Grayson's Vow
Page 20
I finished chewing the bite of toast I'd just taken before answering. "I'm going to do some more cleaning at the cottage first and then I thought I might take a walk around your property if you don't have any objections."
He froze. "The cottage? You can't mean to actually stay there. That was a joke, Kira."
I shrugged. "I don't mind. It's a place of my own—away from you . . . out of your hair, I should say. It'll be like I'm not even here." I offered him a big smile, which he didn't return.
Grayson eyed me for a second, but then casually picked up the magazine. "Suit yourself."
A few minutes later, Grayson excused himself—seeming just a tad less frosty—and went off to work, stating he'd meet me in front of the house at three o'clock. I finished my breakfast and offered to help Charlotte clean up, but when she refused, I asked if I could borrow some cleaning supplies and then returned to my cottage fully armed.
I spent the next four hours cleaning decades of dirt and grime from the small bathroom—most likely a relic from the seventies—scrubbing windows, floors, and even the walls in the bedroom. There was nothing much I could do about the front room given it was filled with gardening equipment, so I simply created a path through the mess and cleared out the worst of the cobwebs. I could close the door to that space and simply live in the two cleaned rooms.
I only took a break to walk to the house and eat a quick lunch, which Charlotte had said would be waiting for me.
When I was finished with the cottage, every muscle in my body ached, but I felt accomplished as I stared around the new spic-and-span rooms. My home for the next couple months. It was far from elegant, although luxury had never brought me true happiness anyway. No, I liked this place because it was my own little space. And it was where I had landed . . . where the path I'd chosen to take had led me.
It had been a warm day, but the cottage was completely shaded by trees, and the temperature had dropped now that it was late afternoon. I squealed when I stepped under the frigid water of the shower and danced in place with discomfort as I speed-washed my hair and body with the toiletries I'd brought with me. I had forgotten to ask Charlotte for towels—maybe I'd go buy a few to have my own—so I dried off with a T-shirt and pulled on clean clothes. Thankfully, the blow-dryer warmed me as I used it to dry my hair. Not bothering to put my long hair up, I left it hanging down my back.
Outside, the sky was a peaceful baby blue with a scattering of white, gauzy clouds. I stood admiring the rolling hills of grapevines again. I didn't know much about the winemaking process, but I hoped to learn. Not that I'd be here very long, but it was interesting to me in general—an age-old practice holding so much tradition. I strolled behind the house, just meaning to get an up-close look at the maze. When I was standing in front of the huge natural structure, I saw that the entrance wasn't closed off in any way so I ventured inside, walking cautiously, only intending on turning a corner or two. It was terribly overgrown, the pathways far more narrow than they should have been, the ground patchy with weeds and grass, but it was magnificent. And it was at least fifteen degrees cooler in here. If I could be assured I could find my way out, I'd stroll through it endlessly. I wondered if there was anything in the center. Why ever would Grayson want to tear something so special down? It was a travesty. I hoped he would change his mind once he had the funds to maintain it.
Turning around before I became hopelessly lost, I began walking down the small hill toward a large stone structure I assumed was where the wine was made and stored. There were several tractors and trucks parked in front of it, and I could hear equipment operating inside.
As I got closer, I noticed a couple men standing next to a tractor close to the building, a pair of muscular thighs on the ground under it. One of the men called a greeting, and I waved back. The man underneath the tractor scooted out and stood. Grayson. My heart stalled. He was shirtless. He came to his full height and waited for me to walk the short distance to them. I had already noticed he was powerfully built in perfect male proportions, but the sight of his wide shoulders, rippling chest muscles, and flat, ridged stomach made my breath catch and my cheeks flush. God, he was beautiful everywhere, broad but lean, his smooth, tanned skin glistening under the sun. He was a study in masculinity, and I couldn't help the way my body instinctively responded to him, the muscles in my stomach flipping and clenching. Damn dragon.
Grayson took off the baseball cap he was wearing, smoothed his hair back, and then replaced it that way men do. I made an effort to shake off his effect and smiled brightly. He introduced the two men with him, a Hispanic man with a small mustache who wasn't much taller than me named José, and a giant of a man with a shy smile named Virgil. I greeted them both and nodded to Grayson who nodded back.
"Tractor broken?" I asked.
"No," Grayson answered. "But it's one of the only things that isn't. I was just giving it a tune-up, ensuring it's ready for the harvest."
"Well, you do it all, don't you?" I smiled. "No wonder you work from sunup to sundown."
"Have to. As you can see, my staff is pretty limited." He nodded to José and Virgil.
The man named Virgil, who I suspected was mentally delayed, stepped forward. "I'm real happy to meet you, ma'am. Mr. Grayson says he might be marrying you, and I think that's real fine. He says he can't figure whether you're a spoiled princess or a little witch, but I think if you are a witch, it's the good kind ’cuz you sure are pretty." He blushed and looked down. At his words, I bristled, and smiled tightly at Grayson, who had the grace to look just a tad embarrassed. José coughed slightly, obviously trying to hold back a laugh.
He froze. "The cottage? You can't mean to actually stay there. That was a joke, Kira."
I shrugged. "I don't mind. It's a place of my own—away from you . . . out of your hair, I should say. It'll be like I'm not even here." I offered him a big smile, which he didn't return.
Grayson eyed me for a second, but then casually picked up the magazine. "Suit yourself."
A few minutes later, Grayson excused himself—seeming just a tad less frosty—and went off to work, stating he'd meet me in front of the house at three o'clock. I finished my breakfast and offered to help Charlotte clean up, but when she refused, I asked if I could borrow some cleaning supplies and then returned to my cottage fully armed.
I spent the next four hours cleaning decades of dirt and grime from the small bathroom—most likely a relic from the seventies—scrubbing windows, floors, and even the walls in the bedroom. There was nothing much I could do about the front room given it was filled with gardening equipment, so I simply created a path through the mess and cleared out the worst of the cobwebs. I could close the door to that space and simply live in the two cleaned rooms.
I only took a break to walk to the house and eat a quick lunch, which Charlotte had said would be waiting for me.
When I was finished with the cottage, every muscle in my body ached, but I felt accomplished as I stared around the new spic-and-span rooms. My home for the next couple months. It was far from elegant, although luxury had never brought me true happiness anyway. No, I liked this place because it was my own little space. And it was where I had landed . . . where the path I'd chosen to take had led me.
It had been a warm day, but the cottage was completely shaded by trees, and the temperature had dropped now that it was late afternoon. I squealed when I stepped under the frigid water of the shower and danced in place with discomfort as I speed-washed my hair and body with the toiletries I'd brought with me. I had forgotten to ask Charlotte for towels—maybe I'd go buy a few to have my own—so I dried off with a T-shirt and pulled on clean clothes. Thankfully, the blow-dryer warmed me as I used it to dry my hair. Not bothering to put my long hair up, I left it hanging down my back.
Outside, the sky was a peaceful baby blue with a scattering of white, gauzy clouds. I stood admiring the rolling hills of grapevines again. I didn't know much about the winemaking process, but I hoped to learn. Not that I'd be here very long, but it was interesting to me in general—an age-old practice holding so much tradition. I strolled behind the house, just meaning to get an up-close look at the maze. When I was standing in front of the huge natural structure, I saw that the entrance wasn't closed off in any way so I ventured inside, walking cautiously, only intending on turning a corner or two. It was terribly overgrown, the pathways far more narrow than they should have been, the ground patchy with weeds and grass, but it was magnificent. And it was at least fifteen degrees cooler in here. If I could be assured I could find my way out, I'd stroll through it endlessly. I wondered if there was anything in the center. Why ever would Grayson want to tear something so special down? It was a travesty. I hoped he would change his mind once he had the funds to maintain it.
Turning around before I became hopelessly lost, I began walking down the small hill toward a large stone structure I assumed was where the wine was made and stored. There were several tractors and trucks parked in front of it, and I could hear equipment operating inside.
As I got closer, I noticed a couple men standing next to a tractor close to the building, a pair of muscular thighs on the ground under it. One of the men called a greeting, and I waved back. The man underneath the tractor scooted out and stood. Grayson. My heart stalled. He was shirtless. He came to his full height and waited for me to walk the short distance to them. I had already noticed he was powerfully built in perfect male proportions, but the sight of his wide shoulders, rippling chest muscles, and flat, ridged stomach made my breath catch and my cheeks flush. God, he was beautiful everywhere, broad but lean, his smooth, tanned skin glistening under the sun. He was a study in masculinity, and I couldn't help the way my body instinctively responded to him, the muscles in my stomach flipping and clenching. Damn dragon.
Grayson took off the baseball cap he was wearing, smoothed his hair back, and then replaced it that way men do. I made an effort to shake off his effect and smiled brightly. He introduced the two men with him, a Hispanic man with a small mustache who wasn't much taller than me named José, and a giant of a man with a shy smile named Virgil. I greeted them both and nodded to Grayson who nodded back.
"Tractor broken?" I asked.
"No," Grayson answered. "But it's one of the only things that isn't. I was just giving it a tune-up, ensuring it's ready for the harvest."
"Well, you do it all, don't you?" I smiled. "No wonder you work from sunup to sundown."
"Have to. As you can see, my staff is pretty limited." He nodded to José and Virgil.
The man named Virgil, who I suspected was mentally delayed, stepped forward. "I'm real happy to meet you, ma'am. Mr. Grayson says he might be marrying you, and I think that's real fine. He says he can't figure whether you're a spoiled princess or a little witch, but I think if you are a witch, it's the good kind ’cuz you sure are pretty." He blushed and looked down. At his words, I bristled, and smiled tightly at Grayson, who had the grace to look just a tad embarrassed. José coughed slightly, obviously trying to hold back a laugh.
