Even if it wasn’t meant for me, I’m the only one who knows his truth.
It makes me want him more. It makes me want it more. All the things I don’t deserve, all the things that aren’t mine, what I promised to fix and give back to his real love.
“You breathe like fucking Hannibal when you stare,” Grayson said, stretching his long, lean arms over his head.
He opened his eyes, and then I couldn’t hear over the blood in my ears.
A smile quirked his lips.
It hurt. It physically hurt how much I wanted to keep this.
His gaze lifted over me. “Hey, Woodsy.”
My brows knitted, still embraced in the morning. Woodsy?
“Mr. Crowne.” My uncle’s voice shattered everything.
I couldn’t turn over.
Torn.
Torn between the fact that I’d slept all night in Grayson’s bed. He hadn’t made me get on the floor. He hadn’t kicked me out in the morning.
Torn between loving that and the all-out terrifying, perilous fear that was my uncle finding us in bed.
“I see you’re getting close with my niece.”
GRAY
* * *
A few moments passed, and I studied Snitch to see if what he’d said was true.
It was crazy.
Ridiculous.
She wasn’t his fucking niece. I would know. I would know. But the look on her face, the abject shame and sorrow, told me the truth.
I jumped out of bed. Scrambled. The sheets wrapped around my ankles, and I nearly fell over.
“Niece?” My voice lifted with my shock, my fucking horror.
The girl I’d had on her knees.
The only girl I’d put in my bed…
Was Woodsy’s niece.
I was gonna throw up.
“I am particularly fond of her,” Woodsy said, then looked at his watch. “I must finish.” He shot us another look and headed up to the second floor.
“Hey, Woodsy!” I chased after the old man, almost tripping over my feet, ignoring the walnut eyes on my back. He acted like he couldn’t hear me. “Stop, hold up.” He kept walking, so I sprinted, cutting him off halfway down the stairs.
“Oh, Mr. Grayson, I didn’t hear you.” He tapped his hearing aid. “Must be on the fritz again.”
Uh-huh, sure.