Forbidden Fate (Crowne Point 3)

Grayson pulled my ring finger up to his mouth, sliding it between his lips, biting until my gasp steamed the cold air.

We stared into each other’s eyes. “Should we seal this marriage with a secret?” I joked.

He rubbed the new bruise on my finger. “I think this marriage is the secret, Snitch.”

I took a breath of cold air.

It felt…monumental. Like something that should have always been just locked into place.

“In whoever’s eyes count… you’re mine,” Grayson said. “You’re Mrs. Grayson Crowne. If I were shackled to a marriage, in prison, in hell, it would always be you, Story.”

“It would always be you, Grayson.”

Sixty-One

STORY

* * *

“Mrs. Grayson Crowne.”

I smiled into my shoulder. Grayson hadn’t stopped saying it, not after leaving the dovecote, not even now that we were back in his wing, in his bathroom as he insisted I take a bath to warm up.

Grayson dragged his thumb across my bottom lip. “Don’t hide that from me.”

He rubbed my lower lip, eyes never leaving mine. His lip quirked, like he knew exactly when his soft touch made my thighs hot, my gut ache.

I swallowed, put my elbows on the edge of his bathtub as he trailed his hand down my spine. “I always wondered what it would be like to put my elbows here and overlook the beach.” Outside, the snow fell in soft flakes. “I love Christmas…The snow on the beach is so magical.”

Will I still love Christmas when I’m shackled by it? Forced to return for the Holidays like Josephine, silent as the snow.

“What happened?” Grayson asked with a soft grit. “Where did you go in your head?”

Grayson’s touching was constant. Like he wanted to feel all of me. The lobe of my ear. The curve of my jaw. My shoulder.

We had this one night together. Just this one. I thought Grayson would be urgent and pressing, but his touches were slow and careful, as if we had centuries for him to explore me.

They stoked the fire in me.

“I’m thinking about the future.”

He paused, then got down until his lips were at my neck.

“This room wasn’t right without you,” he said softly. “I felt like I was living with a ghost, but it was just you. Your memories.” He kissed the hollow between my ear and neck. “Mrs. Grayson Crowne.”

“I like hearing it. I like…being Mrs. Grayson Crowne.”

A low sound of need vibrated in his throat, and he yanked me out of the tub, onto his lap, before I could make a sound. Water fell every

where, soaking his clothes, as he kissed me. He grabbed a towel, covering me.

He paused. “Why the tears, little nun?”

I swiped my cheeks, feeling caught. I didn’t want to ruin this moment, these few special hours.

“I’m fine.”

“Story.” His voice was an iron warning.