Grayson's Vow

I called José and told him I was too sick to work for the first time in the year since I'd been back. I wouldn't have worked that day anyway, as I wouldn't have left Kira alone—but the truth was, I was in no shape to leave the house. I was like an out-of-control animal. I wanted to fuck like a Viking—pillage and tear clothes and sate my throbbing desire over and over and over until the pulsating pain left me limp and finally satisfied. The thought itself seemed ridiculously dramatic, and yet I couldn't think of any other way to explain it, even to myself. I looked away as I wiped cool cloths on Kira's neck and upper chest, shaking to control the urge to roll on top of her and take her, unconscious with fever or not. I had to relieve myself four times alone in the bathroom just to function enough to care for the little witch. No, this was not normal. Had she put some kind of evil spell on me? I felt possessed by a sexually aggressive demon straight from the depths of Hades.

I was on the verge of calling a doctor—or perhaps a priest to perform an exorcism on me—when the symptoms finally began to abate late Sunday afternoon. Mentally exhausted and physically drained—quite literally—I lay down on the bed next to Kira for just a moment. She felt markedly cooler, her breathing smooth and even. The dusky beginnings of twilight filtered in through the edges of the heavy drapes, and the low whir of the ceiling fan lulled me to sleep almost instantly.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Kira

I came awake slowly, feeling as if I was emerging from somewhere deep and dark, the light far, far above. I blinked my eyes, trying to understand where I was, the feel of something warm and solid at my back. Turning groggily, I looked into the staggeringly beautiful face of a sleeping dragon. I tried to piece together what had brought me here and could only remember climbing into bed, practically unable to stand, feeling first like a boulder had fallen on my body and then as if I were being boiled alive. Even now, I felt groggy, my limbs heavy. I had been sick, with a fever, I thought. Visions of Grayson feeding me broth, putting cool cloths on my head and smoothing my hair back came to me in scattered memory. He had cared for me while I was sick. Tenderness flowed through me like a cool drink of water as I gazed at his peaceful male beauty. My mind not fully awake, uninhibited by neither fear, nor rationale, I brought my hand up to his face and moved my thumb down his rough jaw, shadowed with black stubble. This is what it would be like to wake to him. This is what it would be like if he were really mine. He hadn't shaved in a couple days. Had I been here, in this room, for that long?

Grayson's eyes blinked open and he stared at me for several moments, comprehension coming into his sleepy expression. "Hi," he murmured, bringing his hand to my forehead. He sighed as he brought his hand away. "Fever's gone," he said, his expression calm and placid.

"Yes. You took care of me," I whispered. "Thank you." He's kind. The thought came sudden and sure.

We stayed like that, the moment seeming to be caught between sleep and wakefulness, both of us still tangled in the foggy web of dreams. His eyes were so beautiful—as dark as the night sky and just as easy to get lost in. He brought his hand to my cheek and brushed his thumb over my cheekbone. I sighed, leaning into his touch. Suddenly, he blinked at me, his eyes opening fully as if something had just occurred to him. And the spell was broken. He rolled over onto his back, looking almost guilty as he brought his hand to his hair and ran his fingers through it, gripping it at the top of his head. "It was—"

The doorbell interrupted his thought. He sat up. "Walter and Charlotte are still gone. I'll get that." He stood, his jeans and T-shirt wrinkled, his hair in disarray, the dark shadow of stubble making him look even more handsome somehow. He was every inch a man, and I felt my breath hitch in my chest. His dark eyes ran over my body, and again, he looked away almost guiltily. I came up on one elbow.

"You didn't . . . take advantage of my feverish state, did you, dragon?" I raised an eyebrow.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes growing impossibly darker, and said tersely, "No." Then he turned and headed for the door. "Take a hot shower. I brought your suitcase up." I looked to where he nodded his head before he exited the room and indeed, my suitcase and toiletry bag were sitting beneath the window.

I did as Grayson said, taking a long, hot luxurious shower, savoring the feel of the heat raining down on my sore muscles, lathering and washing my skin with my shower gel again and again. It felt heavenly. When I finally emerged, clean and scrubbed, I felt fully awake and human again. After drying my hair and dressing, I went downstairs to find Grayson and get some food. I was ravenous.

Hearing voices from the living room, I walked in that direction, coming to a halt when I saw Kimberly sitting on the couch, Grayson across from her. They were both laughing about something, but stopped when I entered the room. Kimberly let out a small shriek and stood up, running to me and swooping me up into a giant hug.

"What are you doing here?" I asked breathlessly, taking her in, my heart squeezing in delight. She was wearing jean shorts and a flowered tank top, her smooth, olive skin darkened even more from summer sunshine, her small, voluptuous body as perfect as ever. She had her black, curly hair held back in a low ponytail.

"You haven't answered my calls in two days! I was worried. I came to make sure you weren't shackled in a wine cellar being tortured mercilessly." She winked, but then smiled back at Grayson as if it was a joke they’d already shared. They seemed mighty chummy already. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Grayson stood.