing with energy by midmorning. Music played while festivalgoers packed the pathways between booths, laughing and weaving their way through the crowds with glasses of wine in hand.
Normally, dealing with this many people would exhaust her, but somehow, with Grayson, it felt easy. She’d noticed the same thing yesterday. He had a casual, quiet way of drawing people in naturally. He didn’t need to talk loudly or be overly animated or tell a bunch of funny jokes or stories, all the techniques Lark employed. The ones she was supposed to be mimicking.
Ha ha.
She figured she was managing to hit about thirty percent on the Lark personality scale, yet that seemed to be enough for Grayson.
Lark said she didn’t know him that well, so perhaps that was it. Or maybe Grayson thought she was toning herself down for his benefit on this trip. If he did think that, then it was clear he didn’t know Lark at all, since she only had one level and it was balls-to-the-wall frenetic energy.
Watching Grayson work was fascinating. He smiled more than she expected, given Lark’s grumpy complaints. Women blatantly flirted with him while pretending to ask about wine pairings, and he handled every interaction with a quiet charm she found endearing. Even if she was tempted to tell the more forward women to take a big step back.
Jesus. Was she jealous?
If so, that was a first for her.
She was going to have to call Sophie as soon as she got home to see if she could schedule an emergency session. Though she wasn’t sure her therapist would consider her kissing a man a 9-1-1 sort of situation. Although, given Wren’s history, she might.
Wren turned at the sound of someone clearing their throat, aware she’d been staring at Grayson for a full five minutes, admiring just how incredibly sexy he was. She forgot she was supposed to be selling wine too.
