Grayson's Surrender (Wingmen Warriors 1)

Magda eyed the door as if encouraging him to use it, now.

"No can do, kiddo," Gray muttered. "I'm planning to hang out for a while."

Lori turned. "What?"

"Nothing. I'll put this in her room while you show her around."

"Sure. Thanks."

Gray found himself walking faster to Magda's room. He placed the miniature suitcase by the dollhouse, then shifted restlessly from foot to foot while he waited. He'd brought them home. Shouldn't he be itching to leave?

But he wanted to be there when she saw the Barbie house. He wanted to find out if she would squeal like his niece Jessica or dance around the room like his nephew Trey.

He wanted to discover if Lori sang bedtime songs like his mom did. His father had sung along, too, before he'd left for Vietnam. Funny how he'd forgotten that. Of course, his younger brother and sister wouldn't remember at all. Gray shrugged off the kink in his neck along with the memories that had put it there and focused on Lori.

Nothing wrong with pitching in during the transition, just like he'd planned. The more he helped Lori bond with Magda, the easier it would be when he left Charleston

A childish cough sounded from the hall. Gray turned and found Lori silhouetted in the doorway, Magda's hand clutched in hers. Chocolate and cookie crumbs stained the corner of Magda's mouth.

She stared at the dollhouse with wide eyes. She glanced at Gray standing beside it, and her mouth quirked to the side. Wanna get outta my way, big guy?

Lori urged her forward. "Come on, Magda. It's yours." Her cocoa-colored eyes darted to the Big Wheel parked in the corner as if considering it for an alternative, given its distance from Gray. Then her gaze skated right back to the house.

Taking pity on the kid, Gray stepped away and sat on the edge of the bed. Magda let go of Lori's hand and sprinted forward, Lori strolling behind. The little girl dropped cross-legged in front of the house and pulled one doll after another from the basket.

Hands clasped loosely between his knees, Gray watched. Couldn't stop. He'd built the house that made her happy. Her tiny smile brought a rush that rivaled the first time he'd mastered a barrel roll in pilot training.

Magda lined up her dolls on the floor, a cough rumbling in her chest. Lori sat on the floor and pulled Magda onto her lap. Magda smiled up at her, pressed two fingers to her lips and gestured forward.

"You're welcome," Lori said to Magda, then grinned at Gray. "That was sign language for thank-you. When I visited her in the hospital, I taught her some basic signs. There's a whole movement out there for teaching sign language to babies. It's supposed to lessen their frustration until they can talk in formalized language. The same premise works with international children who don't speak English language yet. She's picking it up so quickly. I think she's really smart."

Gray stifled a grin at Lori's maternal pride, predictable and sweet. "I'm sure she is."

Lori licked her thumb and reached to swipe cookie crumbs from Magda's cheek. "I should have offered her something healthier like a cheese stick or an apple, but I just wanted everything to be perfect for her.">He dropped a kiss onto her forehead, once, twice, and stepped back. "I'll see you in two days when Magda's ready to be discharged from the hospital."

Gray turned toward the door. Lori watched him walk away and knew nothing would stop him this time.

As if to taunt her with the possibility she might be wrong, he paused. "And, Lori?"

"What?"

"Please wear a shirt."

Gray pulled the door closed behind him. He sagged against the porch rail, hands braced on his knees, and struggled for air. His heart jackhammered against his ribs.

Lord have mercy, that woman knew how to make her point.

His throbbing body screamed at him to go back inside and take what she offered, consequences be damned. The wall between them did nothing to block the vision of her wearing just a silk bra and miles of whiskey-brown hair.

Her small but firm br**sts had always fitted perfectly into his hands, just as her body fitted perfectly against his. After a year apart, he hadn't found any woman who came close to knocking him flat the way she did with one smoky-eyed look.

He'd searched, determined to get over her, but ultimately turned down any and every invitation.

Gray straightened and stared at the closed door. He shoved away from the rail, toward the door and reached for the knob.

Carved wooden letters spelling out Welcome mocked him from the twist of homey daisies arching over the door.

Damn.