GRAYSON

Lisa Eugene

Dedication

This book is dedicated to those who struggle each day with mental illness, those whose cries are often silent. You should be heard.

Special thanks to Kristina Taylor, Sheree Beans, Sarah Mendez, The Smexettes for their support, and Daisy from blimeyifancyreading.com for wanting more Grayson and inspiring me to write chapter twelve just when I thought I was all done!

CHAPTER ONE

Looking around the busy street on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, I double checked the address and walked into the sumptuous lobby of the posh high-rise. I pulled the flyer out of my bag and unfolded it. Reading the bold scrawl racing across the page, I twisted my lips thoughtfully.

Looking for someone to clean out old house.

A few hours a week.

Must be organized and methodical.

Will pay cash.

Admittedly, it was the last sentence that had roped me in. My portion of the rent was due in a week and a half and I was seriously short. Buying my last round of text books had left me practically broke.

The building was off campus and I wondered again who’d pinned the notice to the student bulletin board. The board was mainly utilized by students for posting odd jobs around the university campus, offering tutoring services, or selling used books. I glanced down at my worn jeans and thin T-shirt as people walked by me dressed in designer suits that probably cost more than I made last year.

The doorman announced me and I nervously walked toward the elevator bank. The mirrored doors mocked my non-compliant hair, causing my lips to purse in a frown. Pawing my fingers through my long dark waves, I tried to create order out of chaos. My brown eyes stared back at me, hopeful but anxious. In no time, I was whisked to the top floor and approached a sleek silver door. Straightening my T-shirt and the messenger bag slashing across my chest, I took a deep breath to bolster my courage.

Had I known that I was coming to this luxury building, I wouldn’t have come looking like something the cat reluctantly dragged in. I would have dressed considerably better. But from the phone interview it seemed as though this was going to be a casual meeting. I whispered a quick prayer and took another deep breath. God, I needed this job!

My gaze landed on my well-worn sneakers and ripped jeans, and then I scanned the richly appointed hall with its damask textured wall paper and carpet that felt like quicksand. I was fucked!

The door pulled open and a boy stood in front of me. Well, not a boy really, more like a young man with a very boyish face. With his sun-streaked blonde hair and deep blue eyes, he looked like a fresh preppy face you’d see in a Polo ad. He was shirtless, revealing a slightly muscled torso. My younger sister would be falling all over herself if she saw him. He was just the type she liked. Handsome. Blonde. Rich.

A slow smile pulled his lips as his gaze traveled over my face, then stroked boldly down my body, and back to my face again. After a minute or so, when it appeared that he’d forgotten his manners, I stretched out a hand and introduced myself, looking behind him to find the person who’d be interviewing me.

“Ah… ah, sorry. I’m Charles,” the young man said, pumping my hand and pulling the door open further to allow me to pass.

I smiled politely and stepped in, still feeling a little skeeved from his brazen perusal. The apartment was magnificent. From what I could see, it had high vaulted ceilings and my eyes hurt from the glare of the marble that was ubiquitous. This was an impressive home—if you could ignore the clothes and debris strewn everywhere. It looked as if a hurricane had swirled through the room and spewed shit everywhere. It was a Park Avenue pig sty.

“I hope you found it okay?” Charles said, swooping down to grab a shirt off the floor.

“Yes, no prob.” I watched him pull it over his head and rake a hand through his blonde waves.

I wondered if the doorman had awoken him. From the appearance of the apartment, I’d bet there’d been a wild party recently.

“I’m here for the interview,” I nudged when his gaze dropped and lingered on my breasts.

“Yes. Ah, yes.” He smiled brightly, but stayed rooted in his spot.

“The interview for the cleaning position…” I prodded, getting annoyed now. “I’m meeting with Mr. Whitmore.”

His smile broadened and he squared his shoulders. “I’m Mr. Whitmore.”

I couldn’t stop my brows from jerking up. Seriously?

He laughed, noticing my expression.

“Please, have a seat.” He indicated a couch at the far end of the room where large windows overlooked Central Park.

I had to remove several beer bottles and items of wrinkled clothing in order to clear a spot on the couch for me to sit. He chuckled apologetically, but I had trouble sharing his humor. There was a lace thong hanging off the other end of the sofa that I wasn’t going anywhere near. I just hoped that nothing jumping off of it could reach me.

“Sorry. We had midterms yesterday,” he said by way of explanation, his gaze following mine.

I nodded, noting his pale skin starting to redden. My own midterms were coming up, so I understood the need to celebrate when that monkey finally jumped off your back. Somehow though, my celebrations never involved mysterious couch stains, broken beer bottles, or dirty underwear.

“Jack, my family’s attorney, was who you spoke with over the phone,” he explained, pulling me from my thoughts. “This is just a formality to get my final approval, but you’ve basically got the job. You just have to prove to me that you’re the right person.”

“Prove to you?” I said slowly, my spine tensing at the way he’d intoned the words.

His eyes rounded with sudden embarrassment. His gaze dropped to my breasts, then darted quickly down to his hands. “Uh…I mean, I didn’t mean…”

I watched more red splash across his cheeks. Was he blushing again? I’d thought he was in his early twenties, but now looking at him, I didn’t think he could be more than eighteen or nineteen. He was probably in his second year of undergrad. He seemed a bit too self-assured to be a first year. I was an old hag compared to him. I was twenty-four and busting my ass through my first year of grad school.

Deciding to put him out of his misery, I started relaying my qualifications. Despite his apparent fascination with my breasts, he seemed like a sweet kid.

“I’ve been a Registered Nurse for over two years. As a nurse I have to be very organized with the duties I perform during my shift. I multitask well and am great at prioritizing. I also worked part time at the student library last year when it reopened. I spent a semester helping to organize and archive old books.”

He listened with seemingly rapt interest, smiling broadly. I wondered if he’d heard a word I said. He appeared preoccupied with studying my face. His gaze trekked over my countenance, making a deliberate pit stop at my lips. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore him. I toyed with telling him I’d worked as a CIA operative just to see if he’d been paying attention, and then ditched the idea. I really needed this job. Instead, I tried some light humor.

“I’m somewhat of a neat freak. I clean constantly. It drives my roommate nuts! I have to admit that I’m a lint picker, a crumb brusher, a fur ball finder, a…a…”

“Dirt destroyer?” He supplied with a grin.

“Yes!” I snapped my fingers, grinning back at him. “I’ll have to remember that one. Just give me a cape and a broom, and I’m ready to conquer messes everywhere.”

“Well, say no more. You’ve got the job.”

Although I’d already guessed that I had it, I couldn’t help the spark of happiness that ignited inside me. I looked around at the carnage, trying not to wince. I wondered where I’d even begin. I spotted a partially eaten pizza pie sticking out from under a couch topped with pepperoni and discarded condoms. Eew! I hoped to God he had gloves. Maybe a hazmat suit.

“This place could use a bit of tidying up,” I joked.

“A bit,” he mumbled, looking sheepish. “The cleaning crew will be coming later. Don’t worry. This is not where you’ll be working. It’ll be at the house where I grew up. Not far from here.”

Thank the holy mother of mercies! That’s right. The ad had said ‘someone to clean out old house’. I wondered about that. It must be one of the townhouses in the area. The prestigious neighborhoods around Central Park were lined with them. He’d obviously come from a wealthy family.

“How old are you?” Charles asked abruptly.

The question came out of nowhere, and I turned to see him regarding me curiously.

“Don’t you know that it’s illegal to ask that on a job interview?” I shot back, half teasing. I couldn’t help it. I’d normally not be so glib on an interview, but this was no normal interview. Plus, I was becoming annoyed by his blatant scrutiny.

He tilted his head and his gaze traveled over my face. “I can easily find out from the application you filled out and sent in to Jack.”

“Yes, you could,” I said, standing. I really didn’t wish to discuss anything personal. Hopefully, he’d get the point. “When would you expect me to start?”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully, but something like a smile flashed in his eyes. “Tomorrow. We can meet there and go over a few things.”

I hadn’t expected to start right away, but figured the sooner I started, the sooner I’d be making money. I nodded and he shuffled through piles of refuse on a nearby table and found a broken pencil. He ripped a piece of cardboard off of a pizza box, scribbled an address and time on it, and then handed it to me. There was still mozzarella cheese stuck to it.

“Very nice meeting you, Mr. Whitmore.” I said, walking toward the door and pulling it open.

“Call me Charles.” He smiled, a touch of shyness shielding his face. He lifted his blonde lashes. “Twenty-two? Twenty-three?”

Out in the hall now, I turned back to face him, irritated that he wasn’t dropping it. “Let’s just say that I was probably already in school while you were still in diapers.”

Challenge swirled in his smiling blue eyes. “They say there’s a lot to be learned from an older woman.”

“I wasn’t aware that this was a teaching position,” I returned seriously. “I don’t teach, or anything else. I clean. Is that clear?”

Another blush, reminding me of why I never dated younger men. His face sobered. “Yes. Clear.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Whitmore.”

It was a beautiful early spring day in the city. A crisp breeze tickled my cheek and rooted under my thin jacket. I stood in front of the tall wrought iron fence that barricaded the stately brownstone and secluded it from pedestrians milling on the sidewalk. I could see the facade from where I stood and it was an impressive structure. Set back from the street, it was beautifully ornate and surrounded by a small patch of green. A refreshing visage in this city of concrete and stone.

My cell phone buzzed and I dug it out of my bag, wondering if it was Mr. Whitmore calling to apologize for being late. It was already forty-five minutes past our designated meeting time. Had I known that I’d have all this idle time on my hands, I would’ve brought my sketch book. I loved to sketch. It relaxed me. Or better yet, I would’ve brought my text books so I could squeeze in some study time.

I saw a text from my sister, Anna, and sighed.

Remember to get a pic for me!!!

I scolded myself again for having told her about Mr. Whitmore. She’d been relentless with questions about him since I told her about my new job.

No way!!!! I added the extra exclamation marks for emphasis. Anna was prolific with this form of punctuation. As in real life, she was outrageously dramatic. She played center stage and the world was her supporting cast. Hopefully she’d get my point.

Pleeeease!!!

No!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Just pretend yr takn a selfie n get him in the backgrnd! I can photoshop you out!

Thanks

Why not? U said he was hot!

I never said ‘HOT’ He’s like 12

I googled him. He’s 19

In man years 19 is 12. If you googled him, you know what he looks like.

He’s hot, but I want a real pic! Just get it!!!!

No.

He’s filthy rich! Single! Family in banking!

So?

Parents died in a car accident!

So?

All alone. Poor thing. Needs comforting!!

I rolled my eyes. From the items I’d seen in his apartment yesterday, it looked as though he already got plenty of comforting.

No.

Pleeeease!!!

Thankfully, my phone started ringing.

Gotta go. I texted, then answered the call.

“Hey, babe,” a deep, lazy voice came through the phone.

I swore softly, guilt immediately washing over me. It was Mark, a guy I’d gone on a few dates with. He’d left me several messages after our third date two nights ago and I hadn’t had a chance to return his calls. I’d been so busy with work and studying that I’d completely forgot them. He’d taken me to a movie and we’d enjoyed each other’s company. Mark was a nice guy, a thirty-year old trader I’d met at a party a few weeks back. I didn’t date much. With work and school, I found I just didn’t have the time, and the men I met on campus barely stirred my interest.

“Well, did you get it?”

“What?”

“The job. You had an interview, right?”

I smiled. It was nice that he’d remembered. “Yes. In fact, I’m starting today.”

“That’s great. Congrats,”

I tucked loose strands of hair behind my ears. “I’m sorry I haven’t gotten a chance to call you back. It’s been crazy.”

“No worries. You can make it up to me on Friday.”

“Friday?” I questioned, watching a white Bentley pull up to the curb.

“Yes, I’d love to see you again.”

Mr. Whitmore’s head appeared in the window and he waved energetically. A Bentley with a driver? Seriously? My lips quirked. He lived three blocks away. With cross town traffic he could have walked here faster than it would have taken to drive. My grandmother would have beaten the car here.

“Um…”

“Are we on? I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“I really should study.” I hesitated, distracted as I watched Mr. Whitmore exit the Bentley.

“Can’t I steal you away for just an hour or so?”

“Um…okay. Fine. But I’m working till eight. So it’ll have to be late. I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”

I hung up quickly and watched as Mr. Whitmore approached. He was dressed in loose faded denims that hung low on his narrow hips and another T-shirt. He looked disheveled, as if he’d just crawled out of bed. Not sexy disheveled. Just sloppy. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of designer sunglasses.

“Angie!” he greeted me with a big smile as if I was an old friend. No apology for his tardiness. I forced my tongue to remain silent, reminding myself that he was my boss and that I needed the money.

I smiled back, trying to muster enthusiasm and gave myself the pep talk I’d been reciting since yesterday. I was starting a new job that would really help me make ends meet. The thought of being able to pay my bills and help my family sculpted my tight features into a smile.

“Mr. Whitmore,” I greeted.

He pouted like a two year old. “I must insist that you call me Charles. I feel so old when you call me that. And as you pointed out yesterday, I’m barely out of diapers.”

“Okay, Charles,” I conceded, somehow sensing that it meant a lot to him.

He smiled and I watched him lift up a keypad and dial in a series of numbers.

“This is your key code.” He handed me a piece of paper as the gate slid open like creaky old bones.

I must have looked confused because he continued. “It’s how you’ll get through the fence and into the house. Just dial in those numbers and hit enter. It will ask you one security question.”

I nodded and stuffed the piece of paper in my bag, looking around the small, neat front lawn. I felt as if I’d stepped into a different realm, a place far beyond the bustling city. An unexplained calm settled over me, slowing the pace of my pulse. I followed him down a path that cut through the postage-stamp lawn and up the wide front steps to a massive mahogany door. He indicated a keypad on the side.

“You try.” He nodded in my direction and I pulled out the paper and typed in the code.

A question popped up: How old are you?

I typed in ‘twenty-four’ and rolled my eyes in his direction as he surveyed the screen. His smile broadened, showing straight white teeth.

“Knew I’d get it out of you one way or another. Now the system will be set to that answer.” He chuckled, hit a few more buttons, and pushed the door open.

I laughed lightly, tossing out a sarcastic, “You are too clever.”

“Yes, I am.” He nodded seriously, his gaze an inflexible blue beam. “And I always get what I want.”

An uncomfortable tingle crept down my back. I was about to respond when I stepped into the house and my breath stuck in my lungs. I stood rooted by the door, letting my brain catch up to what my eyes were reporting. What the fuck?

The room was massive, yet there wasn’t an area unencumbered. Stacks of books and furniture piled up to my elbow and strangled the space of the room. There were dusty barrels and crates, furniture piled on top of furniture, ornate vases, sculptures, paintings—you name it, it was in this room. There was likely no room left for the proverbial kitchen sink. I felt as if I’d just stepped into an episode of Hoarders. This house would definitely be a main feature.

“Wow. Just…wow.”

Charles scanned the room and sighed, shaking his head.

“Yeah, it’s a hot mess,” he noted. “It just got worse over time. I haven’t been here in months. I’ve never known where to start, so I’ve done nothing.”

I followed him as he wove us through a tight maze of books, trying not to knock over the haphazard piles. A musky smell invaded my nose as we got further into the room and I trampled a sneeze. I could now see a full wall of floor-to-ceiling old fashioned casement windows. I couldn’t help thinking how gloriously the light would dance in this room if the glass wasn't so filthy. We emerged into an area of wooden crates and Charles turned to me, looking concerned.

“I hope you still want the job.”

I paused for a moment, thought about the rent money that was due, and nodded.

He beamed. “Great! Remember, you can take as much time as you want. A lot of this stuff needs to be thrown out. Anything you think is worthwhile, we can keep.”

I looked around the room again, my gaze alighting on large pieces of art leaning against one wall.

“I don’t mind cleaning things out. I just don’t want to throw away anything that might be valuable.”

“Don’t worry,” He started walking again and I followed. I’ve already had an art dealer take the valuable pieces and a book collector has gone through the tomes. What’s left is mostly junk. You can just organize things. Most of the books are old and have suffered damage. They can be thrown out.”

I looked at a large stack, noting some classics. Moby Dick, Lord of the Flies, Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, and there was even a collection of Robert Frost’s poetry.

“Someone really likes to read.”

“My father,” Charles said sadly. “He used to collect books.”

“Oh,” was all I could say, feeling bad for sparking the memory of his father. I remembered Anna saying in her text that his parents had died in a car accident. It must have been tough losing them. Perhaps that’s why he had a hard time cleaning out the home he’d grown up in. It was unfair of me to have judged him as a spoiled rich kid when I knew so little about him or what he must have endured.

We moved into an adjacent room and it was more of the same. However, in here the walls were in worse condition with large holes eating through the plaster. One area looked as if someone had taken a hammer to it and released some aggression. My nose wrinkled at the pungent smell of mildew. The stuffiness was starting to become oppressive, and I removed my jacket, folding it over my arm.

“Some things are quite large…” Charles’ words trailed off as he turned to me. His gaze traveled over my body, latching on to the objects of his affection. I almost cleared my throat to snap him out of his trance.

I hated when men did that. I knew that I had large breasts, something I’d learned early on had a brain-numbing effect on the opposite sex. Why? I had no idea. Really, they were just masses of fat, glands and ducts. No. Big. Deal. I was tempted to lift my shirt and flash him. The poor kid would probably faint from all of the blood rushing from his head to his dick. But then where would I be? Out of a job and dealing with an unconscious letch.

Where were we? Yes, ‘some things are large…’ That was where his thoughts had derailed into a ditch. I sighed inwardly and decided to clear my throat. His fair skin turned a burnished red as his brain kicked back on.

He looked at me with a sly smile. “They are large and heavy.”

I frowned. Huh? What were we talking about here? “Excuse me?”

“Some of the objects in the room,” he clarified, but I could see a smile drift into his eyes at the juvenile innuendo.

Seriously? Was I going to have to deal with this every time I saw him?

“I can arrange for some help for you to move the large items,” he continued.

I bit back a curse as I followed him through four other large rooms. The kitchen wasn’t as bad as the rest of the house. Although it was filled with junk, it appeared to be a lot cleaner. I noticed a staircase leading to the second floor from the kitchen, and a backdoor that opened to the back of the house. We had just circled back to the main room when Charles checked his watch. It had taken us an hour to just go through a run down of what needed to be done.

“You can make a list of the supplies that you’ll need. Garbage bags, cleaning stuff, whatever. I’ll see that you get them. Just bring the list by to my apartment. You know you’re welcome to come over anytime.”

He ended the last sentence with another smile that made me want to grit my teeth. I had no intentions of going anywhere near his apartment if I didn’t need to. One minute he could be a shy awkward kid, the next, an impudent playboy. I wanted to sit him down and tell him a thing or two about women, but as I said yesterday, I didn’t teach. I hadn’t been kidding when I’d told him that.

I’d long ago grown tired of the self absorbed, overly zealous men who could literally get off by humping my leg like a dog in heat. Those were the type of men I met on campus every day. The type that were reduced to blathering, horny fools by the sight of big breasts. Other than having a good time, most of the men I met had no real interest in getting to know me, my thoughts, or my passions. Mark was the first guy in a long time who’d even sparked my interest.

“I’ll drop it off with your doorman tomorrow.” I returned, ignoring his exaggerated pout. “I’d like to take some time today to just get a general idea of what’s here and the scope of the work.”

Charles consulted his Rolex. “I have to run, but take whatever time you need. You may come and go as you like, just keep track of the hours.” His head jerked up as if he just remembered something. “Oh, that door.”

My gaze followed as he pointed to a door to my far right.

That’s the stairs that go up to the second floor. You should never go up there. My father is up there.”

My eyes grew huge and round. Huh? Wasn’t he…dead? I immediately thought of a giant urn with ashes, a mummified corpse, or worse… Rich people did some weird shit.

“Father?”

“Yes. He mostly stays upstairs. He’s very particular.”

Great research, Anna!!!!!!

“You mean that someone lives here?”

Charles nodded, his expression stoic. “Yes. My father lives here,” he repeated slowly as if I was mentally impaired.

I looked around the room that posed a serious fire hazard. I couldn’t believe that someone actually lived in this house. Perhaps the second floor was in better repair, but somehow I doubted it. This place was a disaster area.

“Don’t worry. He won’t bother you. You won’t even know that he’s here,” he said, noticing my frown.

I nodded hesitantly and he seemed to relax.

“Talk soon.” He gave me a Hollywood wink and walked toward the door, leaving me with the frown on my face.

It wasn’t until after he’d left that I realized that he hadn’t gone upstairs to say hello or check on his father. Hadn’t he said it had been months since he’d been here?

I turned in a slow circle, absorbing the room and trying to combat the chaotic energy bouncing into my personal space. It would take me weeks to clean and thoroughly catalogue everything. I’d told Charles that as we’d walked around and he’d said to do the best I could. I worried now about even my best efforts. This would be a challenge. There was an absurd amount of stuff in this room alone. If not for the high domed ceilings, the space would be severely claustrophobic. My head tilted up and my gaze connected with the ceiling. It brushed along a beautiful pastel mural of dancing cherubs that was still in fine condition. The plaster was cracked and peeling in several areas, but I could still discern the delicate lines and the dynamic essence of the painting. This house had been gorgeous at one point.

I spent the next two hours lifting tarps, deconstructing piles and relocating statues and small pieces of furniture. I was simply trying to clear a space where I could work. It was strange knowing that someone else was in the house and I worked as silently as I could.

Strangely enough, despite the clutter that was boxing me in, there was a quiet calmness to the house. Several times I felt a stillness in the air, a suspended moment of tranquility. It made the back of my neck prickle with awareness and my breath quicken. I shrugged it off as me being silly and focused on my tasks.

After a while, the thick plumes of dust started to get to me. When my coughing became persistent, I decided to call it a day. I pulled the heavy mahogany door shut as I left the house. It was early evening by the time I stepped onto the small patch of grass outside the house. The music of the city, familiar notes, filled my ears and lured me away, but something pulled me back and made me stop and turn back to the old house. Something made my gaze travel up to the second floor and I thought I caught sight of a slight rustle of drapery.

The next day I dropped off my supply list with Rudy, the doorman in Charles’ building, declining when he asked if I wanted to take it up to him personally. I had a few hours between classes and thought I’d get some work done. I knew the next few days were going to be tough. I worked three twelve hour shifts a week at the hospital which gave me a great deal of flexibility, but the days I worked could sometimes be grouped together. I’d be working the next three days, plus I also had to fit studying and classes in.

I keyed my security code into the pad and entered the townhouse, noting the thick film of dust hovering in the air and coating the clutter like freshly fallen snow. I’d stirred things up the last time I was here and even the musty odor seemed more pungent. I left the front door wide open to let in fresh air and dilute the smell.

Following the narrow path to the back of the room, I approached the small space I’d cleared yesterday. There was dust everywhere. I was afraid to put my jacket or purse down on the small coffee table I’d ferreted out of the debris. I remembered seeing a sponge and some rags in the kitchen and headed in that direction. At least if I could clean that small area, I’d have a relatively clean place to work, and could start sorting the books into a discard pile.

When I got to the entrance of the kitchen, my palm flew to my mouth as I stifled a gasp. My eyes caught the edges of a large blur, a sudden flash of harried movement. It was quickly followed by the race of heavy steps up the stairs. A door banged shut somewhere in the distance and the echo rang through me like the reverberations of a chapel bell. It took a minute to calm my racing heart and process that someone had been in this room. It must have been Charles’ father. Strange. I frown, staring at the stairs he’d just stampeded up to the second floor.

Why would he run off like that? Why not stay and at least introduce himself?

Certainly Charles must have told him I’d be cleaning out the house. I chewed my lip as I contemplated what had just occurred. Charles had said that his father was particular. Maybe he was a recluse, an old man who just wanted to be left alone. It was strange, though, that he chose to live in this dilapidated place. Images of Charles’ spacious penthouse flashed through my mind. Shrugging, I found the sponge and a bucket under the sink. After filling it with water, I headed back to the main room.

A half hour later, I stepped back and surveyed my progress. The small space was relatively clean, an oasis in a desert of dust. And I was a mess. I looked down at my jeans and tee that were smudged with dirt and splattered with mucky water. I’d have to go home and shower before my next class. I stood quietly for a minute, plotting a time schedule in my head, then bent down to pick up the pail of dirty water. I stopped suddenly, getting that odd prickly feeling on the back of my neck again. I straightened and pivoted, my gaze darting to the tight recesses of the room. My senses were suddenly acute, buzzing with a tingly awareness. I felt like I was being watched, like a forceful intensity was trained on me.

“Hello?” I called, thinking that maybe Charles’ father had come back downstairs. I should introduce myself, let him know that I wouldn’t be a bother. After all, I’d invaded his space, his home as it were. “Hello?”

Nothing.

“Hello?” I called again.

Feeling spooked, I grabbed the bucket and quickly discarded the dirty water in the kitchen sink. I’d done enough today. That uneasy feeling of being exposed wasn’t leaving me and I needed to fill my lungs with fresh air. Perhaps it would help calm my sudden disquiet. I grabbed my jacket and purse and hurried out the front door. Some persistent voice whispered for me to stop on the grass and look up at the windows on the second floor, but I firmly ignored it. My pace quickened as I hustled through the iron gate.

CHAPTER TWO

I was exhausted by Friday night. My twelve hour shift at the hospital had been grueling. All I really wanted to do was to crawl into bed and slip into a blissful oblivion, but I knew that had to wait. Midterms were next week. I should have cancelled my date with Mark, but I wanted to see him and felt bad about not spending more time with him. I hadn’t intended to blow him off, I was just spread impossibly thin.

We had a nice dinner, but I had to admit that I was half asleep. I just couldn’t focus. I’d asked him to repeat himself so many times that eventually I’d just given up and nodded with feigned interest while he carried the conversation like a dead body across his shoulders. Lord knows I felt like one.

After dinner, Mark walked me to the door of my apartment and waited as I pulled out my key.

“I had a good time.” He smiled down at me, his dark eyes drinking me in.

“Me too,” I said, hoping there’d been some conviction in my words.

“You were quiet tonight.”

“I’m sorry. It’s not you. I’ve had a long week.”

He moved closer and crowded me against the door, his hands cradling my waist.

“I’m glad it’s not me.” His lips hovered over mine.

I could smell his spicy, masculine scent mixed with a trace of cigarette smoke. Mark was a smoker. That didn’t really bother me too much, but I hated the way the odor perfumed his personal space.

His lips covered mine. The kiss was slow at first, then grew deeper as his tongue delved into my mouth. I groaned and arched against him, leaning into the kiss. He was a good kisser and I let my body relax against his. My arms found their way around his neck and he grabbed my ass and pulled me roughly into him. His thick erection pushed into my belly through our layers of clothes and groaned again.

Mark had a tight athletic body and broad shoulders. His hands slipped under my blouse and he cupped my breasts through my bra, slowly kneading them the way I liked. Arousal coursed through me, making my flesh throb and my breath quicken. I realized that it’d been a long time since I’d had sex. A little more than a year.

I’d broken off with my last boyfriend because he’d gotten too serious. He’d started planning a life for me I couldn’t see myself being a part of. At twenty-three, I hadn’t been ready for that kind of commitment—still wasn’t. My life was too complicated to do serious, and apparently it was too complicated to do casual.

Mark and I had enjoyed some heavy petting on our last date. I’d even given him a sacrificial blow job, but we hadn’t yet done the deed. I supposed it would be the next logical step in the natural progression of things, but although my body seemed willing, my head just wasn’t into it. I broke the kiss and leaned back against the door, trying to create some distance between us.

“I have to be up early.”

“I might be able to help you fall asleep.” He smiled, disappointment already darkening his eyes.

“I’m afraid that I won’t be doing much of that either. Although I’m exhausted, I have to study for the next few hours.”

His thumbs and forefingers moved to pinch my nipples and my breath hitched as pleasure streaked through me. He smiled hopefully.

“You sure?”

I bit my lip and nodded. What was wrong with me? This man was gorgeous. I was horny. His cock was memorable and apparently, it remembered me too. It would be good with him. I could tell. My body tried to convince my head that having sex would improve my focus when studying, but my brain wasn’t buying it. Girl, you know that orgasms put you right to sleep! You’ll fall right into a climax-induced coma and get nothing done!

He tweaked my nipples again and added a pump of his hips, letting me know what I’d be missing.

“Sure?” he whispered, nuzzling my neck.

“I can’t anyway. My roommate’s home.” I lied. She’d gone to visit her parents for the weekend.

He straightened and sighed, letting his hands drift slowly down my torso.

I shaped my expression into an apologetic smile, hoping to ease the rejection. I really did like him and I wanted to see him again.

“I owe you. When midterms are over we’ll go out again.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” He smiled and kissed my lips, then waited for me to open the door.

“Night.” I waved as I closed the door and leaned heavily against it. I wanted to sink to the floor. I was so tired that I just wanted to curl into an S and fall asleep right where I was, but I looked at the textbooks that were still piled on the table, opened to the pages I’d been reading this morning.

Ironically, this chapter was on human sexuality. I sighed. I could have had some hands-on experience with an in depth review of the male anatomy.

I made it through the next few days of work relatively unscathed, studying whenever I could. On Monday, I had a few  free hours after class and stopped by Charles’ building. He’d texted me that he’d received my list and the supplies were ready to be picked up.

I was annoyed that he hadn’t just sent them straight to the house as I’d requested in my note, but I didn’t want to be argumentative. Instead, I politely asked him to leave the supplies with the doorman and I’d pick them up on my way to the house.

The lobby was lively with people coming and going. I approached Rudy and asked for my items. He frowned, having no idea what I was talking about. Smiling politely, he called up to Charles.

“Mr. Whitmore asks that you come up, ma’am.”

I sighed, not in the mood for another gawking session. I’d specifically asked him to leave the items downstairs.

“Please tell him that I’m pressed for time and would appreciate it if he’d bring everything down.”

I don’t know what Charles said to Rudy, but the man paled and hesitated before he handed me the phone.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Why can’t you just fucking come up? When I say you do something, you fucking do it!”

I paused at Charles’ harsh tone, momentarily taken aback. A dark threat had laced his imperious words, sending a cold frisson along my skin. Anger quickly chased the feeling.

“Excuse me?”

He must have heard the indignant disbelief in my voice that I made no attempt to disguise because his startled breath came shivering through the receiver. I couldn’t believe that he’d spoken to me that way. It was bad enough I had to put up with his disrespectful leers, but this had crossed the line. Job or no, I wasn’t putting up with this shit.

I absolutely refused to capitulate and go upstairs. This was some bizarre power struggle for him, an attempt to exert control. I had to make a conscious effort to stem my rising anger and I reminded myself that he had the maturity level of a child. A moment passed, then I heard him sigh loudly on the other end.

“I’m sorry. Hang on,” he rushed out.

The phone went dead and numbly, I handed it back to Rudy. A few minutes later, Charles got off the elevator and walked briskly across the shiny lobby. He was a mess, bare footed and jumpy. The ends of his wrinkled shirt were hanging open, revealing smudged lipstick and a line of hickeys across his pale chest. He’d probably been partying all night. When did he ever go to class?

“Angie, I don’t have the stuff yet. I wanted to explain that to you in person.”

The fucker had lied just to get me here.

“Just let me know when you do. And please have them delivered to the house as I’d requested.” I said curtly and turned to leave.

He grabbed my arm to stop me and I shot a deadly gaze to the spot where his hand gripped me. A gaze that my sister would’ve given several exclamation marks. Charles abruptly removed his hand, dropping it like he’d been singed.

“I’m sorry, Ange.”

Ange?

I turned back to him and sighed wearily. “Listen, Charles. I do not like being manipulated. You said the stuff was ready to be picked up, obviously that wasn’t the case. I specifically asked that the items be delivered to the house. I have no desire to come up to your apartment or to see you in any capacity other than professional. I thought I’d made that clear.”

And stop staring at my tits! I wanted to add, but thought better of it.

“I understand,” he said, but I wondered if he did because his lips tilted with a small smile.

“I hope you do.” I added.

“I do. Please, please forgive me. I’m sorry.”

He gave me a wounded animal look and I couldn’t help but throw up my hands in exasperation. A strand of blonde hair fell onto his forehead and his blue eyes were wide and pleading. He pulled his bottom lip through his teeth before pushing his lips into a thick pout. I bet he used that look on women often. It wasn’t working for me.

“And I don’t appreciate being spoken to like that.” I said firmly.

“I had a late night last night. I’m grumpy.”

I’d bet…

“Don’t be mad. Friends?” he pleaded.

“You employer. Me employee.” I countered, but softened my voice to let him know that I was no longer angry. I was annoyed, but most of my initial anger had dissipated.

“I guess I’ll have to settle for that.” He smiled broadly.

I turned to walk away, then turned back as I remembered something.

“Does your father know that I’m cleaning the house?”

He looked confused for a moment, as though he didn’t know who I was talking about. He shrugged. “Yeah.”

“You told him?”

“I emailed him.”

I frowned. “And what did he say?”

“He never responded.”

“So how do you know he got it?”

“I’m sure he did.”

I noted there wasn’t much certainty or concern in his voice. I tilted my head and regarded him, curious about his father. “The house doesn’t seem safe for someone to live in.”

He shrugged. “He’s been there forever.”

I waited for more of an explanation but he didn’t expound. I didn’t want to prod. It was none of my business. I said goodbye and walked the few blocks to the house, enjoying the sunshine on my face and the stretching of my legs. I grabbed a quick coffee on my way.

I loved walking and it had the added benefit of keeping me fit. It was rare for me to take a cab. I walked everywhere. The backpack riding me was filled with books and my laptop. I figured I’d study when I took breaks.

I let myself in through the iron gate and approached the house, my footsteps slower than usual, almost idle. I stared up at the second floor, increasingly curious about what was up there. Was the second floor in the same dilapidated condition as the main floor? How could anyone let a beautiful house like this deteriorate to such a degree? This family was obviously very wealthy. Why not refurbish the house? And how could anyone live in such disordered chaos, such clutter?

I shook my head in wonder as I passed through the front door and made my way to the area I’d created a few days prior. I was disappointed that I didn’t have cleaning supplies. There wasn’t a lot I could do without them. Most of the items that required sorting needed to be dusted or cleaned first. I studied a nearby totem pole of books I’d planned to topple. At least I could get started on that task.

I dropped my backpack and jacket on the wooden coffee table, and taking a sip of my coffee, I grabbed a few books and got started. The first few books were so weathered and damaged that the covers wouldn’t open. I tossed them on a pile for the trash, then grabbed several more to look over.

Soon I got into a routine and was pleased that I was shaving more and more off of the top of the pile. I worked methodically over the next hour, finding a rhythm that soothed my mind and lulled me with a gentle calmness.

I still had that overwhelming feeling of being watched that made my skin buzz with sensitivity. It wasn’t unpleasant or intrusive, just a whispered breeze of sensation. I chalked it up to being in a new environment that was overcrowded with stimulation.

Working out a crick in my neck, I stood up to stretch. I walked toward a large window that started at my waist level and peaked just short of the high vaulted ceiling. The heavy drapes were pulled open and soaked in a fluffy layer of dust.

Grime covered the thick glass, imprisoning the bright sunlight. I thought if I could just clear a spot of filth from the pane, I could let some rays escape into the dismal room. I surveyed the scene, looking for something I could use for the job. My gaze landed on a group of paintings leaning against the wall. The white sheet covering them would be perfect.

I scooted between some overturned furniture and started tugging at the cloth. Dust billowed around me and I swatted it away from my face, coughing. I pulled carefully, trying not to overturn the artwork. They were massive pieces, some larger than me. My hands stilled as the first painting was unveiled. Fascinated, I eased closer to get a better look. The piece was in surprisingly good condition.

A man—a very striking man—stood leaning casually against a desk in a study. His presence dominated the painting. He appeared tall and lean with wide shoulders and long legs. His short dark hair was neatly subdued, but the painter was able to hint at the irreverent waves. The man was formally attired in a dark suit with a light blue tie that perfectly matched his eyes. Eyes that I couldn’t tear my gaze away from. Strangely, I felt as if they were staring back at me, looking deeply into me, aware of my presence.

His blue eyes were impatient, yet simultaneously crinkled with mirth. I imagined that the painter must have told him a joke to try to relax him. I tilted my head and stared at his face, noting the strong line of his jaw and the definition of his chin. The painter had shaded his striking features with strength and determination. Without thought, I reached out and ran my index finger along the curve of his cheek and down the strong column of his neck. I don’t know how long I stood there caressing the painting. It was only when my cell phone rang that I realized what I’d been doing.

All of this dust must be polluting my brain! I laughed at myself as I clicked the keypad to answer the call. It was Jenny, my roommate.

“I’m back.” I heard when I answered.

“How was it?”

“Not bad. I actually ate food that didn’t come from a can.”

“And you didn't spontaneously combust?”

“Came close. I missed my MSG and artificial preservatives.”

“Plenty in the pantry. If you hurry you can reverse the effects of your healthy eating.”

“Already into my second can of corned beef.” She laughed.

I winced. Jenny would sit with a spoon and just eat her meals right out of the can. Her dietary habits were atrocious.

“Don’t forget the SPAM.” I added sarcastically.

“That’s my entree. Hey, thanks for cleaning. Where’s my toothbrush?”

“Bathroom.” Where it belongs, I wanted to add. Not the kitchen counter.

“Sneakers?”

“Hall closet.” Not under the table.

“Thanks. How was your date with Mark? You two hook up yet?”

“No.” I sighed.

“What?!” she shrieked around a mouthful of corned beef. “Why the hell not?”

“I don’t know. Listen, I’m at work. We’ll talk later.”

“Wait! Did you get your ticket yet?”

Oh, shit. I’d forgotten to tell her that I wasn’t going. Maroon 5 was scheduled to be in town in a month playing at the amphitheater in Brooklyn. I’d love to go, but I just couldn’t afford the ticket right now.

“I’m not going to the concert.”

“Why not?” she whined.

“I can’t afford it.” I said truthfully. “I have bills and school to pay for.”

“I’ll spot you.”

“No way. I can’t let you do that. I’ll see Maroon 5 another time.”

“But—”

“Gotta go. I’m at work. We’ll talk later. Missed you.” I hung up quickly.

I put the phone back in my pocket and my gaze was drawn back to the painting and those stunning blue eyes. They were the same color as Charles’. This must be his father.

The painting was obviously done when he’d been a young man—I guessed in his mid-thirties. I looked for a date on the painting. There was a tiny scribble at the bottom, under the artist’s signature. Nineteen-eighty. I did some quick calculations. If he was in his mid to late thirties in this painting, that would put him close to seventy now. I still couldn’t believe that he, or anyone for that matter, lived in this house. Confusion and pity blended to a nebulous emotion. My heart squeezed tight, saddened that an elderly man resided in such horrid conditions.

I continued to study the captivating man in the picture. His eyes were his only similarity with his son. Where Charles was light, this man was dark. Dark hair, dark slashing brows, olive complexion. His hands, like his body, were large, his fingers lean and capable. There was a deep intensity to him that I found strangely compelling and a complexity that wasn’t easily defined. I laughed at myself again, realizing that I’d been standing there for God knows how long, staring at a stranger in a painting that was done over thirty years ago. And worse, I’d allowed my thoughts to construct some wild assumptions.

I carefully peeled the sheet off of the top of the gilt frame and walked back to the window. I turned the dusty sheet inside out, glad that the other side wasn’t as filthy and started on the window. After about fifteen minutes of a good arm workout, I had cleaned a patch big enough for some eager light to burst through. I was excited when it flooded the oasis I’d created with a checkered pattern of golden hues. Triumphant, I returned to sorting the books.

I worked for about another hour, chastising myself every time my eyes drifted to the painting across the room. I was surprised that it was such a distraction. Realizing I hadn’t gotten any studying done, I picked up my backpack and shrugged it onto my shoulders. I’d have to devote the rest of the evening to my books. My first midterm was in two days. Unable to help myself, I stopped at the painting before I left, letting my eyes slowly absorb the piece.

Getting two of my four midterms out of the way was a great relief. I was so happy, I could sing in the streets. And I did. My classmates and I left the quiet science center and exploded noisily into the street at Astor place, singing a hodgepodge version of Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of our lungs. Pedestrians on the street, mostly students and business owners, ignored us but we did get a standing ovation from a homeless man on the corner.

Jenny was also getting her Masters in Nursing so we took most of the same classes. As we walked down the street, she had one arm around me and the other snaked around one of our classmates, Susan.

“Let’s get some grub and then we can hit the bars!”

I laughed. “Hit the bars? It’s only three o’ clock.”

“We’re getting a late start. Kim and Diane finished their exam at noon and they’ve already started bar hopping.” She looked around to the girls in our group. “Who’s got the map?”

Jenny was referring to two girls who lived down the hall from us. They’d choreographed an extensive bar hop around the downtown area in celebration of surviving today’s midterms.

Ava produced a folded sheet of paper from her pocket and started reading the list of stops on the agenda.

I’d been up all night studying and was exhausted. Although I still had some nervous energy running through me from all of the Red Bulls I’d consumed, I wasn’t in the mood to bar hop. My fingers were itching to sketch. The park was nearby and it was a beautiful day with lots of sunlight. My spirit was restless. I wanted to be outside, not stuck in a crowded bar.

“I’m gonna pass on this,” I said. “Maybe I’ll meet up with you guys tonight. I’m going back to the apartment to sleep.”

A few of the girls started to protest.

“She pulled an all-nighter,” Jenny said in my defense.

“If I can manage it, I’ll join you guys later.”

I dispensed a few anemic hugs, then took off in the opposite direction toward my apartment. Instead of going to bed, I got my sketch book and some charcoal and headed back out.

Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on a park bench doing what I loved. I could feel the anxiety and tension from today drain away as my hand scurried over the blank page. First I sketched a little girl who was playing with her mother not far away from me. Then a few drawings of the landscape.

I sat and thought for a minute, thinking of the painting I’d seen a few days ago at my new job. I remembered the strong jaw, the high forehead and cheekbones, and the touch of a smile on an otherwise impatient face. Inspired, my hand started moving, flying across the page. I was surprised to see the work when it was finished. I drew in a deep breath and stared. Just stared. I could barely take my eyes away from it. A fine tremor moved through my body. Feeling foolish, I quickly turned the page and forced my gaze back to the landscape.

The following day, I stopped by the townhouse to work. I was surprised to see that the cleaning supplies still hadn’t arrived. I couldn’t imagine what could be taking so long. It had been a week since I gave Charles the list. I wondered vaguely if he was just fucking with me. Seriously, how hard could it be? He could get one of his minions to pick up the stuff. Or I could just order what I needed online and have it delivered.

I took a sip of my giant cup of coffee and placed it on the table then took out my laptop. I decided to do some research to see where I could find my supplies. I clicked my computer on and waited. Seeing the message that said there was no internet connection was disappointing. I hit a few buttons and waited. Still no internet. I needed a password. I sighed and sat for a minute. My eyes did a slow patrol of the painting of the beautiful man. I stared out of the small clean circle on the window, my mind churning, then I got up and started toward the kitchen stairs.

I just needed the Wi-Fi password. It wasn’t as if I was bothering him. This was important. Charles had said he’d emailed him, so the house must have internet capability. Plus, I did feel like I needed to introduce myself. I was coming to this house almost every day and would be doing so for some time. My dad would say that it was only good manners.

I hesitated at the bottom of the stairs with my foot on the lowest step. I looked up and saw total darkness. Taking a deep breath, I started to climb. There was a door at the top of the stairs that was slightly ajar. I stuck my head through the doorway. It was strikingly quiet. Maybe he wasn’t even here.

“Hello?” I yelled, then felt bad for making so much noise.

The door opened into a large hallway that was illuminated by ambient light. There were stacks of books against the wall. No surprise there. I noted they were all newer and in better condition than the ones downstairs. However, the hallway walls were dark and stained, and the plaster was cracked and peeling in several places. I took a tentative step forward, calling out again. No response. What if the old man was hard of hearing?

I peeked into an enormous room off to my right. It was filled with mismatched furniture and cluttered like downstairs. There was a desk and a computer against one wall. An ancient treadmill with some dumbbells, and more books. The faint smell of mildew lingered in the air accompanied by a damp chill. A bald light bulb hung from the ceiling in the haphazard room, but the windows were clean and natural sunlight prettily bathed the space.

A room on the other side of the hall was carpeted with a layer of books and magazines. I couldn’t see the floor. Then I spotted a door at the end of the hall that was slightly ajar and I approached it. My heart started to beat wildly.

A streak of movement through the opening caught my eye and I drew closer, curiosity guiding my feet. A man was sitting in a chair facing sideways so I could only see his profile. I watched as his limbs unfolded, stretching out long defined legs. He was wearing a towel around his waist.

I got a partial view of his body and let my eyes drift over his bare torso and arm, thinking how beautiful the lines were. His muscles were honed and tight. His hair was wet and fell around his head in dark waves. He must’ve just come out of the shower. I couldn't  see much of his face, but he was definitely not a seventy-year-old.

In a daze, I followed the solid muscles of his shoulder, his flexing bicep and the sweep of his forearm. Slowly I realized that his hand disappeared under the towel. The rhythmic moments under the towel were what finally intruded into my brain and slapped it into stark understanding.

Oh my God! He was jerking off!

I swallowed hard, my heart rate picking up speed. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing. Heat suffused my body, hot and singeing. I knew that I should’ve crept silently back down the hall, but I couldn’t. I was frozen. Oh God, what if he heard me? I tensed my muscles, ready to turn and ease away when the man’s towel fell open. I had to bite my lip to jail the gasp that wanted to leap from my tongue. Holy mother of mercy! This man was beautiful. I couldn’t see clearly defined abs or the V that was always a turn-on for me, but his stomach was flat and toned.

His cock stuck straight up from a thatch of dark hair. The shaft looked heavy and thick, and was probably the largest I’d ever seen in real life. I stared avidly as it slid in and out of his fist, the crown fat and glistening with moisture. I watched, riveted as a bead of precum trickled over the swollen head and he captured it with his long capable fingers, pumping with increased vigor.

My breath was shorter now, sawing roughly through my parted lips. Every muscle in my body was tense and primed with acute arousal. My nipples hardened to bullets and my breasts swelled and ached as they pushed heedless against the restraint of my bra. This was, by far, the most erotic vision I’d ever seen in my life.

The man moaned and threw his head back, the sexy rumble a vibrating throb that made my pussy weep copiously. God, I’d never been so aroused.

He shifted in his chair, his hips flexing, and he seemed to grip his gorgeous cock tighter. His eyes squeezed shut and his breath rushed between his parted lips. Over and over he stroked his thick shaft, and I felt his touch and drowned in the pleasure of it. My legs trembled and fluid seeped from my body, soaking my underwear with warmth and trickling down the insides of my thighs. If I touched myself now, I would come instantly. The ache in my groin was almost maddening in its intensity and it was centered in my exquisitely swollen clit.

His body shuddered and another moan rolled from deep in his belly. I watched his jaw bulge as his hand moved with lightning-fast speed up and down his distended shaft. Then it seemed that all of the muscles of his body locked stiff, and with a tortured groan, he erupted, squirting over his fist and spraying his stomach and chest with semen. Fucking magnificent.

I had a hammering compulsion to crawl between his legs and lick every last drop from his body. So much so, that my taste buds leaked with the want of it.

His body jerked several more times in the chair and for a moment, I was afraid that it might topple backward or break. I held my breath, awed by this amazing moment. I looked down at my hands that were marked with fine tremors. When I glanced back up, I almost screamed in gut-wrenching shock. Sharp blue eyes glared at me. My palm flew to my mouth and I knew that my eyes must’ve been as wide as saucers.

The man’s piercing eyes narrowed, then his face pinched in tremendous anger.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”

The deep roar of his yell was deafening and I did not have to be told twice. With terror in my heart and adrenaline shooting through my veins like liquid fire, I scrambled down the stairs as fast as my legs would take me. I grabbed my laptop, carelessly knocking over the coffee in my haste. Still shaking like a leaf, I shrugged on my backpack and flew through the door.

I walked the fifteen blocks to my apartment with my laptop clutched to my chest, my body shaking. I was in a daze. I had no recollection of the route I took to get home, or of anything that I saw on the way. My mind was racing. I was mortified that I’d not only intruded on such a private moment, but that I’d stayed and eagerly watched.

I couldn’t believe what I’d done. To be honest with myself, it wasn’t only my actions that I had trouble wrapping my brain around, but also my reaction. Even now, my flesh still throbbed with arousal and my vaginal walls quivered with small burning spasms. I ran up the six flights to my apartment and burst through the door, thanking God that Jenny wasn’t home. I stripped naked on my way to the shower, leaving my clothes where they landed. My body teetered on the edge of an abyss, about to take a head-long plunge. I needed a cold shower. I hoped it would clear my head and cool my overheated skin. In the small stall, I let the icy spray needle my back as my hands soaped my slick skin. Reaching between my legs, I stroked a few times, and came harder than I ever had in my life.

CHAPTER THREE

A week later, I walked out of my physical exam class with Jenny. We’d been cooped up all day in the lab taking fake medical histories and listening to the normal heart sounds of our fellow classmates. Actually, one of them had a tricuspid valve murmur, so that was pretty cool to listen to. We’d practically attacked the poor girl with our stethoscopes.

Anatomy lab was the only place where you were celebrated for your physical ailments and oddities. Most of our training so far had been on plastic dummies and fellow students, who for the most part, were disappointingly healthy. We were always thrilled to find the occasional anomaly. Last semester, there was a girl in our lab with a third nipple. She’d become a superstar.

Jenny and I exited the building and were turning down Eighth Street when she asked, “Are you signing the Work Horse Petition?”I shook my head. Jenny was referring to a petition that a group of nurses had initiated at the hospital. It was in protest of working three twelve hour shifts in a row. This grueling three day schedule allows little time to do much else except work like a beaten horse.

A nurse had recently been terminated for making a medication error while working the long shifts. Although it had been her error, inarguably, working such lengthy shifts and the ensuing fatigue, had played a part in the nurse’s poor judgment.

My colleagues were petitioning the hospital to mandate that the shifts be broken up and not worked consecutively. There were pros and cons to both sides of the argument. Some nurses liked grouping their shifts together so they could have longer stretches of time off.

I personally never thought working the long shifts consecutively was a good idea. I’d worked enough of these hellish back to back schedules to know that my brain was fried by the end of the three days. But I didn’t want to get involved. I was happy to have a job and didn’t care to make waves. The hospital didn’t look favorably on staff who created dissidence. I was never one to toot horns or rally a crowd. I stayed far away from trouble. I rarely have a problem speaking my mind when asked my opinion, but I’ve always managed to keep my head low and stay under the radar.

I had too many responsibilities and obligations resting on my shoulders to get embroiled in something that could distract me from school, or pose a potential threat to my livelihood. There was too much riding on my income.

“We could really use your help,” Jenny said, seizing my attention. “It’s good to be proactive. I know you hate working the long hours.”

“Sorry, Jen.” I shook my head. “I’m way too busy with school and working two jobs.”

Jenny looked disappointed but didn’t push me. She knew my family situation. Abruptly, she stopped in her tracks, then grabbed my arm and leaned in, smiling.

“I think someone’s here to see you,” she whispered and nodded to the white Bentley parked on the corner.

I followed her gaze to Charles, who was leaning casually against his Bentley charming the panties off two sorority girls—something he was apparently very good at considering the collection in his apartment. The girls could’ve been twins with their gleaming blonde hair, matching purple Alpha-Phi-Beta sweaters, and indecently short plaid skirts.

I’d told Jenny about Charles, and she’d thought it was hilarious that this youngster was my boss. Apparently, he had quite a reputation around campus. Immediately, Jenny burst into a low chorus of Rock-a-bye baby, and I shoved her playfully. I wasn’t in the mood. I hadn’t told anyone about what had happened at the house. Guilt and shame were still riding me hard about my inexcusable behavior. I hadn’t been back to the house since the day I’d spied on Mr. Whitmore. All week I’d been anxiously waiting for Charles’ call or text to tell me that I was fired.

Charles spotted me and said a few words to his fawning entourage. He headed in my direction with a long legged stride, but instead of the arrogant smile I was used to, his face was serious. I gulped, beating back dread.

“You better tuck the girls away,” Jenny chuckled, her chin jerking toward my cleavage. I was wearing a T-shirt with a V-neck, and although you couldn't see actual cleavage, the neckline was low for me. I groaned and shot her a look that silenced her.

Charles stopped in front of me and I introduced them. Smiling, Jenny made an excuse about needing to be somewhere to baby-sit and took off, giving me a wink behind his back. I suppressed my smile and focused my attention back on Charles, who was now regarding me through narrowed eyes. His anger was obvious, tinting his fair complexion. I didn’t know what to say. The look on his face was scattering anxious flutters in my belly.

“I just came from the house.”

I bit my lip hard and waited.

“What the fuck happened?” he glowered.

I felt the blood drain from my face. Usually, I’d be pissed that he’d spoken to me so callously, but I was so full of shame that I couldn’t even bring myself to look him in the eyes. “I…I…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Why haven’t you been there? Didn’t you get my text?” He looked exasperated.

“No.” I frowned, confused, my heart still pounding like horses hooves in my chest.

“I texted you to let you know that the supplies are there. They’ve been there for a few days now. I thought maybe you were still pissed or something.”

“No, no.” I shook my head, relieved. My pulse finally slowed.

“I’ve had to work and study. I’ve been taking midterms.”

His gaze zeroed in on my face. “You didn’t mean to what?”

I blinked. I blinked again. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. I just never got your text.”

“Okay.” He smiled, his anger dissipating quickly. His mood shifted with the wind. His gaze brushed over me and I had to force my eyes not to roll. “We good?”

I nodded.

He smiled again and handed me an envelope.

I looked inside, shuffling through the crisp bills. It was significantly more than what he owed me.

“I think there’s a mistake.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I know the house is in pretty bad shape. I’m sure this job hasn’t turned out to be what you expected.”

That was certainly true…on many levels…

“It’s a lot of work. You’ve already made progress. I’m impressed.”

“Thank you, and yes, the house is in bad shape,” I said slowly, thoughtfully, trying to tread carefully. “I still can’t believe that your father lives there.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Like I said, he’s been there forever. He likes it there.”

“But it’s not safe. It’s a fire hazard. There could be mold.”“There’s no mold. We’ve had it tested.” Charles swiveled his gaze around, as if he was looking for something or trying to avoid eye contact. “I’ve tried to get him to move, but he doesn’t want to. He’s not well.”

A knot pulled tight in my throat. I shouldn’t pry, but I was obsessively curious about his father. “What do you mean?”

He looked around the busy street again then brought his gaze back to mine. “He’s schizophrenic. Paranoid sometimes. It got worse after my mother died. He stopped taking his medication.”

My skin paled as the activity of the street dulled and faded into the background. White noise rushed between my ears, filling my head. I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly, but an acute sadness ribboned through my chest and wrapped tight around my heart, squeezing.

After what happened at the house, I’d gone online and looked up the Whitmore family. Anna had gotten the story only partially right. Charles’ parents, Grayson Whitmore and his wife, had been in a terrible car crash four years ago. They’d been hit by a drunk driver. His wife had been killed and he’d survived.

There were nonspecific reports of Grayson’s hospitalization after the crash, but no follow up news. This was strange because I’d found numerous articles about the business tycoon before the accident, but it seemed he’d just dropped off the face of the earth. There’d been no mention of any mental illness, and surprisingly, no pictures of Grayson Whitmore.

Charles must have seen the look on my face because concern pleated his brow. “I hope you’re not afraid. He’s harmless, really. You probably don’t even know he’s there. He keeps to himself.”

“No. I’m not afraid,” I responded truthfully. One other question had been gnawing at me. “How old is he?”

Charles thought for a moment. “Forty-three…no forty-four now.” He looked at me directly. “Why?”

I shrugged and looked away, trying to hide my surprise. The numbers on the painting must have meant something else. Shit, he was only a year younger than my father. I floundered for an excuse. “I—I was just picturing a frail, little old man. I’m just concerned about him being in the house by himself.”

He laughed loudly at that and shook his head. “My father is not frail physically. Only mentally.”

“I’m sorry.” I said genuinely, wondering what could be remotely humorous about that. Guilt ballooned inside me. The man was mentally ill. Somehow that made my actions even more inexcusable.

Something else had been bothering me. “Don’t get me wrong. I really want this job, but I’m just curious why you haven’t hired a professional cleaning crew, a company that could come in and sort everything and clean? They’d probably be done in a week, two tops.”

“I don’t know how he’d react to that. My primary concern is his mental stability. I don't want to frighten him with too many people crawling about the house, so I haven’t done it. Like I said, he’s very particular.”

His eyes shifted away and I had the feeling he wasn’t being entirely honest.

“You have time for lunch?” he asked.

The topic detour pulled me from my thoughts. I shook my head.

“I have class soon, sorry.”

He nodded, but skepticism dropped his lids as his gaze probed me. I really did have class, although soon was a relative term. Three hours to me was soon.

“I’ll catch up with you soon then,” he said, before turning toward the Bentley. I noticed then that the two sorority sisters were sitting in the back seat.

The rest of my day drifted by in a fuzzy haze. Only half of my brain was devoted to thinking. The other half had shut down. I took my sketchbook to the park and tried to get lost in the form and texture of the world. After several failed attempts, I balled up the drawings I’d created, and slam dunked them into a nearby trashcan. Although I didn’t think they were any good, there were a few sketches I couldn’t bring myself to throw away. Sketches that filled me with both longing and deep sadness.

My heart stayed heavy for the rest of the day. By that evening I’d  come to a decision. I needed to apologize to Grayson Whitmore. I felt horrible for what I’d done, especially now that I knew he was mentally ill. I needed to release the contrition locked tight in my gut. Maybe then my mind could rest and I’d stop thinking about this man.

It was still light out when I keyed in my password and entered the house. I had to make a conscious effort to regulate my breathing. It wasn’t from the mildew this time. It was from the nervous tension skipping inside me. I saw the stack of my long-awaited cleaning supplies piled in a corner: rags, mops, dusters and a vacuum. I meandered through the clutter to my cleared area and was surprised to see that the coffee I’d spilled during my hasty exit had been cleaned up. Had Charles cleaned it up when he’d come to the house? Somehow I doubted that.

Everything else was how I’d left it a week ago. My eyes moved toward the picture of the beautiful man and I swear his gorgeous blue eyes smiled at me. So different from real life. He’d been angry when he’d caught me spying. Livid. Ferocious. Crazy. Was he truly crazy? Would he accept my apology? Would he scream at me again to get out? The thought had my stomach doing somersaults.

I slowly climbed the back stairs with my heart in my throat, my breath puffing out shallowly. My hand curled around the knob and I pushed. The door was locked.

I swallowed hard, thinking I should just go away. But I’d come this far. I had to do what I believed was the right thing.

“Hello?” I yelled through the door, my finger pads pressed lightly against the wood.

What was I doing? Obviously, the locked door was a sign for me to go away.

“Hello?” I yelled louder. I knew he was there. I somehow knew he could hear me. I took a deep breath, feeling a swell of undefined emotion.

“I—I just wanted to say I’m sorry…for…for…the other day. I’m sorry,” I said again. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, knowing I was talking about much more than my inappropriate spying.

I’m sorry that you’re sick, I wanted to say.

I waited, feeling like an ass. Maybe he wasn’t even listening. Maybe he was asleep, or out? Did he ever leave this house?

Nothing but silence greeted me, a stale, cumbersome weight leaking from the walls. Dejected, I turned and headed down the stairs and out of the house.

The next day I was able to squeeze in a few hours of sorting and cleaning. Having the right supplies made things go so much faster. I managed to demolish more stacks of junk and I cleaned and vacuumed some of the smaller furniture. By the end of the day, I had at least three contractor bags filled with debris and tattered books. I’d left the front door open while I worked in an attempt to let in fresh air and dilute the ubiquitous dust that clung to me like a second skin. I worked in a peaceful quiet, determined to set my mind to the job.

I was tempted to try the door at the top of the stairs again, but forced myself to stay away. A few times, that feeling assailed me, the sense that I was being watched. My skin would pop with goose bumps and the hairs on the back of my neck would stand on end. But whenever I looked around, no one was there.

I packed up early. My physics midterm was tomorrow and I couldn't wait for it to be behind me. At least I’d been able to cover the rent with the extra money that Charles had given me. It really helped. That was one less thing to worry about.

Finished for the day, I closed the front door behind me and stood on the lawn. I couldn’t help myself. I stared up at the second floor, goose bumps peppering my skin again as the memory of what I’d witnessed last week filled my head. My cell phone rang, scattering the images, and I answered as I turned and walked toward the gate. It was my dad.

“Hey, your mom wants to know what time you’re getting here on Saturday.”

Saturday was Anna’s birthday and mom was making a special dinner. My little sister was turning seventeen.

“I’ll be there by three.”

“Great. I’ll let her know.”

“See you soon, Dad.”

“Love you.”

“You too.” I signed off and prepared myself for a brisk walk.

My midterm was brutal. It would be a miracle if I passed Physics. Shit! I hated that class. I walked out of the classroom in a stupor, went directly to bed, and pulled the covers over my head. I needed to block out the world for a little while. Why the fuck would I need to know the fission rate of Uranium unless I was building a bomb. And the last time I checked, terrorism wasn’t my major. Considering the world we lived in there should be classes on how to resolve conflict, on diplomacy, or how to be tolerant and accepting of others. Instead, I was tortured with useless bullshit. I slept until my phone woke me late that evening.

“Where are you?” Jenny’s voice shocked me from sleep. I could barely hear her above the riotous background noise.

“What?” I asked, slightly dazed.

“We’re celebrating! ” she  yelled. “We’re at Flannigan’s!”

Oh, shit. I’d completely forgotten. Since I’d missed the last bar hop, I’d promised to meet my friends out tonight. Ugh. I’d been courting melancholy all week and was now seriously bummed about my midterm I was sure I’d failed. I really wasn’t in the mood to socialize.

“Um…” I started picking through my brain for an excuse. Sitting up in bed, I checked the clock. It was already ten pm.

“Come on, Angie. You have to come. I have a surprise for you,” she cooed sweetly.

“Surprise?” I frowned.

“Hey, gorgeous! I’m your surprise.”

I smiled with disbelief when Mark’s voice boomed over the phone. He’d left me three messages today. I’d sent him a quick text right before falling asleep.

“Mark, I didn't know you’d be there.”

“I left you a message saying I was coming.”

“I’ve been sleeping.”

“Come on out…or better yet,” his voice dropped an octave. “I’ll come there and join you in bed.”

My hand tightened on the phone and I laughed lightly. “I think Jenny will kill me if I don’t come out. I promised her.”

“See you soon then,” he said with a smile in his voice. After a few of my rapid heartbeats, I relaxed.

An hour and a half later, I was leaning against a bar in a noisy pub, downing my third beer. I let the alcohol reach tentacles of warmth deep inside me and squash my inhibitions. I welcomed the lightness in my spirit and the slow numbing of my brain. Mark had elbowed through a throng of people on the other side of the bar and was ordering refills. He spotted me over the bowed heads and shot me a sexy wink. I smiled back, then looked away when my cell phone went off again, signaling a text.

Remember what I want for my b’day!!!!

I shook my head and laughed at Anna’s text. She was relentless.

Blonde! Gorgeous! Rich! I want introduction!!!!

No!!!!!

Pleeeeease!?!?!?!

No. See you tomorrow!

I tucked the phone back in my purse and downed the last of my beer. Anna was driving me crazy. There was no way I was introducing her to Charles. She was still a virgin. The way she panted over boys, I wondered how long that status would last. Introducing her to Charles would ensure a rapid demise of her innocence. I sighed, knowing my strong-willed, rebellious sister. She’d just started dating this year. Maybe I should be giving her condoms for her birthday instead of the present I’d gotten her.

I turned just as Mark approached. He pushed my butt against the bar and kissed me deeply, groaning into my mouth. Jenny came over with some girlfriends and we all did a round of shots. Despite Mark’s encouragement, I declined a second round. I was already pretty tipsy and didn’t want to be hung over during my visit at my parents’ house tomorrow. Anxious about my exam, I’d barely eaten today. Alcohol and an empty stomach didn’t sit well with me.

As the night wound down, Jenny left with a guy she’d met, telling me she’d see me in the morning. My friends gradually trickled out and Mark took my hand and led me from the bar through the back door. I wondered why we were going through the back, but he’d gone out to the alley several times to grab a smoke and I figured he wanted company this time. He was already pretty drunk and I was glad neither of us were driving.

Outside was cool and the night air felt good against my flushed skin. I could hear the music blaring from inside and it pulsed through my body like a second heartbeat. I bounced my head to the steady rhythm. I was feeling pretty good and relaxed, pleasantly drunk, but not completely trashed. Mark crowded me, backing me up against the brick wall and covering my lips with his. The kiss was sloppy and wet, and after a minute, I needed to take a breath that wasn’t saturated with the smell and taste of cigarettes. I attempted to break the kiss and turn my head, but he cupped my jaw and held my face still.

“Come on, Angie. No games tonight. You’re driving me fucking crazy,” he mumbled into my mouth.

I tried to pull back to tell him that I didn’t play games, but I couldn’t get words around the mouth that was strangling mine. His hand snaked under my shirt and he palmed my breast roughly, squeezing my nipple until I cried out in pain.

“I know you want my cock…” he slurred against my lips.

Rational thought struggled to break through my alcoholic fog, but the cloud was dense and smothering. I frowned, anger filling my head.

“Mark, let me go!”

He pulled back slightly, but still kept my chin captive. His muscular thighs pinned me to the wall and I could feel his erection digging into me.

“You’re a cock tease, aren’t you? You say no, but you really want to get fucked, don’t you? You owe me, remember?”

His other hand was still groping me, now squeezing my other breast painfully. “You walk around with these big fucking tits, teasing the shit out of me. I know what you want, you little cunt.”

My eyes widened with alarm. I shook my head, not believing the crude words coming from his mouth. I knew he was drunk, but he’d never been a pushy guy. I took a deep breath, still trying to clear my head and say the words that would make him stop. His hand pushed under my skirt and he dragged the crotch of my panties aside, trying to sink a finger inside me. I twisted my hips, a sob rolling up from my throat.

“Ma—Mark! Stop this! You’re drunk! You’re hurting me!” My voice cracked with panic.

I could hear his breath raking through his nostrils as he used brutal force to keep me pinned against the wall. He fumbled with his pants, trying to open his zipper while keeping me immobilized. The smell of cigarettes was clawing at my stomach and causing bile to bubble up my throat. I tried to push his body away, sobbing now. I screamed when his fingers dug into my flesh and he pushed roughly inside my sex. He moved the hand that had a vice-like grip on my chin and clapped it brutally over my mouth.

“I’m going to fill this tight, little pussy.”

Black terror gripped me. A maniacal chant filled my head. He’s going to rape me. He’s going to rape me. He’s going to rape me. Oh, God…

I bit his finger, and swearing crudely, he slammed my head against the brick wall.

Pain exploded in my skull, but I bit his palm again. He slackened his grip on my mouth.

“Mark, no!” My scream was muffled again as I kicked out at him. He turned sideways, avoiding the impact, while still trying to free his dick through his zipper. The action, at least, disengaged his fingers from my body, and I started struggling wildly, water flooding my eyes. Fear lanced through my system, energizing my flailing limbs, but his strength was overwhelming.

Then something happened. Mark’s body was violently jerked away from mine. A bigger man bunched his shirt by the collar, pounding him with a relentless fist, over and over. The image blurred through my tears, but I could hear the crunch of every impact. I slumped over, sobbing deeply from my belly. My hair fell in a heavy curtain around my face. Emotion surged through me like a tidal wave and before I knew what was happening, I was vomiting on the ground. I wretched and wretched until there was nothing left inside me, until I felt like my organs had loosened and shriveled up.

It seemed to go on for an eternity, until small spasms were coursing through me and shaking my body. Hearing absolute quiet behind me, I collapsed against the wall, feeling the cold brick against my back. I pushed my hair from my face and swiped a forearm across my mouth. My chest rose and fell deeply, sucking in great gulps of air.

He was still there. The man. My savior. He was standing incredibly still and watching me. I couldn’t make out his face in the shadows claiming the alley, but I knew immediately who he was. He was Charles’ father.

My gaze flew to Mark, who was laying in a broken heap on the cobbled stone. I looked back to the man who had come to my rescue. My heart lurched in my chest and I shook my head in disbelief.

“Have you been following me?” I frowned. It was the first thought in my head.

He turned toward Mark’s body. “He can’t hurt you anymore. Go back inside.”

“Wait!” I reached out a hand when he made a move to leave, my heart battering my rib cage. “Grayson, wait…please!”

He hesitated at the sound of his name.

“I—I want to talk to you.”

“Go back inside,” he said again, then disappeared into the shadows.

Fuck! I wanted to run after him. I wanted to say thank you. I wanted so many things. Tears wracked my body again and I looked down at Mark’s body and shuddered. I could see the asshole’s chest rising and falling and wanted to spit on him.

A cool breeze raked against my neck and I shuddered violently. I wiped my face with my palms and snaked my arms around my torso, trying to get warm. My head hurt like it was squeezed in a vice. Numbly, I peeled myself away from the wall, walked through the bar, and collected my bag. Outside, I hailed a cab, already sobbing again. I didn’t think I had enough tears for the tremendous emotion exploding inside me.

I don’t know how I got through the next few days. I was drowning in an emotional soup and it was hard keeping my feelings from boiling over. It taxed all my energy to plaster a smile on my face for Anna’s birthday celebration, but I wasn’t going to ruin it for her. She was already disappointed that we weren’t going out to celebrate, but I’d repeatedly explained that we just couldn’t afford to.

Dad got laid off six months ago from a job he’d held for almost twenty years. Shortly after that, my mom needed surgery to remove a tumor from her abdomen. Thank God the tumor had been benign, but the subsequent medical bills ate up whatever they had saved. We were still paying them off, plus the mortgage on the house as well as regular monthly bills. Even with mom’s full time job at Walmart, my dad doing odd jobs, and me working, it was hard making ends meet.

A good portion of my paycheck went to help pay the bills. I didn’t mind. They’d supported me through my undergraduate program without a complaint. They’d made sacrifices so that I could have a good education. At sixteen—now seventeen—it was hard for Anna to understand that we had to be frugal and cut back when her friends were getting new cars and designer handbags for their birthdays. I hoped as she got older, she’d start to see the world more realistically.

I worked at the hospital on Sunday and Monday, and was happy to be doing what I loved. Nursing always gave me tremendous satisfaction. Knowing I could ease someone’s suffering was rewarding in itself.

Tuesday morning I pulled on my jeans and an old T-shirt and went to the house. I was nervous walking through the door. My insides felt as unsure as a dry twig trembling in a breeze and just as brittle. I’d been thinking about Grayson all weekend. I hadn’t been able to see his face in the shadows, and my mind turned over image after image, wondering what he might look like. What had he been thinking? How long had he been following me? Had he been watching me while I worked in the house? Why did he hide away?

I took the back stairs and tried the door. It was locked. I wasn’t surprised. I took a deep, long breath.

“Grayson?” I waited an empty minute, standing rigidly still. I knew he was there. I could sense him. “Thank you.”

As I was heading back down the steps, I heard a door slam. I frowned, turning into the main room. I saw it from across the room. It was taped to the door. I realized it was the door to the other staircase that led up to the second floor. The words became clearer as I drew closer. They were scrawled in black across plain white paper.

DO NOT ENTER

Well then. In case I didn’t get the memo, this was loud and clear. Annoyance rolled down my spine. Was it time to jerk off again?

I stood for a moment, then a smile pulled the corner of my lips. I turned around and headed for my backpack and returned to the door with a black sharpie. I put a line through the word: NOT

I stepped back and smiled. That was much better. I don’t know why, but that simple communication, even though it was a negative directive, warmed me from head to toe. I weaved my way to the painting and stared into the riveting sky blue eyes. My fingers move over the textured surface, stopping at his lips. I don’t know what overcame me, but I leaned in and pressed my lips to the canvas.

“Thank you,” I whispered, and stepped back.

I don’t know what would’ve happened if he hadn’t stopped Mark. Part of my emotional tumult was my corrosive self-blame. I couldn’t believe I’d allowed myself to be in such a vulnerable position. I wasn’t a naive virgin. I knew what men were about. But I’d used poor judgment Friday night and was hating myself for it. I hadn’t heard from Mark and didn’t expect to. His face had been bloodied, his nose probably broken. I hope it took him a long time to heal.

My gaze moved to Grayson’s face again. I wasn’t a psychiatric nurse, but I’d done a psych rotation when I was in school and spent a semester at Bellevue hospital. There’d been many patients admitted with schizophrenia. Admittedly, I saw them at their worse, when the disorder had become so consuming they needed to be hospitalized. I squeezed my eyes closed at some of the disturbing memories. My heart always broke seeing the effects of this mentally fracturing disorder.

Most of the patients I nursed could not discern reality from fiction. I remembered one man who saw a constant parade of green dinosaurs marching down Second Avenue, and another who insisted on wearing a helmet made of tin foil to prevent aliens from reading his thoughts. It was truly heartbreaking because in their minds these events were very real and very frightening. One of my patients had repeatedly tried to commit suicide because he could no longer stand the riot of voices in his head. One of the voices had told him to jump off the roof of an eighty story building in the middle of Midtown, and he’d obeyed, finally putting an end to the clamor—and his life.

Charles had said that Grayson got worse and stopped taking his medication after his mother’s death. Experiencing trauma, or certain stressful situations could throw a borderline schizophrenic into full blown, florid psychosis. I wondered about Grayson’s relationship with his wife. With his son.

The man who’d come to my rescue Friday night did not appear psychotic. If anything, he’d seemed wary and had been able to accurately assess that I was in danger. From what I read online about him, he’d been a shark in the banking industry and a prominently successful business man. His mental condition could not have been that impaired by the disorder. Although, I knew the public persona was not always representative of what really transpired in one’s personal life.

I pivoted and looked around the room, taking inventory of the stifling debris and the shamble. I recalled how dilapidated it was upstairs. Would someone in his right mind live like this?

With more questions circling in my head, I got to work. My little oasis was growing and I was setting more and more bags aside for garbage. Soon I would need to have Charles send someone to remove them. Unfortunately, I had to do the dusting by hand because the vacuum stopped working. I didn’t know what happened to it. It had been brand new. It probably seized and self destructed when it saw the amount of dust in the house. This slowed my pace, but I was glad I was still making progress. The monotony of the work somehow soothed me, the rhythm an internal lullaby.

Looking for another flat surface to work on, I spotted an unassembled table. The parts were stacked against a far wall. Later in the week I’d clean it and tackle the assembly. It would do nicely for some of the smaller items I needed to wash and dry. I worked for several more hours, emptying one of the barrels I’d found. It was filled with delicate pieces of china that looked to be handmade. Unfortunately most of the pieces were shattered and ended up in the garbage pile. It saddened me that such precious beauty had to be discarded simply because of neglect and improper care.

The next day I walked into the house carrying an envelope. I walked up the back stairs and stopped at the still locked door. I pulled a roll of tape from my bag and tore off a strip with my teeth, then taped the envelope to the door. It was a thank you note. If I couldn’t thank him personally, at least I could convey my gratitude in writing.

I bit my lip, thinking for a moment. On impulse, I pulled out my sketch pad. I ripped out the two drawings I’d completed in the park, folded them, and stuffed them quickly into the envelope before I could change my mind. I almost took back the second drawing. The thought of it made a blush fan over my skin, but I decided to leave it. I went back into the main room and approached the door that still had the sign taped to it and stopped. I smiled, wondering if Grayson had seen my editing.

I was able to come for about an hour each day that week, and each day I checked the door and saw that my envelope was still there, taped like derelict mail at an abandoned house. I knew he’d seen it because I saw subtle signs in the kitchen that he'd been there. Even with all the clutter, I noticed that things had been moved or used. Charles texted me a few times to see how things were going. My answers were always short and direct. He made several attempts to draw out our dialogue, but I always cut him off with an excuse to get off the phone. He called several times, but I never answered. I had no desire to speak to him.

After class on Friday, I found I had some time on my hands. I was itching to sketch, but wanted to get in some work hours at the townhouse. I had shifts at the hospital for the next three days and wouldn’t be able to come. I wanted to get as much cleaned out as possible. I entered the house and as usual checked the door at the top of the stairs. My body froze when I noticed that my envelope was gone and had been replaced by a different envelope. It was taped to the door in the same spot where mine had been.

My breathing picked up and my fingers shook as I removed it. I was so shaken up I couldn't bring myself to open it. Instead I stuffed it in my bag, then numbly made my way back down the stairs and out the front door. I knew I was being ridiculous, but I wanted to open it in private. I needed to clear my head and prepare myself for whatever was in the envelope. I delayed because part of me was afraid. I was afraid it would be a note like the one on the door warning me away.

In my room, I locked the door and sat cross legged on my bed. The envelope lay reverently in my lap like it held a sacred scripture. I watched my knees bounce nervously. My palms were clammy and my heart threatened to burst out of my chest. Those deep, piercing blue eyes flashed in my mind and I sucked in a breath as a shudder moved through me and raised the hair all over my body. I scolded myself. What the fuck was wrong with me? Why was I acting like this? Why did I feel like everything rested on what was in that envelope?

With a grunt of disgust, I snatched it up and ripped it open, mentally preparing myself for the worse. After all, I’d given him a drawing of himself masturbating. Oh God…

My hands stilled and I stared down in disbelief.

A ticket to see Maroon 5.

I let out a squeal and hugged it to my chest.

CHAPTER FOUR

I couldn't wait to get back to the townhouse on Tuesday. I practically ran up the back steps when I got there. I gritted my teeth and growled in frustration when I discovered that the door was still locked. I knocked and waited. And waited. And waited.

I heard slight rustling behind the door. He was standing close, probably just on the other side.

“Grayson.” I smiled. “I know you’re there.”

Nothing.

“Thank you for the ticket.” I waited. Still nothing.

Frustrated, I sighed loudly. “I just thought you should know I signed up for a class on breaking and entering. They teach how to pick locks. Yeah, they focus on breaking into banks and sneaking up on naked, unsuspecting men.”

Nothing. Okay. After that wisecrack, he probably thought I was nuts. I gave it another minute and then plodded back down the steps. I walked into the main room and my gaze immediately flew to the sign on the door. It was different. I strode to the door and stood in front of it. He’d added ‘N'T’ to the ‘DO’ so that the sign now read: DON’T ENTER.

Wiseass!

I snickered loudly and shifted my weight onto one foot. At least we were communicating. Well, kind of. Hmmm….

I went to my bag then came back and wielded my black Sharpie, then stood back and smiled. There!

I’d brazenly put a line through all the words and written:

JUST OPEN UP ALREADY!

I was never one to beat around the bush.

The sign stayed like that for two days. On Thursday when I came back, I noticed something strange about my oasis. On the small table was a tall paper cup I knew I hadn’t left there. I touched it, then frowned, surprised to find it hot. I pulled open the lid. Coffee. Gasping, I took a quick sip and smiled.

My gaze alighted on the sign as I turned toward the door. There were so many words with lines through them that I had to get closer to make any sense of it, but I could tell there’d been a change. I stood in front of the door, still holding my coffee, feeling the warmth of it in my palm.

All the words I’d written with my black Sharpie were crossed out. All except one: OPEN.

I drew in a sharp breath, not really believing my eyes. My hand moved to the knob. I turned it and the door opened.

Oh, God… My head swiveled back to the main room and I gulped. As I climbed the stairs, I thought about what Charles had said about Grayson not being well. Should I be afraid? There were many emotions scuttling around inside me. Oddly enough, fear was not one of them. Nervous excitement and a strange exhilaration filled my belly like a swarm of humming bees.

The stairs spilled into the wide hall and my knees locked stiff when I saw him. He was waiting for me, leaning his wide shoulders casually against a wall. He was a lot bigger than I’d remembered him from the alley. He looked tall and solid and something warmed inside me. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of faded blue jeans that rode low on his hips and a worn V-neck T-shirt hugged his chest.

His hair hung in long loose waves, the uneven edges just shy of his shoulders. The dark locks were streaked through at the temples with thin brush strokes of silver. He had chiseled cheekbones and lips that looked delicious. His bottom lip was slightly fuller than the top, shapely and enticing. My breath quickened as I raised my gaze to his eyes. They were the same as in the portrait, the same sparkling blue I’d stared into for weeks. Stunning. In fact, his face was the same, except aged with lines that made him look distinguished and handsome. He gazed at me with slightly raised brows. His blue eyes were cautiously guarded—suspicious.

“Thanks for the invitation up,” I laughed lightly, nervously. “Guess I won’t need that lock-picking class after all.”

“You can always use it for robbing banks.”

I chuckled, but his expression remained shielded. We stood quiet for a minute. God! For weeks I’d wanted to talk to him. Now jitters were breeding under my skin like sand flies. Another moment ticked by, and flustered, I thrust the cup of coffee in his direction.

“Thanks. It’s really good. Hazelnut is my favorite. And—and thanks again for the ticket. I love Maroon 5. I didn’t think I’d be able to go.”

He stared quietly and I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, fighting the urge to step closer. A strange giddiness scrambled my thoughts and made me light headed.

“I figured since I’m working downstairs, I should introduce myself. I’m Angie, but—but you probably already know that since you’ve been following me. And thanks for what you did for me on Friday night. You saved me. I don’t know what would’ve happened had you not been there. Oh, and about the other day… I’m so sorry I spied on you. I hadn’t intended to. It’s just that… that I saw you and… I… I couldn’t help myself.”

My eyes widened at the implication. “I mean, I’m not a pervert or anything. I don’t usually go around spying on naked men. Really, I don’t—not that I mind doing it. It’s just always been consensual when I’ve done it.”

Oh God…what the hell was I saying? Change subject. Now!

“I’ll try not to bother you while I’m working downstairs. I promise. I’ve been trying to be as quiet as possible, well…” I lowered my lids, “except for the times I yelled through your door and banged on it repeatedly. But I’d just wanted to say thanks.”

I pushed the words out as one sloppy verbal run-on…Ugh! I was rambling. I sighed apologetically.

“I’m sorry. I’m going on and on. You must think I’m crazy.”

I gasped. Had I just said that? “Not that there’s anything wrong with being crazy! I have lots of friends who are crazy! In fact, I think the whole world is crazy!”

I looked away, biting my tongue. Anything to get the damn thing to quit wagging.

Dear God, please create a hole big enough to swallow me up right now.

I was mortified. Here was my chance to finally talk to this man, and I was making a total ass of myself. I’d probably just insulted him in a million different of ways.

I chanced a look at him through my lashes. He’d remained remarkably quiet throughout my bout of verbal diarrhea. His expression was still cautious, but something like a smile played on his lips and the fine lines at the corner of his eyes crinkled.

He pushed off of the wall and folded his arms across his  broad chest. He was tall. Maybe just over six feet. I had to adjust the trajectory of my gaze.

“You already said thank you in your note.”

I noticed he didn’t mention the drawings.

“I thought a thank you note was a bit impersonal. I wanted to do it in person.”

A skeptical brow shot up.

“Okay…maybe not so impersonal,” I muttered, my face growing hot.

“You’re welcome.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” I said quickly. He angled back to me with the same brow raised. I shifted my gaze around the hall, not ready to end our conversation.

“Since I’m cleaning up downstairs. Maybe I can clean out some stuff up here, too.”

“I like it the way it is.” His voice was suddenly harder.

Oh. Okay. I frowned.

“Then maybe just a little dusting.”

“No.”

“How about I just straighten up the books on the floor? Are the books downstairs yours, too? You must love to read.”

He turned to me fully and sighed heavily, his tolerance obviously waning.

“Don’t you have some cleaning to do downstairs?”

I pursed my lips, a little piqued at his quick dismissal. What a charmer.

“I would vacuum, but the vacuum cleaner broke.”

“I disabled it.”

“What?” Had I heard him correctly?

“I disabled it.”

“Why?” I frowned, perplexed.

“The noise. It bothers me,” he said simply. “Drives me crazy.”

He raised his finger and twirled it in circles next to his head.

I couldn’t tell if he was simply mocking me or if he was serious. Finally his lips tilted up in a small smile. He shook his head and regarded me like I was a giant inkblot. That stingy smile made warm honey pour through my veins and a sweet longing settled low in my belly.

“I think you should go. I have work to do,” he said.“Work?” What could he possibly be working on up here? Obviously, not the decor.

“Yes,” he said patiently. “I work on my computer.”

“Oh.”

“Goodbye, Angie.” He turned to leave again.

An idea suddenly popped into my head.

“Um…I could use your help with something.” I called after him and he stopped again and pivoted.

His brow lifted, but he didn’t look eager to hear what I had to say.

“I have a table downstairs that needs assembling.” I laughed lightly when he frowned. “It’s the least you could do for breaking my vacuum.” I couldn’t believe I was being so pushy, but I knew that as soon as I left, the door would be locked again.

“It’s not broken. It’s disabled. There’s a difference.”

I stared back at him, wondering if he was talking about more than the vacuum.

“Okay,” I intoned slowly.

His blue eyes locked on me for a moment, his gaze scanning my face, evaluating, judging.

He didn’t trust me. I could tell.

“I’m really not good with stuff like that. All thumbs.” I put my hands up and wiggled the digits in question. I grinned, trying to tear my gaze away from his handsome face. I was sure that staring at him like he was a yummy dessert with all the toppings wasn't helping my case. “I’m bound to lose a limb or something…or take out an eye…sever an artery…”

Shoving his hands back into his pockets, he sighed, seeming to have come to some decision.

“bust a gut…stump a—” I continued slowly.

“Fine.”

Huh? “Great.” The way he’d looked at me, I didn’t think he’d agree to help me. He probably just wanted to shut me up.

I turned and headed back down the steps with a secret smile tickling my lips. Grayson was behind me and my skin prickled in response to his nearness. I led him to the table pieces I’d already dragged to my oasis. Immediately, he sat down on the floor and, without a word, he got started. I walked over to the debris where I’d found the table and started picking around, noisily knocking over an umbrella stand in the process. Oops! He stopped working and looked over at me.

I grinned apologetically.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for the instructions.”

“Don’t need them.”

“Says every man.” I dusted off my hands and returned to where he was sitting.

A beam of sunlight cut through the dark waves of his hair, highlighting the side of his face and the slope of a broad shoulder. I tried not to stare, but was enthralled with the way it kissed the angles of his face and caressed the curve of his shoulder with  glowing affection. I was very aware of his presence, the way his muscles flexed as he moved, the determined tilt of his head, and the even rhythm of his breathing as he worked diligently on the table.

I felt as if there was static electricity charging the air between us and wondered if he felt it too. I thought of the gorgeous body I’d seen naked, and immediately, my nipples drew tight and my breath hitched, locking high in my throat. An erotic image filled my head. I imagined his fingers strangling his thick shaft along with the gritty drag of his moan when he came. Arousal flickered through me and I bit back a groan. His long, dark lashes lifted and he caught me staring.

Blushing, I swung my gaze away, looking for an escape from my naughty thoughts. My sight darted to the pieces of wood and metal laid out in front of him, then it focused on the screws…no, no…not the screws! Don’t think about screws…screw…screwing! My train of thought was shot. Shit, how long had it been since I’d had sex? Six months? It was amazing how my body reacted to him.

I cleared my throat and tried to concentrate, certain I was losing my mind. “You sure you don’t want me to look for instructions?”

“Don’t need them,” he repeated without looking up.

“Well, okay.” I plopped on the floor across from him, awareness still buzzing through me. I cocked my head and looked at him, watching his long fingers work.

“But if I end up with a one legged table or a three legged chair, you’ll have to answer to me.”

He didn’t respond. He kept his head down, but I noticed a hint of a smile curve up his beautiful lips and I forgot to breathe again.

The following day, I arrived at the house later than usual. I’d had a morning class and then had to complete a few tutorials in the anatomy lab. Spring Break was in two weeks and I couldn’t wait. I relished the thought of a whole week off from school.

Jenny was going to be away and I’d promised Anna that she could spend a few days with me at my apartment. I groaned now with regret. Anna had hammered away at me at her birthday celebration. She always loved coming into the city and being away from the scrutiny of our parents, but she could be a handful.

I walked into the townhouse and a slow smile claimed my lips when I saw a cup of coffee waiting on the perfectly constructed table. The coffee was cold and I realized Grayson must have set it there this morning. I remembered seeing a microwave in the large kitchen and headed in that direction with my cup. I wondered if he waited for my arrival every day, if he looked forward to seeing me today as I did him.

I laughed at myself. Considering how I seemed to annoy him, I seriously doubted that. He most likely eagerly awaited my departure from this house so he could reclaim his solitude.

I heated my coffee and made my way back to the other room. Stopping at my oasis, I let my gaze roam the remaining debris. There was still a significant amount of junk in the room. Despite my best efforts over the past several weeks, it seemed I’d only made a small dent in the rubbish. There was a giant crate sitting in front of a row of elbow-high, neatly stacked books. It was stamped on the side and postmarked from Australia.

I’d found many interesting things from around the world while clearing out the room. Too bad most of them were in such shabby condition. I wondered if Grayson was the one who’d traveled the world and collected all these things. If I could empty the crate, I’d be able to access the books more easily. I made my way to it and set my coffee on the floor. It’s weight was tremendous, and after several unsuccessful attempts, I gave up trying to move it. There was no way I could lift it by myself.

Walking back to my table, I thought about what Charles had said about the heavy items in the room and getting me help. I took a sip of my coffee, feeling the warm liquid slide down my throat and heat my body. Hmm. A much better idea blossomed, and I smiled mischievously. Seriously, why would I need to bother Charles when I had a very able-bodied man right upstairs? I tried hard not to think of his body or its potential abilities. Plus, I’d rather not deal with Charles’ lecherous stares, or his whole I’m-God’s-gift-to-women attitude.

My head swiveled to the door that still had the ‘open’ sign taped to it and with a deep breath, I headed up to the second floor. I called out loudly from the top of the stairs, not wanting to intrude again on a private moment, although I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the thought of seeing Grayson naked was immensely appealing and set my heart aflutter.

I peeked into the room with the mismatched furniture and saw him sitting at the desk with his back to me, his fingers flying fast over the computer keyboard. I stood in the doorway, my hands on my hips. Had he not heard me calling? And what was he doing on the computer? Was it the work he’d alluded to?

I cleared my throat. His hands stopped instantly, and he swiveled in his chair to face me. He looked delectable in a wrinkled blue button down shirt that matched his eyes.

“Hi,” I gave a small wave.

He just stared at me with one eyebrow raised.

“Um…thanks for the coffee,” I smiled brightly.

He speared his fingers through his thick waves, pushing the long hair back from his face. He didn’t look surprised to see me.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“It was very sweet of you.”

Was that an eye roll? I should know. I was the ‘eye roll queen’.

“Well,” I forged ahead, “I need your help. I’m having trouble moving a crate. It’s too heavy for me to move alone.”

“You seem to be rather helpless lately,” he tossed out as he stood, but again, I saw a hint of a smile on his lips.

I shrugged and looked away, trying to hide my own smile and the excitement he stirred inside me. “What can I say, I’m a damsel in distress.”

Would he catch me if I swooned? No, I had a feeling I’d just bust my ass on the floor.

His brows pleated skeptically as his long legs brought him to stand directly in front of me. I had to brace myself. His nearness was overwhelming, like walking out my front door into an explosion of morning sunshine. Beautiful. Warm. Filled with promise. Yet sometimes I needed sunglasses from its intensity.

There was something about Grayson that went beyond the physical, something magnetic that drew me in. Why he affected me this way? I didn’t know. But now, this ray of sunshine was frowning as he stared down at me, his eyes like cloudy blue skies. He was wondering what I was up to, I knew. He was trying to figure me out. I smiled, then held up my hands and wiggled my thumbs.

“I wouldn’t want to hurt myself. Certified klutz, remember? All thumbs?”

“Right.” He pursed his lips as he took off down the stairs. I followed, checking out the view from the rear. Nice. Downstairs, I indicated the crate and he tested its weight. It took the two of us to hoist it over and settle it on the floor next to the table.

It had an old lock on it that had almost rusted through. I chewed my lip, wondering how I’d get it open. It was already partially loose so I figured that some hammering might open it easily.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a hammer, would you?” I asked, my gaze shifting around the room looking for something heavy.

“You? Wielding a hammer? Miss ‘All thumbs’?” He asked, incredulous, already shaking his head.

That made me smile. “Wait here,” I ordered, an idea sprouting.

His sigh was almost palpable, but he stayed rooted as I sprinted through the dusty book maze to the front door. Outside, I grabbed a large rock and made my way back into the house. When I got back to the crate, he was gone. I gritted my teeth in frustration. This man!

Trying to get Grayson to spend time with me was like trying to nail jello to a tree. Frustrating…I looked down at the stains on my shirt that had rubbed off from the dirty crate…and messy.

I’d hoped he’d give me a hand, that I could talk to him some more, maybe find out why he sequestered himself upstairs. Perhaps he went to look for a hammer. It was most likely he’d ditched me and went back upstairs to work.

“I guess I’ll just have to do this all by myself!” I directed my voice at the closed door to the stairs. I started pounding the lock with the stone, getting annoyed when it wasn’t opening.

“I hope the sight of blood doesn’t bother you! You might want to keep a phone handy to call nine-one-one if I pulverize a finger! Or lose a limb!”

Frustrated now, I started banging my side against the top of the crate, hoping to budge the loose top. “Or break a hip!” I yelled as I bent over the crate and started pounding again. My ponytail kept falling into my face and I batted it away. I was starting to work up a sweat.

I mumbled a series of curses under my breath when the stone started to crumble, raining gravel on the floor and my sneakers. I could see the floor through my legs, and my oaths trailed off as Grayson’s feet came into view between them. I turned to a smirk edging up his lips as he dangled a key from his fingers.

“You’re making a mess,” he said, nodding to the crumbled stone on the floor.

Seriously? Look around. I bit my lip.

I sighed and ignored his comment, making sure my frustration was evident. I knew he was teasing me again.

“You think you could’ve told me you had a key before I risked life and limb?”

“I wasn’t sure I still had it.” His lips quirked as I reached out and plucked it from his hand. “Plus, it was amusing witnessing your creativity.”

“Glad I could entertain you,” I rolled my eyes, but when I turned to open the crate, a grin broke out across my face.

At least I amused him. That was better than annoy, right?

I opened the lid and started unpacking the items that were wrapped tightly in yellowed newspaper.

“I think you’re out of danger now. It appears that all of your limbs are intact. I have to get back to work.”

I turned, biting back a snarky reply. My fingers were wrapped around a beautiful ceramic plate and I held it up to him, angling it so that light filtered through glass in a dazzling rainbow. “Did you collect all these beautiful things?”

He stared for a silent heartbeat, and I didn’t think he’d answer. Finally he said, “My father. He was a collector.”

I nodded. That explained all the things in the room. “These are from Australia?” I asked, pulling more items from the crate. I handed him a heavy object to unwrap.

“We went there when I was fifteen,” he offered cautiously. “My dad liked to visit the galleries. He liked to collect local treasures.”

“Were these made by the locals?”

He nodded. “These were made by Bendigo potters in a wood fired kiln. They’ve been doing it for over one hundred and fifty years.”

“They’re gorgeous.” I examined what looked like an ornate preserving jar.

I watched him unwrap the jug I’d given him and place it on the table. His long fingers gently caressed the floral pattern before he turned and regarded me, his head tilted and his eyes narrowed.

“You’re really interested?”

I nodded, surprised that he’d ask. The craftsmanship of the items was impeccable. I wanted to know more. I was also curious about the man in front of me. The way he handled the items clearly showed they meant something to him. Why were they so neglected?

“I’ve never traveled outside of the United States. I find this stuff fascinating.” I admitted, pulling another item from the crate

“We traveled extensively. My parents would sometimes take me out of school.”

I snorted. “My dad would never do that, even if we had the money to actually go somewhere.”

“You never took vacations?” He focused on me, his stare intense.

I shook my head. “We never had much, just enough for the essentials. My dad was—is—a strong advocate of education. I even went to school during the summer.” I smiled. “I’m the first one in my family to go to college—and now grad school.”

“They must be very proud of you.”

I nodded. “What was it like, traveling with your parents? It must have been cool collecting all this stuff.”

I watched his chest rise and fall with a deep, quiet breath.

“I suppose it was a different kind of education. My dad was obsessed with preserving humanity. His plan was to build an ark where he could store his treasures. He was convinced that the world would soon come to an end.”

I studied his face, trying to tell if he was joking, if his dad really believed that. By the look in his eyes, though, I could tell he was serious. But that had been a long time ago.

“What does he think now?”

His pause was barely perceptible. “He’s dead.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered lamely. I listened as he continued, not really knowing what else to say.

“He thought that each country would be eventually swallowed up by the ocean and we’d lose pieces of human history.”

Grayson stood quietly, deep in thought as if reliving a memory. His expression was unreadable but there was a remote bleakness on his face indicating that his thoughts had turned inward.

“Like Atlantis.” I smiled weakly.

He blinked back to the present. His beautiful lips pulled in a half smile as his blue eyes met mine. “Like Atlantis.”

It took us two hours to empty the crate. We fell into a routine, me handing him objects to unwrap and him giving them back to me to sort. Unfortunately, many of the pieces we unearthed were broken or chipped. There were a few objects that I was able to pack into a smaller box for him to keep. He told me about each item I pulled out: it’s function, how it was crafted by hand on a wheel, then fired to perfection in an ancient furnace. He didn’t mention needing to return to his work even once, and I was happy to have this stolen time with him.

I took a break for half an hour and pulled out my text books, sitting at the table in my oasis. At one point, I looked up and found Grayson quietly regarding me, his expression masked. His gaze caused a shock of warmth to travel through my body, perhaps it was because I hadn’t expected it. He was so reserved, always holding back. My reclusive hero was an enigma. He did the most wonderful things for me, yet blocked every attempt I made to get close to him.

Every moment I spent with him, every piece of information I’d extracted was like a rare gem I’d stolen from a treasure chest. We stared at each other for a few heart beats, his blue gaze locked on mine. A ribbon of warmth coiled between us, a gentle spiral of emotion that sharpened an ache in my chest. Then with a frown, he abruptly lowered his lids and looked away, severing the connection.

I smiled to myself and returned my attention to my textbook, thinking that he was the strangest, most perplexing man I’d ever known.

CHAPTER FIVE

I arrived at the house early the next morning. My coffee was still hot, and as usual, it tasted delicious. Morning sunshine clamored through the small circle in the window, trying to cheer up the dull spaces in the room. I thought about my time with Grayson yesterday. I’d really enjoyed talking to him and hearing about all the wonderful places he’d traveled with his family. I’d felt as though I was living the experiences through his memories.

Even though there was an easy comfort between us, he was still hesitant to open up or to talk more about his past. There were times his memories would travel down a lush path, keeping me enthralled. Then he’d come to a sudden dead end. No matter how I pressed, he wouldn't detour around to continue. He’d simply change the subject and move down a different road.

I took another sip of coffee and smacked the flavor on my lips, loving the rich spice. It reminded me of Grayson, unique and addictive.

I wanted to get to the tall stacks of books cluttering the entrance. Maybe I could make an easier and more direct path to the back of the room. It was only nine o’clock. I wondered what Grayson was up to. I pictured his wide shoulders hovering over the computer keyboard. Or maybe he’d made my coffee and gone back to bed. Needless to say, that idea led my brain down a path where it conjured all sorts of sexy images: wrinkled sheets twisting around his long legs, a bare chest nestled against a pillow, his beautiful face and chiseled jaw relaxed in slumber with a slight frown marring his brow. I smiled. He always seemed to wear that frown.

Would he have a morning boner? I recalled this other impressive feature of his yummy body and my sex clenched.

Stifling a groan, I turned my gaze back to the stacks. There must’ve been a leak or small flood at some point because many of the books looked water damaged. I peered up to the impressive domed ceiling I’d admired on my first day, now noticing an intricate network of cracks that reminded me of delicate spider veins. I wondered what was going on above it. Most of the ceiling, though, was in good condition, with the lovely mural depicting pastel cherubs frolicking merrily.

I sighed, deciding that I needed help with the books. After all, four hands were better than two. God, I was so obvious! My grin filled with mischief and my breath quickened, excited by the thought of seeing Grayson. I headed toward the door to the upstairs. Grayson was coming down just as I reached the bottom step. I was caught by surprise, and I almost spilled my coffee.

“Careful with that,” he warned, his eyes bright and shining.

I blinked. “You were on your way down?”

He walked past me, shrugging his wide shoulders. I noticed his hair was damp, the gray almost invisible. He must have just come out of the shower. I wanted to groan out loud at the images  knocking around in my brain.

“I figured I’d save you the trip upstairs.”

I opened and closed my mouth soundlessly, wondering if I should be affronted by his presumptuousness.

“Out with it,” he coaxed. “What task have you concocted for me today?”

I twisted my lips and regarded him, a hand landing on my hip. I guess I hadn’t realized I’d been interfering with his active social calendar.

“You sure you can fit me in to your busy day? I’m thrilled you’ve put me on your schedule.”

His lips jerked with a smile, almost a full one. My heart leapt. “Luckily there was room. There was a small space labeled miscellaneous. You got it.”

I made a face and turned away, trying to keep the twitch from my lips.

“Lucky me,” I threw cheekily over my shoulder.

“My thumbs are fully functional and ready to go,” he quipped.

From what I’ve seen, so is the rest of you… I took a large gulp of coffee and kept my back to him. I knew that my face must be beet red. Dear, God…this man…

“We should start with the tall stacks of books by the entrance. I’d like to get them out of the way.” When I didn’t hear a response, I twirled around to look at him. “Too much for you? Thumbs not up to the task?” I shot him a teasing smile, but the look on his face turned it to stone.

His lips were pinched tight and his brows zipped together, tracking across his forehead. His gaze was riveted on the giant stacks of books. I pivoted to look at them, then turned back to his hard stare.

“You can just help me move the heavy ones and we can get rid of the ones that are water damaged,” I said, guessing he might be concerned that we were throwing out books that were sentimental.

“No.” he grated roughly.

I shook my head, perplexed. “All of these books are really a fire hazard, especially when stacked as they are. Plus, you can’t even get around the room. They’re old and musty and contribute to the dust.”

“No!” he said more forcefully, causing me to frown at his tone. I didn’t understand.

“Why not get rid of them?” Surely he couldn’t like the mountain of debris. And even if he did, we could consolidate them and arrange them so the room wasn’t a hazardous death trap. My thoughts were scrambled and confused. I watched his inky lashes lower, but his expression didn’t lose its severity.

“I put them there. They protect me.”

I shook my head again, not sure I’d heard him correctly.

“What?”“The books, they keep me safe. They’re my protection. I won’t help you move them.”

I swiveled my gaze back to the stacks, almost doubting my ears. Had he really said that they protected him? Then like a puzzle, a pattern slowly emerged. The stacks of books, some taller, some shorter, barricaded the entrance of the house, almost like a castle wall. The stacks formed a thick layer, a fort blocking off the back of the room. It was a make-shift battlement of books with alternating merlons and crenels. It was only through the twisted path that you could gain access to where we were standing. I thought of the iron fence outside the house and realized that none of the other townhouses on the block had one. I swallowed hard and turned back to him, really not understanding.

“Keep you safe from what?” They were just books. If a burglar wanted to get into the house, he could still easily do so. A pile of books would not be a deterrent. The house already seemed to have a state-of-the-art security system. I told him that, but he didn't answer. He stood silent, his body rigid.

Charles had said that Grayson was particular and that he was paranoid. Was this part of his illness? Could this belief that piles of books can protect him be a product of his disordered thoughts? Up until now, Grayson had seemed pretty normal.

A strange despondence filled me, driving away my previous warmth. The last thing I wanted to do was to make a big deal about piles of old books, or make Grayson upset or feel uncomfortable.

“Okay,” I smiled and took a step toward him, hoping to thaw the sudden friction between us. He parried with a step back, looking wary.

I stopped in my tracks, taking a deep breath. I watched his face closely. His countenance was tense. His gaze was zipping around the room, suddenly skittish and leery, filled with anxiety.

“It’s okay, Grayson. We’ll leave the books as they are. I’ll assign you a different task.” I smiled gently. “Those fully functioning thumbs are still mine, right?”

His gaze skidded to mine, but he didn’t smile. I scanned the room, tapping a finger against my lip. I assigned him the task of stacking the portraits into two neat piles. His muscles visibly loosened as he headed in that direction, and I remembered a question I’d had for him.

“What do the numbers on the bottom of the paintings mean?”

He stopped and looked at me, a thumb jerking behind him to the beautiful rendition of himself. “That one?”

“Yes.”

The corner of his lips kicked up slightly. “The amount of times I almost strangled the artist.”

I laughed and rolled my eyes, relieved that he was back to himself. I’d been afraid he’d completely shut me out again.

“This particular artist had numbered every portrait he’d painted. I was number one thousand nine hundred and eighty,” he explained.

I nodded as he started toward the painting, thinking he was too unique to be just another number. My cell buzzed, interrupting my thoughts. A text. I rolled my eyes, thinking it was my sister again. She was excited about coming to stay with me and was making all sorts of plans. I reluctantly looked down at the phone. It was Charles.

Have dinner with me. Tonight.

I read the text and my gaze slid over to Grayson. He was just reaching out to grasp the frame of a large painting. I watched his muscles bunch and flex under his shirt and tried to ignore my pathological fascination with his body.

Chewing on my lip, I contemplated a response to Charles. There was no way in hell I’d ever date him. Even though I’d made that abundantly clear, he still wouldn’t take no for an answer. This was the second text I’d received from him in the last week asking me out.

My phone buzzed again and l looked down.

Let me take you to dinner. Any place you want. Le Cirque? Le Benardin? I’ll pick you up in the Bentley.

I snorted aloud, quieting when Grayson shot me a curious glance. Seriously? Was that supposed to impress me? Fancy restaurants and an expensive car? I silenced my phone and shoved it back into my pocket. Perhaps the best thing to do was ignore him. Hopefully he’d eventually get the message.

Over the next week, I made sure that I found one chore or another for Grayson to assist me with. It was sometimes the most menial of tasks. One afternoon I asked him to help me sort a pile of colored paperclips that I’d pulled from my backpack. He frowned, but sat next to me in my little oasis, putting them into piles of their respective color. I assured him that this was imperative in keeping me organized and would guarantee me all As in school. He lifted his brow in marked skepticism, but I swore I saw a fleeting smile play on his lips.

Heat fluttered up my arm each time our fingers accidentally brushed together and I tried not to read into the fact that he kept encroaching on my space, reaching for my pile of paperclips. I loved watching his long fingers dance as they sorted. I even found the tiny hairs on the back of his knuckles intriguing. I watched his eyes flick back and forth with concentration, and wondered if he knew I’d invented the task just to keep him nearby.

Determined to banish the thick layer of dust from the heavy drapery, one afternoon, I found a ladder and decided to tackle the onerous task. I was perched on the top rung, reaching for a dusty fold in the curtain when a deep voice sounded behind me. Startled, my arm jerked and I watched the duster drop to the floor with a thud. Frowning, I stared down into Grayson’s upturned face. He was standing at the bottom of the ladder, his forehead deeply creased and his hands planted on his narrow hips. He was wearing a loose white T-shirt and faded jeans. Gorgeous.

“What are you doing up there?” he asked.

Squashing the flutters in my belly from his sudden appearance, I smiled and waved casually.

“Dusting.”

He retrieved the duster from the floor and arced his head to look up at me. His lustrous eyes twinkled with amusement.

“It will be pretty difficult with this on the floor. Don’t take this the wrong way, but a self-proclaimed klutz should not be on a ladder.”

I snorted, again surprised by his bold teasing. Grayson’s words were usually measured, scarce, his humor like a clever afterthought. He’d say something and a minute later I’d find myself chuckling.

I started down the ladder to retrieve the duster, determined to glide down with the aplomb and grace of a queen. I scoffed, mildly irritated by his statement. I really wasn’t all thumbs. That had been a silly story I’d invented to procure his assistance. One that had worked admirably. But it was about time I told him the truth.

“I am not a—ahhhhhh!”

I was just about to set the record straight when my foot missed the second to last rung, and with arms flailing, my body went flying. My arms could have been propellers revving for flight, while my body was a stalled engine determined to crash in the opposite direction. It was only when strong arms gripped me, that I was able to upright myself and regain my equilibrium, if not my dignity.

We both stood there for a minute at the bottom of the ladder, surprised and breathing heavy. His arms were securely around me while my fists gripped the front of his shirt. There was not a molecule of space between us. Adrenaline was still pulsing though my veins, driving up my heart rate. I issued a nervous little laugh, mortified that I’d been anything but graceful. I knew, though, that it was Grayson’s nearness that kept me distracted and off kilter. Around him I was a klutz.

I was busy mentally berating myself when my senses backslapped me to stinging awareness. I couldn’t have contrived a better scenario.

Grayson’s solid body was fastened against mine. I did an internal happy dance and leaned impossibly closer, reveling in the feel of his tight body. Each glorious muscle was tensed with the force of his hold on me. His breath shuttled in and out, warm puffs like a heady cloud drugging my senses and flaming my desire. His mouth was mere inches from mine. I licked my lips, mad for a taste of him. That action shifted his gaze to my parted lips, and I could feel his chest rise and fall in earnest. I could also feel his dick growing thick against my abdomen and I started to overheat.

“You were saying?” His voice was raspy, barely reaching my ears. There might have even been a hint of humor. I wasn’t sure.

Huh? What? I could hardly think at the moment. Forming words was not on my brain’s list of priorities. Instinctively, I flexed my hips, bumping against the solid evidence of his arousal. God! He felt good! I circled my hips slowly and a low groan floated between us. I wasn’t sure if it had come from him, or myself, or both of us.

Grayson sighed and abruptly dropped his arms. Retrieving my duster for the second time, he handed it to me. I took it, trying to muster some semblance of control over my raging desire. My body was screaming for him to pull me back in his arms, for him to kiss me. My nipples beaded painfully. He turned, giving me his back, and I knew he was trying to conceal the massive erection that had been pressed against me.

“Grayson…”

I bit into my bottom lip. I wanted to desperately acknowledge what was happening between us.

“Be careful, Angie. I don’t want you to get hurt,” he tossed over his shoulder before he stalked off, heading upstairs.

I stood there, staring after him, wondering about his words. I didn’t think he’d been referring to the ladder.

The following week was extremely busy for me. I worked two twelve hour shifts at the hospital, trying to squeeze in studying whenever I could. Biochemistry was a demanding class that required an impossible amount of reading. Even if I forfeited all sleep and read straight through every night, I still wouldn’t be able to get through the requisite chapters for my exam.

I thought about Grayson constantly. My dreams were vivid with him. Even when he wasn’t at the forefront of my thoughts, he lingered in the background. My mind always found ways to reroute my thoughts to him.

Many times, I found myself sweetly daydreaming about his smiling blue eyes, about how the corners crinkled when he joked, or how that one brow shot up when he mocked me. I still didn’t understand his book-fort or why he felt he needed it, but it wasn’t easy getting inside Grayson’s head. He was still very guarded with his responses. I often had to steal answers from his facial expressions.

I thought I saw him on campus once. It was a late afternoon and I was coming out of the science building. My heart had leapt with joy at the sight of the familiar image across the street. I thought I recognized the height, build, and wavy dark hair, but when I looked again, he’d vanished. Since the night with Mark, I knew he followed me, but I was never sure of when or how often. There were moments I could almost feel his presence, but whenever I turned and searched for him, he was never to be found.

On Wednesday, I went back to the house, taking along my backpack stuffed with heavy books. I enlisted Grayson’s help with sorting through some of the old furniture that was in a haphazard pile. In order to get to a few of the pieces, I had to deconstruct several piles of his book fort. It was just a few piles toward the back of the room. When I asked him if it was okay, he just nodded. I asked if he was sure and he nodded again, but he didn’t help me. He found something else to occupy his time, sending me worried glances every now and then.

We were both moving a love seat with beautifully carved wood to the far side of the room when my cellphone buzzed. Setting down the couch, I pulled the device from my pocket. I read the text from my physics teacher and whooped joyously. Grayson stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. A streak of excitement zipped through me and without thinking, I flung my arms around his chest, hugging him tightly. His body instantly stiffened at the contact, but I was so elated that I held on and looked up into his face, smiling broadly.

“I got a sixty-five on my midterm!” I beamed.

He frowned deeply. “Last I heard, that’s not exactly a good grade. So much for your paperclips.”

I grinned. “It was the highest grade in the class! She’s curving the grades because it was such a hard test. So, I got an A!”

I was practically bursting out of my skin. Impulsively, I tiptoed and smacked my lips against his. The impact sizzled my flesh. I’d intended to pull back, but the feel of him against me was wonderfully intoxicating. I moved in closer and intensified the press of my lips, rubbing in lazy circles over his unresponsive mouth.

His breath sawed hard through his nostrils and stroked against my cheek, but he didn’t pull away. That inspired me, and I dragged the tip of my tongue along his mouth, wetting the seam of his lips. A groan purred from his throat and I opened my eyes to see that his were squeezed tightly shut. I could tell that he was struggling with a conflict, an internal battle of will. Determined to see his battle lost, I rocked my abdomen against an erection that was already impressive and still rapidly growing.

Another groan vibrated from his throat, deep and rough. His hand shot up and he sank his fingers into my ponytail, gripping it tight. He yanked my head back, abruptly breaking the kiss. Staring down at me, he pleated his forehead and his gaze zigged-zagged over my face. Heat burned my cheeks, and I knew desire must’ve been soaked in my eyes.

I wanted him. Badly. My skin was tingling with an excruciating desire for his touch and my pussy was slick with my need for him. I couldn’t explain this intense attraction I had for this man. Without warning, his parted lips swooped down on mine and he slid his tongue deep into my mouth. The contact was explosive. I garbled a few exclamations and moaned deeply, gliding my tongue against his. He tasted like raw sunshine. Hot. Sweet. Delicious. He ate hungrily at my lips, a ravenous claiming that had me panting harshly.

My fingers clawed through the silky waves of his hair, drawing his head even closer. I couldn’t get enough of him. I loved his taste. I loved his smell. I loved the feel of him against me. His other arm wrapped firmly around my waist, pulling me up on tiptoes. I arched into him, enjoying the insistent press of his hard cock.

My hand skimmed down his body and I gripped the heavy mass, rubbing and squeezing the swollen length through his jeans. I reached even lower and cupped his tight testicles, massaging them slowly before I returned my attention to his bulging shaft. Our groans mingled when his cock kicked and throbbed eagerly against my palm. I squeezed harder and swallowed the grunt from his throat. My body was on fire and flames licked torturously at my burning, wet pussy. God, I wanted him to fuck me. I craved an intimate connection with him.

Suddenly, he gripped my shoulders and thrust me away, holding me at arm’s length. His breath flung out in ragged exhalations, matching my own. I cried out like a whiny kid who’d had her treat taken away. The loss of contact was instant and distressing. It was painful physically and emotionally.

Grayson’s handsome face was gnarled with fury. “What are you trying to do to me? Did Charles put you up to this?”

“What?” I blinked, confused. My body still pulsed in one long, hot throb.

“Why. Are. You. Doing. This?” Each word was punctuated with a shake that rattled my teeth. His anger was gaining momentum.

I clawed out of my lust-filled haze and frowned. “No! No one put me up to this! I—I’m attracted to you.”

“Liar!” he bellowed.

I shook my head, tearing out of his tight grip. I was angry that he doubted the veracity of my feelings. “I am! Can’t you fucking tell? I’ve been practically throwing myself at you!”

His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed.

“What did Charles tell you?”

I looked away from his probing gaze, attempting to calm down. I hesitated, trying to decide what I should tell him. In the end I went with the truth. “That you’re not well. That you’re schizophrenic.”

His posture stiffened and what looked like pain darkened his eyes. “He’s right. I’ve been struggling with this since my mid-twenties.”

I felt his burden fill my soul to the edges, and my heart ached for him. Somewhere deep down I’d hoped Charles had lied to me, that he’d been playing games again. I took a step toward Grayson and he recoiled, jerking back as though my touch was destructive fire.

Although he’d confirmed his diagnosis, I was still reluctant to believe it. I wanted to learn more. I wanted to understand what life was like for him. Why did he choose to live here, isolated from the world in this broken-down house while his son luxuriated in a sumptuous penthouse? Why did this beautiful, intelligent man feel he needed to protect himself with a fort? How had he managed a multi-million dollar company with his illness? And, did he feel anything for me?

“You shouldn’t be here,” he sneered.

Tears stung my eyes at his bald-faced rejection. “Don’t push me away, please. Grayson, I really do care for you.”

“You don’t fucking know me! You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know my fears—my thoughts, the things in my head!”

A thin breath shuddered from my lungs, whispering through my parted lips. My tears began to roll down my cheeks because I felt hopeless. He was right. I didn’t know those things, and I was afraid he’d never let me in. He’d never trust me. I could see him putting up a wall, another fort, keeping me out. “Then tell me. Talk to me. Help me to understand.”

His face was like granite, the planes as sharp as cut stone and just as cold. “Get. Out. Of. This. House.”

I winced, every one of his words stung like a lash. I shook my head. I knew I must seem pathetic, but I didn’t care. God, I’d never cried over a guy before, never felt like this before.

“No,” I said in one last defiant attempt to take a stand.

Rage rushed through his features, and in a move that shocked my heart to stillness, he grabbed the table he’d constructed, and flung it across the room. It crashed into the portrait of him, the wood shattering the frame and slashing the canvas. The noise reverberated through my body like an echoing gong.

“GO!” he roared.

Grabbing my backpack, I ran from the house. I ran all the way home with my heart melting in my chest.

Friday night there was revelry on campus. Most of the students were leaving for vacation or going home for spring break week. Those left behind were determined to have a ‘staycation’ and to start it off with a bang. There were parties everywhere. Kim and Diane were throwing a huge rave down the hall. By the time I got home from work, Anna was chomping at the bit to head out. She was thrilled to be going to a college party. I was exhausted. I’d finished my last midterm the day before, and was still feeling the aftershocks. I’d just changed out of my nurse’s uniform when Anna burst through the door to my room.

“Aren’t you ready yet?”

I turned from the mirror and looked at her. Her eyes were shiny with excitement and she’d curled her long brown hair so it hung in loose waves around her shoulders. She had a beautiful heart shape face and big curious brown eyes—too curious, I mused. Anna and I had the same build, thin with long legs and overgrown breasts. But where I did my best to minimize my assets, Anna flaunted hers shamelessly. When I turned, my gaze went straight to her bulging breasts and her barely-there, low cut blouse. I gave her a look our mother would give her.

“You are not going out with me looking like that.” The worst part was I knew she’d enhanced her bosom with a Victoria Secrets’ miracle bra. It would seem that Victoria wasn't too good at keeping my sister’s secrets, and the miracle would be preventing her double Ds from falling out.

“What? They’re tits. What’s the big deal? If you got ‘em, flaunt ‘em!”

I thought about what had happened with Mark and my throat constricted. “No way, sis. You’re sending out the wrong message in that top. You’re going to a party where there’ll be drunk, horny guys. It can be dangerous.”

I saw her in the mirror mocking me, making faces at what I’d said. I took a deep breath, trying not to let her get to me. “Wear a different top or put on a sweater.” My tone brooked no discussion on the matter.

“Geez, you’re such a downer. You’ve been a total bitch this week!”  She flounced out of the room, the girls leading the way.

I sighed, staring after her. She was right. I’d been cranky and on edge. I was suffering a malady of the spirit since Grayson’s rejection. My heart had been heavy since I left the townhouse on Tuesday. What was worse was that I could still taste his sweetness on my lips and feel the press of his body against mine. The silky texture of his hair was imprinted on my fingers. I longed for him with a yearning that frightened me.

Anna came back into the room wearing a sweater buttoned up to her neck. I smiled sweetly and she stuck out her tongue petulantly.

“I could wear a sheet over my head, too, if it will make you feel better.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” I smiled at her through the mirror and watched her dramatic eye roll.

“You’re worse than Mom sometimes.”

I ignored her. Done with my makeup, I grabbed my purse and we headed down the hall to the party.

Kim and Diane’s apartment was crowded with people. I had trouble seeing past the thick horde of bodies, and Anna and I had to elbow our way inside. Anna met a couple of undergrad girls who were quick to regale her with stories about the joys of college. I stood off to the side listening, wondering when they were going to get to the part about actually studying, going to classes, taking exams, and working your ass off.

I spotted Diane on the other side of the room. After whispering to Anna that I’d be right back, I pushed my way through the crowd toward her. She shot me a big smile and raised her cup. I liked Diane. She was also a nurse going for her graduate degree.

“To spring break!”

I smiled and nodded. I wasn’t drinking, so I didn't have a cup to raise.

“Hey, we had a meeting about the Work Horse petition the other day. It was a good turn out.”

“I had to work,” I explained, not wanting to get into why I wasn’t signing it.

I was about to ask her where Kim was when a blonde head caught my attention. Charles was staring at me from not too far away. I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like there were rocks in my belly. He winked amiably and raised his cup. I noticed that he had the undivided attention of several girls. I groaned inwardly and leaned into Diane.

“What is Charles Whitmore doing here?”

Diane laughed. “The blonde hottie? Don’t tell me you want him too? He’s a kid.”

I jerked back. “Eew. Not unless I want to catch cooties, and lose my self-respect.”

Diane’s shoulders shook with laughter. “He’s a friend of Kim’s. I think they’re friends with benefits.”

I saw Charles making his way through the crowd toward me and I groaned again. This night was turning out to be worse than I’d imagined. I wished I’d stayed home. Seeing him instantly made me think of the senior Whitmore, and the dull pain in my chest sharpened.

“Hey there, Ange!” he greeted, shooting me a lazy smile. Diane winked at me and strolled away.

“I was hoping you’d be here,” he continued.

I put on a plastic smile. “Kim and Diane are friends of mine.” I didn’t want to say that I lived down the hall, although I had a feeling he already knew that.

“Did you get my texts?”

I hesitated, then nodded.

“You didn’t respond.”

“Busy.”He made a sleazy perusal of my breasts and stepped closer. I countered with a step back, knowing that the alcohol and the party atmosphere was making him more courageous.

“You’re fucking hot, you know that?”

“I don’t think that’s an appropriate thing for a boss to say to his employee.”

“Fuck that.” He pushed back his blonde hair and leaned in.

“So, I’m making a lot of progress on the house.” I purposefully detoured as I stepped back. “There’s a lot of garbage. I think you’ll need a dumpster for all the stuff I’ve cleaned out.”

He pouted, not really seeming interested. “Talk to Jack. He handles that stuff.”

“It would be nice to clear out the upstairs too. It’s a mess.”

He instantly straightened, his expression sobering and his gaze zeroing in on my eyes for once. I realized what I’d said and my lungs stalled.

Shit on a stick!

“You’ve been upstairs?”

“N—not really.” My mind was groping for an explanation. He’d specifically told me not to venture upstairs. “I just peeked through the upstairs door. I’d wanted to see if there were cleaning supplies. It was before I got your delivery.”

“Did my father see you?” His thin brows pulled down suddenly.

My heart was doing double time. I tried to keep my tone even. “He ran away when he saw me. Scared the shit out of me, actually, so I went back downstairs.”

He let out a snide laugh and took a sip from his cup. “That sounds like him, alright. I told you to stay downstairs. Stay away from him. He’s very dangerous.”

I tilted my head and regarded him curiously. “I thought you said he was harmless, that I wouldn’t even know he’s there?”

“He can be volatile. It’s his mental illness. If he’s provoked, he’s dangerous. He doesn’t know what’s real and what’s not. You should just stay clear of him, to be safe.”

“No problem.” I nodded, a heavy disquiet settling over me.

“Look,” Charles sighed. “I just want the house cleaned up. You’re right. It’s not safe for him to live in the house the way it is. I worry about him. I wish he’d just move into someplace nicer, but he’s stubborn. He’s a sick man and can’t understand the danger. I’m afraid the house might just collapse on him one day. He doesn’t maintain it. Even though we’ve never seen eye to eye, he’s still my father. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

He smiled at me, all teeth. Suddenly, he was the innocent nineteen year old again, trying to be charming. “I know you’re a nurse and it’s sweet that you care.” He reached a hand toward my hair and I pulled away.

“Hello, there!” I turned as Anna sidled up to me, beaming at Charles. Her sweater was unbuttoned and hanging open. Oh my God, this was the night from hell. Dread settled in the pit of my stomach as Charles turned slowly toward her, his gaze caught in the beams of her two headlights.

“Well, who is this lovely?” He smiled slowly and said the words directly to her displayed cleavage.

“My sister,” I answered, stepping in front of her.

“Nice to meet you, my sista!” he grinned, sending Anna into girly chuckles.

I had a hard time finding anything that came out of his mouth funny. “I’ll catch you around, Mr. Whitmore,” I said pointedly, still blocking Anna.

Charles grinned down at me, a challenging gleam in his eyes. For the first time, I was actually worried. Talking to him always made me feel dirty, like I needed to take a shower, but the vibes I was catching from him lately had become more and more unsettling. He winked at Anna and then smiled at me before stepping away and blending into the crowd.

“I can’t believe you just fucking did that!” Anna exploded. “I’m mortified.”

I was pissed. “Button up that fucking sweater, or we’re leaving this second!”

“Why were you so rude to him? He’s so hot. You know I wanted to meet him,” Anna scoffed, her fingers working her buttons.

“Anna, he will eat you alive. He’s a total player, a pig! I just did you a mega favor, trust me.”

Anna glared at me and stomped back over to the girls she’d been talking to. I sighed heavily. Why, oh, why had I let her talk me into letting her stay with me?

It seemed like just last year she was a kid playing with Barbie and Ken dolls. What happened? Now her Barbie and Ken were doggie-styling it in their dream house. My parents were much better equipped to deal with her.

About a half hour later, I lost sight of Anna. Frustrated and angry, I looked everywhere for her. When I found her, she was sitting on a chair with Charles, growing out of his lap. She was giggling at something he’d said and the sound made my teeth hurt. Anger moved through me like a hurricane. I marched up to her and grabbed her arm, pulling her from on top of Charles.

“We’re leaving!” I hissed.

Her eyes splayed with shock, but thank God she didn’t make a scene.

I rounded on Charles, gritting my teeth. “She’s off limits.”

He stood and shot me a lazy grin, his gaze meandering down my body. “Whatever you say.” He leaned into my ear and whispered, “You’re the one I really want to fuck.”

I was fuming. I wanted to fucking quit my job right there and then. Fuck this damn job! Fuck it to hell! Fuck this egotistical prick. I knew the only reason he wanted me so badly was because I didn’t want him. I was a challenge, an object he needed to obtain to satisfy his colossal ego. This was all a big game to him. But I couldn’t give up my job. I needed the money. And honestly, the thought of never seeing Grayson again was unbearable.

I grabbed my sister and practically dragged her through the crowd and out the door.

I couldn't sleep. Anna and I got into a huge fight after we got back to the apartment. She said horrible things to me. She accused me of wanting Charles for myself, of being jealous of her. Scornfully, she dubbed me Ms. Perfect. Perfect daughter. Perfect role model. Perfectly boring. She said that I never took risks and that I never lived.

Those harsh words along with my conversation with Charles kept circling in my head. And layered on that were the things Grayson had said to me the last time I saw him. The look of distrust that had been on Grayson’s face haunted me. Why on earth would he think that Charles put me up to seducing him? Why would I not be attracted to him? He was a very handsome man.

I twisted and turned until the covers had me tangled up like a mummy. I closed my eyes and searched for sleep, but it stubbornly eluded me. I counted sheep. I counted clouds. I counted each time I imagined smacking Charles’ smug face. I pounded my pillow, took out my vibrator, and then returned it to my bedside drawer. I sat up in bed, rubbed my eyes, and then turned to the clock. Two am. Ugh!

My mind raced with preposterous ideas. I sighed deeply, making a bold decision. Not wanting to wake Anna, who was asleep in the room next door, I quickly dragged a jacket over my long night shirt, pushed my feet into my sneakers, and quietly slipped out the front door of my apartment.

CHAPTER SIX

I tapped my code into the digital pad, answered the security question, and then entered the house. Shadows knocked around inside, but like a trained lab rat, I made my way through the maze of clutter. I didn’t want to think about what I was doing. It was foolish, I knew. Grayson had thrown me out of this house the last time I was here. It was the memory of his body’s response, and the urgent passion in his kiss that kept my feet moving forward and up the stairs. It was also something else: A desperate longing I had for this man that I couldn’t explain.

I found him sitting at his computer, bathed in dim light, again busily pecking at the keyboard. His broad back was hunched over and from what I could see of his face, it was pinched in concentration. A huge lump of anxiety sat at the base of my throat and I had to saw my voice through it. I could hear the rush of blood in my ears and my palms grew damp. I cleared my throat and called his name. His hands stilled, but he didn’t turn around.

“Grayson?” I called again, holding every muscle tight.

Finally, he swiveled in the chair, facing me fully. His eyes were wide, questioning, seeming doubtful of my presence.

“Grayson, I—I needed to see you.”

He shook his head and the shadow of uncertainty cleared. He whispered, “What are you doing here?”

I stood before him, paralyzed by his gaze, knowing I must look like a total mess. My nightshirt ended mid-thigh and was covered by my short jeans jacket. My bare feet were pushed into my sneakers, and I knew I must’ve had some serious bed head after all my restless tossing and turning. Dressed for seduction. I took halting steps to his chair and stopped directly in front of him, my heart ramming against my ribs as if trying to break through.

He tilted his head, gazing up at me, and I thought I saw a small smile seduce his lips. “Was there something you needed me to put together?”

I caught my lip between my teeth and nodded. I looked away, feeling as fragile as thinly blown glass. If he sent me away again, I’d shatter.

“Yes,” I whispered. “My heart. It’s broken.”

He was so still that I wasn't sure he’d heard me. I took a chance at looking into his eyes. The blue was consumed by the shadows, but the inky depths sparkled like a midnight sky and was dotted with emotion.

“Angie, how old are you?”

I hadn’t expected that question. I thought about lying. Would he believe I was forty and had found some great facial products? Hmmm… In the end, I confessed, “Twenty four.”

Raking a hand through his hair, he sighed and leaned back into his seat.

“Do you know how old I am?”

I nodded. “Yes, and I don’t care.”

“I’m old enough to be your—.”

“I don’t care!” I said, dropping to my knees. My palms rested lightly on his thighs. “It’s just a stupid number and it means nothing to my heart.”

He leaned forward and studied my face, and I wished for the millionth time that I had the ability to decipher his thoughts. He feathered his fingers down my cheek, dragging hot sparks along my skin. He traced the pad of his thumb across my lower lip, and I turned my face into his palm and held it tight against my open mouth. I placed a kiss there, then pulled back and stared up at him. I unveiled all my emotion, hoping he could see what was burning in my heart.

“This is no deception, Grayson. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to be with you.”

A deep groove split his brow, but I could sense his resolve dwindling.

“Besides,” I grinned. “You make great coffee.”

He gifted me with a smile that tilted my heart off balance. “You don’t give up easily, do you, Angela Roberts.”

I shook my head, biting my smile as I boldly rose to sit on his lap. He positioned my legs so that my thighs straddled his in the chair and my arms wound around his neck. I loved the warmth of his body pressing intimately against mine. It was a good fit.

“How do you know my full name? I never told you,” I inquired, smiling, then answered my own question. “Oh yeah, that’s right, you’ve been stalking me.”

“Stalking?” He seemed to ponder that word.

“It’s just that you seem to be a recluse. I’ve never seen you leave the house. Yet, I could sense you following me.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his brows furrowing. “I don’t like people. But, in your case…”

I held my breath, waiting to hear what he’d say. Did I dare hope that he’d admit to having feelings for me?

“I was curious,” he said with a quirk of his lips. “I wanted to know more about the person who’d been coming into my house every day and ‘not bothering’ me.”

I rolled my eyes in mock exasperation. Then my gaze landed on the screen, noting the columns of numbers and a logo that read: Global Systems.

“What do you do on there all the time? Stalk people? Is that your work?” I teased.

“I buy and sell small companies.”

Oh. I nodded, impressed that he could do that from home. Then I remembered that he’d run his own successful business for many years.

“What else do you know about me?” I brushed his hair back with my palms, letting the soft strands sift through my fingers.

He smiled again, his hands coming to rest at my waist. “I know that you are persistent, motivated…you walk everywhere, you have a strange obsession with paperclips, and you’re all thumbs.” He wiggled his at me. “That you like your coffee with a little milk, no sugar, and…that you have horrible judgment when it comes to men.”

Although his last statement made me think of Mark, I knew it had been a shot at himself. I tightened my arms around his neck. Despite what he’d said, I had no intention of letting go any time soon.

“You know nothing about my life, Angie—nothing about me,” he said earnestly, giving up his previous lightness.

I cradled his face between my palms and looked into his        eyes. “I know you have issues, Grayson. I also know that when you look at me, I melt. I know you are brave, and smart, and protective.” I smiled. “You’re good at fixing things.” Heat filled my cheeks, but I plowed ahead, still smiling. “Which is good because I seriously thought that you were going to break your chair when you orgasmed.”

He sucked in a shocked breath, but then laughter rumbled from his throat and crinkled the corners of his eyes. I joined in, marveling because I’d never heard him laugh out loud. The musical sound stroked down my spine, then saturated every cell inside me.

“What did you think of the sketches?”

His laughter tapered off, but his eyes were still twinkling with mirth.

“Well…” he drawled.

“Well, what?” I asked warily.

“About those sketches... Your depiction of reality is somewhat… exaggerated.”

I tossed my head back with unrestrained laughter. I guess I’d been a bit overzealous in my rendition of his nude form.

“I think I’d have to be a member of the horse family for that sketch to be accurate.”

I laughed again, hugging him close. I knew that I’d felt a connection with him, knew that this man with his own brand of humor had somehow seeped into my skin, but who would‘ve thought that this playful, exquisite, truly beautiful human being was hiding amid all of this rubbish. It was like finding a perfectly polished diamond in a sea of gravel.

“I draw it as I see it,” I responded cheekily. I’d included the sketches in the thank you note because I wanted Grayson to know how I felt about him. I adored the lines of his body: The form, the passion, the intensity. He was simply beautiful. I kissed the tip of his nose, then rested my forehead against his.

We were so close that I caught the breaths pushing from his lungs, inhaling them into mine. The shadows wrapped around us and we were cocooned in our own private oasis.

“You’re so beautiful, Angie,” he whispered, warming me. “What are you doing with me? I—”

I leaned in and kissed him, intentionally silencing his words. His lips melted against mine, feathery soft and quietly reverent. So different from the feverish kiss we’d last shared. His tongue licked tenderly into my mouth, skimming the edges of my teeth, and stealing back his breaths.

“Oh, Grayson,” I sighed. I palmed his cheeks and looked into his eyes. “I enjoy spending time with you. I love the way you gaze at me when you think I’m not looking, the way you smile when I tell a stupid joke, and even the way you tease me.”

He smiled then, tracing the bow of my lips with his thumb. He leaned in and licked his tongue along the seam then drew my bottom lip into his mouth, gently sucking the flesh. I pressed into him, small whimpers of pleasure bubbling out of me. His mouth shifted and his lips planted a garden of kisses over my face and neck. I shuddered from the sensation, nascent desire coursing through me. There was an intensity to him that simmered just below the surface, and with each sweet kiss, I could sense more and more ripples undulating.

My nipples hardened painfully, stabbing against my shirt, and for every brush of his lips, my pussy gave an answering throb. Sitting astride him, I could easily feel his erection pushing toward my cleft. My nightshirt had ridden up above my hips and the thin panties I wore were an inept barrier. He flexed his hips toward me. At the same time, his hands at my waist mashed me down, grinding me against his swollen cock. He dragged my center up and down the thick ridge until I was groaning and breathing erratically through my nose.

“You are such a temptation…” he breathed.

I grinned. “Good.”

“I want to see you, Angie. All of you,” Grayson whispered, stopping to push my jacket from my shoulders. He looked into my eyes. “You are so perfect, so full of light and passion.”

I breathed deeply and raised my arms when he pulled my nightshirt over my head. The ambient air swirled against my naked skin, dusting it with goose bumps. My craving for this man was insistent and consuming. To finally be in his arms and to feel the absolute rightness of it had me blinking back tears.

I dusted kisses along his jaw and down the column of his neck, tasting the sweetness of his skin. I needed to experience him with all of my senses. I needed to know this was not just another fantasy.

His hungry gaze took in my heavy breasts, then with a groan, he palmed them and rolled the peaks between his thumb and forefinger. He replaced his fingers with his hot mouth, whipping the tight bud with his tongue, then suctioning the crest hard. He then paid homage to my other breast, thorough in his attentions. Streaks of pleasure shot through me, causing me to arch my back and squeezing a broken moan from my throat. I felt his touch down to my aching sex.

My body was on fire. It screamed for him and my fingers gripped his hair with all my strength. My pussy was an insistent, greedy monster that demanded satiation and drooled liberally from its desire to be filled with him. I started panting his name, humping him wildly now and pulling impatiently at the zipper of his pants. His hand moved between us, slid down my body, and plunged into my damp panties. His finger found my needy clit. I shivered with the first touch, so close to exploding that pleasure ballooned inside me, taut and precarious. Grayson reached lower, slowly circling my slick entrance.

“Mmm, Angie, you are so wet,” he whispered hotly against my ear. “You’re dripping. Do you want my cock?”

He captured moisture on his fingers and dragged it up to my clit, rubbing and flicking it until I was trembling and screaming for him to never, ever stop. Each time my muscles tightened, he drew back, petting me softly and killing me quickly.

“Do you, Angie? Do you want me? You feel so good, so wet. I bet you taste delicious,” he said as he leisurely spread my juices along my sensitive folds.

I was lost somewhere in my head. I was percolating with lust and shaking with need. My thighs trembled because my nervous system was a wreck, and with all this, I was in a kind of shock. I don’t know what kind of lover I’d expected Grayson to be, maybe skillful, but somewhat reserved. Timid maybe. I knew I hadn’t expected this. The way he stoked my body and controlled my pleasure was masterful and intensely provocative. I was ready to burst.

“Do you, Angie? Do you want me to fill you with my cock?”

I groaned my response because I didn’t think I could actually put words together. Plus, I loved the sound of his voice and his deliciously dirty words. They were enough to set me ablaze.

“Answer me,” he whispered, his open mouth hot and wet against my neck. “Answer me, so we can both have what we want.”

“God, Grayson! Yes! Yes!”

He reached down and jerked open the front of his pants, giving his shaft freedom. I scooted back, my gaze devouring him as the bulky length sprang free. He was just as I’d sketched him. Beautiful. Thick. Eager. Even in the dusky illumination, I could see a road map of heavy veins beneath the tight velvet skin. His crown was fat and glistened with pearly drops of moisture.

I dipped a finger into the slick fluid and traced it slowly around the bloated head, loving the way his cock bucked and spilled more essence. Grayson’s groan was guttural, an inarticulate expression of a desperate need. I looked up to see that he was studying my face, his expression fierce. His body was locked stiff, yet consumed by fine tremors.

“I need you,” he uttered.

He grabbed my hips with both hands and somehow my brain jolted with awareness. I reached out a palm, placing it flat against his chest.

“Wait!”

I heard his ragged breath fly away as I jumped up, looking for my discarded jacket. I shimmied my soaked panties off while he jerked his pants farther down his hips. Spotting the jacket, I snatched it from the floor, searching through the pockets.

“Condom!” I said, sliding back onto his lap and waving the packet in front of him.

“You do it,” he smiled, nipping my jaw playfully. “The way I feel right now, I’ll probably rip it to shreds.”

I wasn’t any better. My fingers shook miserably as I performed the task. He was swollen so thick that I had trouble rolling it down. And listening to his choppy breaths as I handled his shaft was driving me out of my mind. Finally, I was done and my arms encircled his broad shoulders. He pulled me close and captured my lips. I tasted hot sunshine and velvety rainbows, and sighed contentedly against his lips.

Lifting my hips, he slid me slowly down onto his scorching hot cock. We both cried out, desperate souls clashing together in an ecstatic passion. I needed a minute to adjust to his size, but pleasure lashed at me to move and drove my hips forward. I’d craved him for so long. The nerve endings he rubbed inside were sizzling like grease on a hot stove. He lifted me, dragging delicious sensations along my quivering walls.

“Oh, fuck!” I breathed, tightening my grip on his shoulders as he worked my hips up and down his swollen cock, increasing the tempo. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

“Angie, beautiful, Angie. You feel amazing, so tight, so wet, so hot… so… so… fucking amazing!”

He ground me down on his cock on the last words, flexing upward and filling me so completely that I gasped. His mouth covered mine to lethargically feast on my lips as he changed our tempo to an indolent rhythm. He was massaging a spot inside my pussy each time he thrust that burst exquisite pleasure through my flesh and had my eyes rolling into the back of my head.

The slick walls of my channel quivered and tightened, yet he offered me no respite. He gripped my ass and pumped into me fiercely, his rhythm now rough and demanding. He gave me everything, took everything, and became everything. He filled my very soul to the brim with perfection. Tears blurred my vision and rolled down my cheeks. I knew the orgasm was coming, but when it crashed into me, I was ravaged. I was shaken by its intensity and the absolute purity of my release.

I dug my nails into his shoulders as ecstasy bowed my back to almost breaking. It consumed me, wringing every last drop of bliss from my body as my pussy spasmed uncontrollably. Grayson was moving faster now, his hips punching out of the seat. His magnificent cock swelled and pulsed as he chanted my name over and over against my shoulder. With a thunderous roar, he flung back his head and came in long hard spurts.

We held on to each other, sweating and panting, our breaths tinged sweet with our pleasure. I never wanted him to leave my body. I was afraid to move, afraid to disturb this cloud of absolute contentment.

Oh God, I could lose myself to this man…perhaps I already had…and I didn’t care. Not one damn whit. Grayson’s arms were home to me.

I shifted and peeked at him through my heavy lids, my fingers pushing back the locks that had fallen onto his face. He smiled gently, his thumbs brushing away moisture from my cheeks.

“You’re crying…you okay?”

I nodded and leaned forward, placing kisses at his temples where gray had salted his dark strands. My throat was full of emotion, and along with the pleasure still buzzing through my body, I felt remarkable joy.

“It’s late. Let’s get you to bed,” Grayson said, standing.

He kept me wrapped around him while he stepped out of his pants. I pressed my hips close, keeping us joined. I loved the feel of him inside me. I loved the physical, intimate connection. He walked my depleted body down the hall and deposited me on his bed, then pulled away. I must have whimpered when we separated because he smiled and kissed me slowly, licking his tongue deep into my mouth. I kissed him back eagerly, running my palms down the slope of his back and caressing his bare ass.

“Be right back,” he whispered before heading into a room I assumed was the bathroom.

I scooted up on the bed and got under the covers, enjoying the feel of the cool sheets against my naked skin. The room was dark but I could still make out some furniture, and I realized this was where he’d been when I’d first spied on him.

A few minutes later, he came back into the room and I watched his naked form come toward the bed. My heart rate picked up speed just from the sight of him. He was such a beautiful man. His body was strong, toned, and even in the dark I could see that he was still half hard. He stretched out beside me and pulled me into his arms. Smiling, I snuggled deep into his warmth, my entire being sighing a soft purr.

I don’t know what woke me. I couldn’t have been asleep for very long, but a gnawing unease jarred me awake. I sat up in the unfamiliar bed and looked around with my heart thundering. Hazy morning light was sneaking into the room. Grayson was nowhere in sight. Did he ever sleep? I’d been surprised to find him awake when I’d gotten here. I wasn’t able to shake the disquiet that hovered over me like a ghost. A tremor moved through me at my sudden chill and I scrubbed my palms up and down my naked arms to ward off the sensation. I stood, aware of the wonderful soreness below, and headed into the bathroom. I peed and washed my hands, looking around. The room was surprisingly clean, especially in contrast to the rest of the house.

Curious about the man who spent most of his time in this house, I pulled open drawers and snooped in the cabinets. One drawer was filled with medication bottles. It was a mess. Frowning, I picked up a couple and read the labels. Some were dated as recently as a year ago and others had dates going back years. All were either antipsychotics or sedatives. For the most part, the bottles were full and untouched, some with the pharmaceutical wrapping still intact. I returned each bottle and closed the drawer.

Grayson was still not there when I returned to the bedroom. Still feeling troubled, I dragged the sheet around my body, and went to search for him. I found him in the room with all the books. He was crouched on the floor naked, his body dimly illuminated in the faint light. At first, I wasn't sure what he was doing, but as I approached, I saw the expression on his face and my stomach bottomed out. I raced over to him, alarm streaking like a blazing arrow through me.

Grayson was amid the scattered books, curled up, with his hands fisted tightly at his temples. The tendons on the back of his hands stuck out beneath his skin from how tightly he was gripping his hair. The look on his face could only be described as absolute terror. My insides tightened painfully.

“Grayson? Grayson?” I squatted on the floor next to him, not sure if he’d even heard me, not sure of my own voice. “Grayson!” I yelled, when I got no response.

His gaze rambled all over the room, scattering blindly like runaway marbles. Finally, it landed on me, but not with recognition.

“He’s here! He’s here! He’s coming!” he hissed.

“Who? Who’s coming?” I asked, confused by the panic straining his voice.

His blue eyes shifted wildly again, zipping to the window. Fear bunched up his face.

“HE’S COMING!” he screamed, and the agonizing sound tore a hole through my heart. “Ch-charles is here! I can hear him! I can hear him! I can hear him!”

What. The. Fuck. I took a deep breath, trying to lasso my run away thoughts and dull the ache that was growing in my chest.

I followed his gaze to a branch knocking against the window and realized that must be the sound he was hearing. I swallowed the burning tension scalding my throat and looked back at his tightly contorted face.

“Grayson,” I called softly, my throat working hard. “Grayson, Charles is not here. It’s just a branch hitting the window.”

He looked pained, shaking his head in vigorous denial.

I reached out a tentative hand, not wanting to scare him.

“Charles is not here,” I repeated and pointed. “It’s just a branch. Look, see. It’s just you and me.”

“Yes! He’s here! He wants to take it away! He wants me out! He’s at the window! I can hear him climbing, trying to get in. Don’t let him get in. He wants to take it away!”

My palm rested lightly on his forearm. I tried to keep it from shaking. “Take what away?”

His eyes splayed wide as his gaze met mine. The edge of his hairline was slick with sweat, giving his skin a sickly pallor. “The house! He wants the house! He’s always climbing, trying to find a way in.”

I shook my head, realizing that Grayson was very confused and profoundly delusional. It gutted me to watch him so emotionally distressed.

“No. He wants to fix up the house for you. He wants you to be safe here. He’s told me that.” I tried to explain.

“NO! My family! My family! Peter. Oh God! Peter!” His face screwed up in anguish and I ran my trembling hand over his hair, pushing the damp strands back. I watched as shadows crept into the confusion on his face, outlining his inner torment.

He wasn't making any sense. Who was Peter? Was he hallucinating? He didn’t seem to be, but his words just didn’t make sense. I couldn’t imagine what was going on in his head. His life was still a huge puzzle to me and I had no idea until now the extent of his mental illness or how much he suffered. I pushed away the sickening ache clawing at my body, determined to be strong for him.

He reached out and grabbed my shoulders, gripping me tightly. His eyes bore into mine, angry.

“You! Are you plotting with him? Are you on his side? Are you trying to take the house away from me?”

“No, Grayson.” My voice splintered with emotion.

“Please, not you, Angie! Not you!” He shook his head in despair, his eyes shiny. “They’ve always come to clean, but they want to take it away.”

Who was he talking about? Who came to clean? Had others been here before me? Tears blurred my vision as I bowed my head, trying to make some sense of his words. The branch knocked again and he flinched, crying out in a bone-chilling wail.

“Don’t you hear him, Angie?” His gaze jerked around wildly. “He’s climbing up the side of the house. Don’t let him get in.”

I bit my lip. God, how could I help him? How could I make him understand that it was highly unlikely—if not impossible—that Charles was climbing up the side of the house right now, trying to get in? Maybe if he saw for himself.

“We can go look, Grayson. You can see for yourself that no one’s there.”

“NO!”

He snaked his arms around my waist, squeezing so hard that my breath staggered out of my lungs. He burrowed his head into my chest, rooting like a baby.

“He comes at night. Always at night.”

“No one’s here except me, Grayson. Only you and me.” My tears fell as I soothed his hair, the drops disappearing in the dark strands. They sprang from a well deep within my heart, a heart that was breaking to pieces to see this beautiful man suffer such mental agony.

Every time the branch hit the window, Grayson’s body seized tight with fear, then relaxed to a constant tremble. I wanted to go out and cut that damned tree down. I prayed to God to still the wind, to sever the branch, to camouflage the sound. Anything. I felt helpless and was totally at a loss. I wanted to find a way to convince him that what he thought was happening wasn’t real. After some time, he seem to calm and relaxed the death grip he had on my body.

“Grayson, come back to bed. Please.” I implored quietly.

“No! I can’t sleep. Too much in my head. It won’t stop,” he whispered weakly. “It won’t stop. It won’t stop. It won’t stop. It won’t stop. It won’t stop.”

So, I sat there on the floor amidst a sea of scattered books, crying silently and enfolding his naked body in the safety of my arms.

Hours later I rushed home, the morning light chasing me. I wanted to get back before Anna woke up. She was going home today and I couldn’t wait. As much as I loved my sister, I needed to be alone with my thoughts, to contemplate the most wonderful and most sorrowful night I’d ever had.

I’d left Grayson on the floor covered with the sheet. He’d finally fallen asleep. I knew that it wouldn’t be for very long. I could see his eyes moving restlessly beneath his closed lids. His frenzied mind kept going, causing his dark lashes to flutter as quickly as a humming bird’s wings. I worried about him now, if he was still entertaining his delusions, still terrified of his son. I remembered the stark terror on his face and choked on the memory of his pain.

From what I recalled about schizophrenia, the city was the worst environment to live in. The constant stimulation wreaked havoc on a brain that was already working double time. Why would he not take his meds? He seemed to be so highly functional. He knew he was ill, he’d told me so himself. The medications would help to dampen the noises in his head and untangle his twisted thoughts.

I opened the door to my apartment, crept inside quietly, and shrugged out of my jacket. Walking by Jenny’s room, I decided to peek in to make sure that Anna was still asleep. She’d always been a late riser and it was only after eight am. I eased open the door and stuck my head in. There was no sign of her. She was gone.

I called out for her, growing more and more concerned as time ticked by. Where the fuck could she have gone? She didn’t know anyone in the city and didn’t have money to get home. I used the bathroom quickly, then entered my room and pulled up short, spotting the clothes I’d worn to the party last night. I thought of my sister snuggled up on Charles’ lap. Oh my God! If she was with him, I was going to fucking kill her!

I snatched up a pair of jeans and hopped into them, swearing vividly when my zipper got stuck. I was so angry I could spit nails. The more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed she’d be with Charles. He was a total jerk. The way that asshole had smiled at me, as if he was responding to a dare when I told him Anna was off limits, left no doubt in my mind that he’d go after my sister. I was pulling a T-shirt over my head when my cell phone rang. I spotted it on my night table and dove for it. It was my father.

“Hey, glad I caught you. I called earlier, but you didn’t answer.”

I blew out a long breath, trying to slow my racing heart.

“Must have been still asleep.”

“What time should I pick up Anna?”

I gulped. “Uh. Geez, we’re having so much fun.” I bit my lip. “The later the better.”

“I think Barb is taking her somewhere. Hold on,” I heard him shouting to my mother and her answering voice in the background before he returned to the phone. “I’ll be there in an hour.”

Fuck! How was I supposed to tell him I’d lost my little sister? Although I had a pretty good idea where the witch might be. I hung up the phone then tried calling Anna. Her phone went straight to voice mail. Swearing harshly, I grabbed my keys and headed out.

I pulled open the apartment door, prepared to go loco when I finally found the wench. I was already walking on the edge of an emotional tight rope, barely keeping my balance. My sister wasn't making things any better by wiggling the rope. The morning’s events still had me very rattled.

Anna was standing in the hall as I pulled open the door, her hand reaching for the knob. I heaved a noisy sigh of relief coupled with agitated frustration, then I pulled her roughly into the apartment.

“Are you okay?” I asked quickly.

She raised her brows, regarding me as if I’d gone mad. I noticed she was still wearing the same outfit from last night, but it wasn't unusual for Anna to hop out of bed and into the same clothes she’d worn the previous day.

“Of course, I’m okay. Why wouldn't I be?”

“Where the fuck have you been?” I was annoyed by her cavalier attitude. “You weren’t in your bed! Where you with Charles?” I narrowed my eyes, my gaze roving over her body, looking for just-fucked signs. I wanted to cry. This was my baby sister. She was still innocent…well, kind of. Mostly. She’d once confided in me that she’d given a bunch of blowjobs and handjobs, but had never gone all the way.

“I wish I’d been with him.” She shot me an accusing look. “Thanks to you, he probably wants nothing to do with me.” She plopped onto the couch in a sulk.

Relief sighed through my body, but I was still suspicious. “Then where were you?”

“Down the hall helping Kim and Diane clean up from the party. The apartment was a mess. I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.”I stood there, silently studying her, my hands at my hips. I’d seen her throw bullshit coated with maple syrup at my parents a million times. I was trying to figure out if she was feeding me the same.

“Jesus Christ!” She exclaimed, throwing up her arms. “My hymen is still intact, if that’s what you’re afraid of! Wanna check? Just ask Kim and Diane if I was there.”

“I was just worried, that’s all,” I said, seeing how upset she was getting.

She stood and faced me, giving me more attitude. “Meanwhile, I should ask you where you’ve been!”

I knew my face must have instantly reddened because she pushed up her lips and gave me a long melodious, “UmmmHmmm.”

I turned away, aware that her gaze was assessing me for the same just-fucked signs I’d scanned her for. I also knew she’d find them with arrows and neon lights all over my body. My hair was a mess, my chin grazed from Grayson’s stubble, and I knew of at least one vivid love bite on my neck. I’d seen it when I’d used the bathroom.

“Dad will be here soon. You better get ready,” I tossed out, heading toward my room.

I could feel her gaze digging into my back, but I was done talking. I had too much to think about.

As soon as Anna left, I showered, changed, and headed back to the house as fast as my legs would take me. My mind was in turmoil and I was on edge with worry about Grayson. I had to make sure that he was all right. I practically ran through the maze of debris, knocking over a pile in the process. I didn’t care. I was going to be the one to clean it up, anyway. I passed my oasis and walked right up to the door.

It was locked.

I swore like a drunk sailor and stepped back. I should have known. I now noticed that the sign with all the crossed out words was gone. Fuck!

“Grayson!” I called, pounding on the door. “Grayson!”

Nothing.

Fuck! I tried the stairs in the kitchen. Same thing. The door was locked. I pressed my forehead against the cold wood and let my tears come. Was he okay? Was he still in pain? Why would he not let me in? We’d had an amazing night together before everything else happened. I’d thought we’d really connected. Had I not told him—shown him how much I cared about him? Did he not trust me? He’d asked if I was plotting with Charles. Did he believe that?

“Grayson, please…let me in.” I hiccupped.

Nothing.

I went back to the main room, and although my heart wasn’t into it, I slowly started to sort through an old pile of thick hardcovers. I worked for several hours, finding a kind of solace in the monotony of the task and the knowledge that Grayson was close by, upstairs. I hoped that he would come to me, or at least open the door so that I could go to him.

I was so tired from the emotional tumult and from being up almost the entire night, that I must have fallen asleep with my head on the table. When I awoke, it was late evening and darkness had snuck into the large room and smothered it. I tried both doors again before leaving, and my heartache was renewed with each disappointment.

I idled outside on the patch of lawn before I left, staring up at the second floor. I felt bereft. My body ached to hold Grayson, to be flooded with his sunshine. My heart wept with my feelings for him. I told myself I was stupid for being so worried, that I was stupid for caring so much. Grayson had been here alone for God knows how long. He’d been dealing with his illness for half of his life. He was fine. He was probably upstairs dutifully pecking at his keyboard, as always.

If he had no interest in me, I should forget about him. He was just a hot old man I’d fucked, I thought churlishly. No. Big. Deal. I forced myself to turn around, to go home, to put one foot in front of the other.

The next day, I worked a twelve-hour shift at the hospital. I was surprised when one of the doctors asked me out on a date. He was a resident, just finishing his training. He was nice, with beautiful blue eyes that reminded me of Grayson’s. I said, ‘No,’ giving the excuse that I was in a relationship.

As I walked home, I thought about that. I was in sort of a relationship. Only too bad the other party might not know it.

On Monday morning, I went to the house early. I gave a frustrated sigh when I tried the doors and found they were still locked. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. This man was so fucking frustrating! Crazy fucker! I immediately felt bad for thinking that, but I was now teetering between indignant anger and wretched heartbreak. Had our time together meant nothing to him? Why did I think that we’d had a special connection? We hadn’t even known each other for that long. Why did I have to equate sex with emotion? I knew better. I wiped away more tears, feeling my insides crumbling.

I took a break for lunch. I needed to get out of the stuffy house and feel the sun on my face. I walked along the avenue, somewhat bewildered when I found myself in front of Charles’ building.

I hovered outside for a moment, then went in and had the doorman announce me. It was Rudy. He seemed as surprised as I was that I was going up to the apartment, but I had a lot of questions circling in my head. Perhaps Charles could answer some of them.

Charles welcomed me with a bright smile. He reminded me of a baby shark with too many teeth. Although I had more respect for the shark. He had on a pair of sunglasses and looked like he was just heading out.

“Sorry to show up unexpectedly,” I said.

“You know I’ll always make time for you.” He opened the door wide and ushered me in. The penthouse was immaculate. Gorgeous. Unrecognizable.

“Wow,” I said, scanning the room. “What a big difference.”

“Not a fur-ball to be found, or a crumb to be brushed,” he grinned, alluding to our initial conversation here.

Maybe not, but I’d bet there were still some panties tucked somewhere.

“I lost Jack’s information, and I need it,” I lied.

He pouted, giving me an exaggerated sad face. “Is that the only reason you’re here? I was hoping you’d come to see me.”

“I need to call him, to set things up. You said to do that, right?” I ignored his antics.

“Yes. He handles the estate.” He took out a pen, found some paper and started scribbling.

“I see. Do I have to go through him for everything? Does he make all the decisions?”

Charles looked affronted. He straightened and squared his shoulders. “No. Well, I have to approve things. Was there something else that you needed?”

I shook my head. “No, just wondering, in case I needed more supplies.”

He shrugged, handing me the piece of paper. “You can just let him know.”

I tilted my head and regarded him. “Am I the only one who’s been at the house to clean?”

His forehead pinched and he took a minute to respond. “Why do you ask?”

“A few days ago, I found some mops in the kitchen that looked kinda new. Just wondering.” I lied.

He shoved his blond hair off his forehead. “Well, I did have a crew in there a few months ago, but my father scared them away on their first day. I told you, he’s very particular, and he doesn’t like people in the house. I think you’re the only one he hasn’t run off.”

“Oh.” I bit my lip, feeling my stomach churn. Hadn’t he told me he didn’t want to hire a cleaning crew because he wasn’t sure how his father would react? Yet, he’d already done it. Why the lie? “I see.”

“The man’s paranoid. He thinks all sorts of crazy things.”

“I’ve made a lot of progress.”

“Great. I’m hoping that by the end of the summer the house will be ready.”

My belly did a strange flip-flop. “Ready?”

A small smile touched Charles’ lips. “Yes. You know, more habitable. I’m hoping to have all the stuff cleaned out and then start repairs. My dad can be safe and won’t have to live in a place that looks like it needs to be condemned.”

“That’s very sweet of you to do this for him,” I said.

His smile widened to a boyish grin. Baby shark.

“That’s me. As sweet as pie.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And just as tasty.”

Eew. “Gotta go. Thanks,” I said and headed through the door.

Jack Collin’s office was on the thirtieth floor of a glass and steel skyscraper. He seemed to be more than a little surprised to see me when his secretary showed me into his office. He stood and shook my hand, smiling. He was a short, stocky man, balding, with kind, perceptive eyes.

“Thanks for seeing me,” I said, taking the seat opposite his desk.

“No problem. You could have just settled what you needed over the phone with my secretary. You didn’t have to make a trip here. Were you able to arrange the refuse removal with her?”

My gaze traveled out the glass windows behind him, taking in the sleek buildings nearby that jutted up to the sky. I thought for a minute before I responded. I, myself, wasn’t quite sure why I was there.

“Yes. It’s been arranged. Things are coming along well at the house,”

He folded his hands on his desk, smiling. “Yes, Charles speaks highly of you. He said you’re doing a terrific job.”

“I’ve had a few issues…”

His thick brows shot up into his bald head. “Issues such as…?”

“Well, uh…” My gaze shifted back to the buildings. “Grayson Whitmore.”

He was quiet and I returned my gaze to his face after a few beats. He looked apologetic. “I’m sorry. I know he’s been a problem before, but I assure you, he’s quite harmless. His bark is worse than his bite. I’ve known Grayson for a long time. We are—were good friends.”

“No, no,” I replied, shaking my head. “He’s been fine. Really.”

Jack’s forehead pleated. “Then I don’t understand. What’s the issue?”

“He’s quite worried about losing the house. I think maybe that’s why he’s been problematic in the past.”

He paused, scratching his jaw. “I know that Grayson is attached to the house. He grew up there. But his worries are unfounded. That’s not going to happen.”

“He believes it will.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed as he looked at me. “Grayson believes a lot of things that are not necessarily true.” He eased back in his chair, his eyes on my face. “How do you know this? What exactly is your relationship with Grayson Whitmore?”

My cheeks heated as I studied my fingers twiddling nervously on my lap. I could feel Jack’s assessing gaze on me. I knew that by coming here I’d open myself up to all types of scrutiny.

“We’ve become…friends.”

“Friends?”

“Yes.” I looked up. “We’ve become friends. I’ve been upstairs. We’ve talked.” I omitted the part about him not having anything to do with me recently.

“Is Charles aware of this friendship?”

I shook my head. “No. And Grayson and I would like to keep it that way. I hope you can honor that request.”

He studied me for a long moment and I wanted to squirm in my seat. I knew he had read between the lines.

“I see.”

“Grayson is a wonderful man! He’s funny, and protective, and gentle, and…” I trailed off when I saw a hint of humor in Jack’s eyes. I guess I’d been gushing like a love sick teen.

He cleared his throat and his face sobered. “You’ve been upstairs? You’ve talked?”

I nodded.

“Well, that’s amazing because Grayson doesn’t talk to anyone anymore. The last time I was in the house, he wouldn't even let me up. He’s a sick man, Ms. Roberts.”

“Yes. I know about his mental problems.”

He eyed me closely. “You know he’s a schizophrenic.”

I paused for a moment. “I know he’s an amazing man, with many wonderful qualities who happens to suffer from schizophrenia.”

That hint of humor returned to his brown eyes as he regarded me with a deliberate patience. I held his gaze, refusing to look away. I would not allow Grayson to be defined by his disorder. Although it infiltrated much of his life, he was so much more than a diagnosis.

“Grayson hasn’t been taking his medication.” I added, realizing that I’d adopted a defensive posture. I forced my shoulders to relax. Jack seemed to be a trustworthy man.

“Charles has informed me. It’s a shame, really. He’s brilliant.” Jack sighed and leaned forward on his desk. “I really shouldn’t be discussing this with you, but since you’ve become friends, I guess it’s okay. He’s been dealing with mild schizophrenia for much of his life. He does fine when he takes his medication. He’s changed over the past few years—not for the better.”

“Since his accident. Since his wife’s death.” I supplied, and he nodded.

“Yes. His mental status has deteriorated considerably. Charles tells me that he’s quite paranoid. He’s refused to get help. We’ve sent in social workers, psychiatrists, therapists, everyone we can think of. He’s run them all off and refuses evaluation.”

I frowned. “He’s really not that bad. He’s pretty high functioning.”

Jack smiled. “Well, maybe you bring out a better side of him.”

I blushed. “Like I said, he’s just worried about losing the house. I don’t think he trusts anyone.”

“Well, you can assure him that it’s not going to happen. The house is his. It’s in his name only. It’s his right to stay there as long as he wants to. No one can take it away from him. You can assure him of that. Charles wants to clean it up for him and do the necessary repairs. It’s a hazard for him to live there in its present condition.”

I smiled, standing. “Thank you for your time. I will let him know that. One last question. Do you know who Peter is?”

Jack sighed heavily and a shadow crossed his face. “Peter Whitmore was Grayson’s father. Unfortunately, he was severely schizophrenic. He committed suicide in the house when Grayson was a young man. Grayson was the one who discovered his body.” Jack shook his head gravely. “Grayson locked himself in the house with his father. When the authorities finally got in, I heard that it took several people to pry Grayson from his father’s dead body. It’s tragic, really. That might be why he feels so connected to the house. Even though he’s traveled all over the world, he’s never actually lived anywhere else.”

I could feel the color drain from my face as I nodded and turned to leave. My entire body was numb from his words, from imagining what Grayson must have endured.

“Ms. Roberts?”

I turned back to face him.

“From what little the professionals were able to assess, they’ve assured us that Grayson is not a danger to himself or others.” He sighed. “I wouldn’t want to get between any friendships he’s developed, God knows that the man’s been through enough. But I don’t know what you’re expecting from this. I wouldn’t want you to delude yourself.”

He left the statement hanging and I felt the poignant words echo in my heart because I’d wondered the same thing time and time again. A heaviness settled in my chest and I wanted to burst from the accumulating grief. I supposed he was also worried that I might be some money grubbing harlot. I stared back at Jack.

“We’re just friends, Mr. Collins. I just want his friendship.”

Right now I was willing to settle for anything. I just wanted Grayson to be okay.

By Thursday, I’d resorted to stationing myself on the patch of grass in front of the house and throwing small pebbles at the windows on the second floor. I was pathetic. I know. But I couldn’t give up on Grayson. My heart wouldn’t let me.

Throwing the stones had been a desperate act of trying to reach out to him, a way of hopefully getting his attention. It always seemed to work in the movies. He was supposed to come out and one of us was expected to launch into a love song, or recite a sonnet or some shit… anything…I just needed relief from my grim    despondency.

My emotions had been so frayed, and my heart so heavy, that I knew I wasn’t thinking straight. I’d even started eating all of Jenny’s preservative filled, heart-attack-in-a-can goods. SPAM was now my comfort food.

Now, here I stood on the lawn with the sun beating down on me. I was missing most of my shots because I have the worse aim ever. In fact, I found myself dodging the stones as they came flying back down at me. It was only after I’d finally given up that I realized I might have done more harm than good. Who knew what Grayson would make of the noise. I’d witnessed what had happened with the tree branch. I could have just sent him into a delusional crisis. Good going, Angie! You always knew how to drive a man crazy!

I scoffed at myself and brushed off my hands as I reentered the house. I’d seen signs throughout the week that Grayson had been in the kitchen. It seemed he was carrying on as usual. I thought about my meeting with Jack as I packed up to leave for the night. It did seem that Grayson’s fear of losing the house was irrational, a product of his paranoia and delusions about Charles.

Why Charles was the catalyst of the erroneous perception, I didn’t know. Perhaps there’d been some conflict between them in the past. Although I didn’t like him, Charles only seemed to have his father’s best interest in mind. He clearly wanted the house repaired and was concerned about its deterioration.

Jack had been unequivocal about Grayson’s legal right to stay in the house as long as he wanted. If only I could get Grayson to believe that. If only I could get him to start taking his meds again. If only I could get him to let me help.

Friday, I woke up pissed. I was hopping mad. I’d had sex with this man, and now he was ignoring me. Again. I didn’t exist to him. For him, our time together had been a meaningless excursion in physical pleasure. Well, I was done.

I’d never worked so hard for a ‘non relationship’ in my life. Hell, I’d never worked so hard for an actual relationship before. I was tired of feeling so miserable, tired of crying myself to sleep every night. It was spring break. I should be having fun and enjoying my reprieve from school. Instead, I’d been forlorn and heartbroken the entire week, feeling like a hollow shell. I showered and shampooed my hair, singing the tune of “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair”. My anger was empowering. I got dressed and went to the house, resolute and feeling good about my decision, about the new and improved me.

There was coffee waiting for me on the table when I arrived and I almost burst into tears, but I immediately stemmed the flow. I’d promised myself no more tears. I stared at the cup as if it was the devil’s brew and completely ignored it. I was tempted to try the door for the hundredth time, but would not allow myself to fall off of the ‘I’m okay without Grayson’ wagon. I was done with this craziness.

I turned away from the table to get started with my chores, and Grayson was standing not ten feet away from me.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I sucked in a shocked breath and forced my feet to stay rooted. Grayson looked so damn good with his hair combed back that my body almost burst into flame. It wanted to explode and implode at the same time from the heat of my torrid emotions. A small sound eked from my throat, hitting a dead end on my tongue. I just stood there, frozen, staring at the man who’d ruled my every thought for the past week.

His square jaw was freshly shaven and his blue eyes were bottomless, soulfully soft and hypnotically compelling. I almost got lost looking into them. He was wearing a worn T-shirt, but it fit him perfectly, stretching across his broad chest. The sleeves ended in the middle of defined biceps, flaunting a physique I would always find impressive. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of a pair of very ripped jeans that were accidentally fashionable and sexy as hell. I shook with the need to run to him, but I was determined to stay strong. A brick. Concrete. Clean hair, remember?

He looked at me sheepishly and his thick lashes lowered. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry.

Sorry? That was all he could say to me? After everything we’d been through. After I almost lost my mind with worry for him? I forced a deep, steadying breath.

Okay, just shrug and tell him it’s no big deal, that the sex had been just okay, then walk past him and toss your hair in his direction so he can smell how man-free it is.

The empowering tune started playing in my head as I continued my internal pep talk. You don’t need the cray-cray, girl! Remember? He’s coo coo for cocoa puffs! A few fries short of a Happy Meal. Knitting with only one needle. Just ignore him like he’s done to you all freaking week!

Ugh! I flew at him like a wild cat, angry, hurt, and shrieking about all the ways he’d wronged me. I punched his chest over and over, then the stupid tears started flowing in tidal waves. God, I needed therapy to help me deal with this crazy man! And the worse part of it was that he just stood there and took it, looking at me as if I had every right to vent my ire on him.

“You are making me nuts!” I yelled, delivering another jab to his chest. “And you don’t even fucking care!”

My angry words finally provoked a reaction. His stoic expression morphed quickly to anger. He grabbed my wrists mid-punch and held them securely.

“That’s not true, Angie. I do care!” he yelled back.

“You keep shutting me out!”

“I have to.”

“No, you crazy son-of-a-bitch! You just don’t give a shit!” I realized then I was more angry with myself than with him. After all, I’d pursued him relentlessly. I’d seduced him. It wasn’t his fault that I’d made assumptions or unwittingly harbored emotional expectations. He’d warned me repeatedly. He’d tried to keep me away, to remain distant. Why should he give a shit about me?

I was also stinging from the undisciplined flight my thoughts had taken. It had been wrong to call him names and to issue callous aspersions about his mental illness, but in my anger I’d slipped into endorsing the social stigmas I’d always abhorred. That guilt too was flaying me.

I tried to tug my wrists from his grasp. I was quiet now, sulky and despondent. Ashamed. My ravaged heart burned from his rejection and the knowledge that I’d brought this on myself. Grayson wouldn’t release his hold, and that ignited more fire inside me.

“Let me go!” I growled through clenched teeth.

“No, Angie. I can't seem to,” he said softly, snaking one arm around my waist and jerking me against his body.

“Let me go!” I screeched, finding his nearness unbearable. It only served to revive my longing, to fan the flames in my heart I needed to douse.

“I can’t seem to let you go, Angie.” He breathed roughly as his lips crashed down on mine, hard and insistent.

I twisted away and he followed, seizing my lips again. The hand around my waist moved down and his palm cupped my ass and pulled me tight against him. My mind registered somewhere that his cock was rock hard, and that information must have been classified as ‘needs to be addressed’ because my traitorous body stopped struggling and started obeying the movements of his cajoling fingers.

My hips arched, pressing my abdomen into his straining erection. I moaned against his mouth. Whether it was in passion or in protest, I didn’t know. I just knew this was what I desperately needed, what I craved. I swallowed his tongue and shoved mine deep into his mouth, then gripped his hair hard with my fists and devoured him. I commandeered his face, kissing and biting and licking. I was insane with my need for Grayson, with my anger for Grayson, with my weakness for Grayson.

Perhaps I was afraid that he’d vanish, that he’d sequester himself upstairs again and I’d be robbed of him. I’d missed him so much it hurt like fucking hell. He moaned and kissed me back as ardently as I kissed him, sinking his teeth into my bottom lip until it hurt, then soothing it with a vibrating suck.

He pulled off my shirt and yanked my bra down, baring my breasts so that they spilled over the top of the elastic like two ripe melons. Bending low, he sucked one nipple into his mouth, twirling his tongue like a tornado while it was nestled inside his hot mouth.

I shouted when pleasure stampeded down my spine and took a direct route to my already leaking pussy. My fingers and toes tingled with every strong suction of his lips on my hard nipples. He moved from one breast to the other, tonguing the rigid peaks. Then he buried his face between the full mounds and inhaled deeply. A low groan rumbled from his throat like an approaching locomotive. The sound accelerated in depth until it raced through my chest and reached down to curl my toes.

I grabbed for his pants, trying to release the stubborn button. His cock was hard and eager, the pink swollen head sticking up out of his waistband. The sight of it made my pussy clench with need, but the desire to have him on my tongue was overwhelming. I wanted to feel the heavy weight in my mouth, taste his sweet essence on my tongue and down my throat.

I pulled out of his arms and swooped down while rucking up his shirt. I drew the thick head between my lips, sucking eagerly on the portion escaping his waistband.

“Ohhh, yeah!” Grayson hissed above me, rolling his hips as I swirled my tongue around the slippery pink tip. My taste buds exploded with his deliciously salty taste as he dumped a few drops of precum onto my tongue. I worked on his button, but the waistband was pulled taut from the tension of his cock and the damned button needed slack to open. Greedy for him, I wrenched the fabric down, exposing another thick inch and gobbling what I could into my mouth. I used my tongue as a whip against the swollen head, loving the velvety skin gliding against my tongue.

“Mmm…ohhh, shit!” Grayson almost doubled over, going up on tiptoes as his large body shook. His hands flew to my head, gripping my hair and pulling my hungry lips away from his cock. “You’re fucking killing me, Angie!”

I looked up into his eyes and they burned with a raw passion that was almost intimidating. He slashed his lips over mine and kissed me savagely, then took my hand. “Come,”

I followed on legs that felt as unsteady as a newborn foal’s. I loved his intensity. My whole body was weak, and yet as explosive as dynamite. The rub of my jeans against my swollen lips was causing tiny explosions inside me. I thought he was leading me upstairs, and was surprised when he stopped at the table in my oasis. His lips pulled firm as he opened my jeans and jerked them and my underwear down my hips. I stepped out of them, my breath raking quickly past my lips. Impatient, I reached for his pants, but he captured my wrists and locked them with one hand behind my back. He leaned into me, his eyes glowing pure lapis. I was enthralled.

“I’m too worked up for you to touch me,” he breathed, feathering his lips against mine. “I’ve missed you. I’ve been dreaming of fucking you all week, and I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve jerked off with you in my head.”

I was surprised by the confession. I’d been sure he hadn’t given me one thought over the past week. I was more surprised when he turned me abruptly so that my back faced him. Then he bent my upper body over the small table. Startled, I held on, curling my fingers around the smooth wooden edges. My breasts mashed against the cool wood, still spilling over the top of my bra. Oh my God! I gulped. I was a little afraid of the unknown, but trembling with the anticipation of it. I was exposed and raw with volcanic emotions.

He used his knee to widen my stance and I inhaled a sharp breath as cool air tickled the damp folds of my naked pussy. I closed my eyes and waited, my channel clenching rhythmically, weeping so much I could feel moisture running down the inside of my thighs. My nipples poked into the cool tabletop and I pressed in harder to soothe the ache throbbing in my breasts. Fuck! What was he waiting for? I had only a tenuous grip on my sanity. I was out of my mind with need. He was so quiet that I wondered vaguely if he was staring, intimately studying my shape and form. I was too aroused to be embarrassed.

Just when I thought I would die from wanting him, I felt his tongue sluice one long delicious lick through my wet flesh.

“Holy fucking shit!” I gasped. I gripped the table so hard I was afraid my bones would snap. I had no time to recover before he did it again, and my knees buckled from the sizzling pleasure.

A shock of sensual delight buzzed through every nerve ending, and I felt another gush of liquid trickle from inside me. Grayson hummed and moaned as he lapped it up, and it felt as if his entire face had rooted between my legs and into my flesh. The bridge of his nose drove against my sensitized folds while his tongue snaked lower to unearth my clit and flick the nub to a tormented point.

My cheek mashed against the table as I held on, my voice disappearing into the room every time I screamed out in pleasure. He circled his arms around my upper thighs and pulled me back onto his face, using the tip of his tongue to dance figure eights through my soaked pussy. I panted roughly, my body starting to shake uncontrollably. He concentrated the pressure each time he hit my straining clit, swishing and thrusting his wonderfully dynamic tongue. It hurled me right off the cliff into an excruciatingly intense orgasm.

“Grrrraaaayysonnnn!” I shuddered over and over again, my lungs struggling with the effort to take a normal breath.

“You tasted so fucking delicious.” Grayson’s sexy voice penetrated my sensuous haze, keeping me grounded as my body flew apart then landed safely in his arms.

I felt his lips on my naked back as he moved up to hold me. He unsnapped my bra and marched a line of soft kisses down my spine. I made an attempt to push up, but the pressure of his palm against my back kept me in place.

“Stay,” he whispered, and I could hear desire soaked in his voice.

Truthfully, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to get up. My body was still humming from my orgasm and lax from the endorphins swimming through my blood stream. I heard a soft swoosh and realized that Grayson had removed his jeans. Desire punched through me as I imagined how hard and swollen his gorgeous cock must be. Instinctively, I arched my hips, sticking out my ass. I groaned when his fingers stroked along my entrance and dip inside. I shivered, and he startled me when he spanked my aching folds with three sharp smacks. I cried out, stinging arousal twitching my flesh. The smooth head of his cock pushed between my labia, sliding up and down my wet slit. I sighed with the new sensation. My quivering walls clamped down hard, needing him to fill me.

My eyes flew open and I gasped when he did it again. I could hardly think to get my words out.

“Con…con…dom.”

“I know,” he breathed hard. “I just want to feel you on my cock. I want your delicious cream all over my dick.”

Oh, God! I didn’t have a chance when he was talking to me like that. One thing that really got me off was dirty talk. He bumped my clit and I sucked in a wisp of air. I heard his choppy breaths above me growing more erratic.

“Jacket?” he asked.

“What?”

“Condom.”

“Oh. Backpack. Front pocket.”

“Don’t move.”

Was he fucking kidding me? I wasn’t going anywhere!

I heard him behind me again, felt his palms slowly caressing my back and the globes of my ass. “My beautiful Angie,” he whispered.

My body was shaking now with anticipation, and I braced myself. He plowed into me with one deep, unapologetically powerful thrust.

Oh, God! He felt amazing!

I swallowed hard, almost biting through my lip at the exquisite pleasure of him stretching and filling me.

“Fuuuckkk!” he hissed, doubling over, his naked chest against my back. “Feels so good.”

He stayed buried deep for a few seconds and I knew he was trying to gather control. I could feel how far gone he was by the fine tremors of his hands on my hips and the raw edginess in his voice. I bumped my hips back, needing him to move, and he issued a guttural moan that sounded like it crawled out of his belly.

“I have to fuck you hard, Angie,” he rasped against my ear. “I need you too desperately.”

“Please…yes!” I whispered, dying now. I could already feel another orgasm buzzing just below the surface.

Grayson reared up, his grip tightening on my hips. The first hard slam had the table rocking, but then it was as if an earthquake valued ten on the Richter scale hit the room. Grayson powered into me fast, each time hitting hard and driving deep. It was all I could do to hang on. Unfathomable pleasure burned me with a blistering heat as he pounded into me. Our coupling was raw and hedonistic, and the pleasure was as sharp as a razor’s edge.

I was shocked to hear the animal noises erupting from my throat. I pushed back, my slick walls strangling him and begging for more. He sawed in and out of me, grunting and groaning his pleasure, saying words that I wasn’t even sure he was aware of. Words that warmed my pleasure and made it bubble inside me until I was bursting with it. He called me his savior, his every pleasure, his heart—and I lost it. I came in rippling waves of a joy so resplendent that I lost focus of the world around me.

“Fuck, Angie! You’re mine! My heart! My peace! My everything! All mine!”

His cock sank deep to the root, owning me, filling me. His fingers dug into my hips with a punishing grip as he convulsed behind me, grunting fiercely. His cock swelled and stretched my passage as he shot his semen with hard jerky contractions.

He collapsed on my back, his skin slick with sweat, and I was seriously worried that the table would collapse, but I couldn't move. Harsh breaths hissed out of his lungs, stroking the back of my neck and feathering my hair. After a minute, I tried to flex a muscle, any muscle to see if I was still fully functional.

“I’m afraid the table might break,” I said, my voice hoarse from screaming.

He brushed hair away from my neck and kissed a damp spot, sending tingles down my back.

“I’m sure you’d just put it on my list of things to fix.” I could feel him smiling against my neck, and although my body was fixed—quite nicely I might add—my heart was still carved into pieces.

He stood up and pulled me off of the table, holding me as I tested my limbs.

I watched him discard the condom into one of the garbage bags. I pouted, staring at him. “You know, I’m still mad at you.”

I didn’t want him to think he’d gotten away with putting me through a week of hell, of not knowing if he was truly okay.

“Still mad?” He swung his gaze to me, incredulous. Laughter danced in his blue eyes. “After what just happened between us?”

I rolled my eyes. Leave it to a man to think that good—great—okay, freaking fantastic sex, would fix everything.

He regarded me with a lopsided grin and said, “Yeah, I could really feel your anger as you were screaming for me to pound you harder.”

My jaw dropped in shock. I couldn't believe he’d just said that! This man was outrageous! My eyes rounded and I gave him a playful punch on his chest.

“I did not!”

“Let’s see...” He screwed up his face, grinning. “I guess when you said, ‘Fuck me, Grayson,’ you really meant, ‘Oh, Grayson, I’m so mad at you!’”

I kept hitting him as he laughed and raised his palms in his defense. What made it worse was that he mimicked me in a high-pitched girly voice, which sent me into unwanted hysterics.

He continued, “Or, when you said, ‘Harder, Grayson, harder!’ you really meant, ‘I’m really pissed right now!’”

“You are the most frustrating man I’ve ever known!” I declared with a huff, pushing him backwards into the upholstered chair.

He was a big man and he no doubt allowed me to topple him, but I was surprised when he grabbed my waist and pulled me down onto his lap.

“I’m serious, Grayson.” I faced him, cradling his handsome face between my palms. “I was sick with worry.”

He regarded me seriously, hooking my loose hair behind my ears. “I’m sorry, Angie. I’m not in a good place sometimes. I really do care about you. Perhaps more than I should. I’m twenty years older than you are. You’re young, beautiful, and you have your whole life ahead of you—”

“Please, don’t give me that age difference bullshit.”

I cut him off, not willing to let him use our age disparity as an excuse for why we shouldn’t be together. It didn’t bother me.

“Does it bother you?” I asked, holding my breath.

He gifted me with a small smile, and then shook his head. “No, but you—.”

“No buts. We are the only two it should matter to.”

He sighed and kissed my knuckles. Concern darkened his face. “The big thing, Angie, is my mental health.”

I took a deep breath, needing to clear my head. I felt so much for this man that I didn’t want my emotions to rule my thoughts. I wanted to use logic and reason. “Grayson, there are many people who live with schizophrenia. About two point five percent of Americans and one percent of the world, actually. I know it can be disabling, but many people who have schizophrenia are able to work and have families, and are successful. John Nash, a brilliant mathematician and Nobel Prize winner had schizophrenia, as well as Charles Bolden, a famous Jazz musician, and Peter Green, the guitarist for Fleetwood Mac.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I see you’ve done your homework.”

I nodded slowly. “I also know that your case is mild. You lived a highly functional life before…before your accident. An emotional trauma like that can cause an exacerbation of symptoms, especially when you’re not taking your medication.”

He quietly studied me and I tried to read his expression. I loved when he looked at me that way. It was something like awe and disbelief mingled with a tender reverence. It was as if I was his universe and all the answers were held in the stars of my eyes. How I wished that were true. Grayson was still a huge enigma to me. It was hard to get to know him when he kept locking me out of his world. I understood his behavior to an extent, especially given the fact that he’d lived in isolation for so long. It was only in these rare moments that I thought I caught a glimpse of his heart.

“I’m also a nurse, remember? I’ve taken care of patients with severe schizophrenia. I know how bad it can be.”

“My father had a severe case. It waxed and waned. Although my mother loved him deeply, it was still very difficult for her. It was difficult for all of us.”

I swallowed hard, remembering what Jack had told me about his father.

“You must have loved him very much. I can see it in your eyes when you talk about him.”

He gave a shallow nod, his finger making trails on my skin. “I did. But in the end my love couldn’t save him.”

I listened intently, holding my breath. His words saddened me. I wondered if he would discuss his father’s death, but as usual, his words tapered to a resounding silence. I leaned in close, feeling the warmth of his body. The last thing I wanted to do was force him to relive painful memories, so I doused my niggling curiosity.

“You enjoyed traveling with him?” I asked instead.

“Yes.” The tiniest smile turned up his lips. “We were happy. He was happiest when he traveled. Unfortunately, there came a point when it became impossible. Near the end of his life he spent most of his time in and out of the hospital. Getting released and coming home to this house was the only thing he lived for. Here he could surround himself with the things he’d collected over the years.”

He sighed heavily and looked into my eyes. “My disorder may have been mild, but it’s still something I deal with every day.”

I studied his face. “What’s it like for you, Grayson?”

His chest expanded and collapsed slowly. After a thoughtful silence, he said, “It’s a struggle to achieve balance. It can be a futile search for the absolute truth or an endless certainty of lies. I’m constantly sifting through my thoughts, analyzing them, looking for the truth. It never stops.”

“Is that why you don’t go out?” I remembered him saying that he didn’t like people, but now I wondered if it was more than that.

He paused. “People make it worse. The noise is endless. I can sometimes hear their thoughts.”

I nodded silently, trying to wrap my brain around his words. Living in one of the most crowded cities in the world probably didn’t help his symptoms.

He frowned deeply. “It’s often like having a nightmare with my eyes open. Is this something that you want to deal with, Angie?”

I nodded firmly. I’d given this very issue much thought over the past week. I wasn’t giving up on Grayson as long as he wasn’t giving up on me. I tilted my head and regarded him.

“Why don’t you take your meds?”

He paused for a second, twisting his beautifully shaped lips. “The side effects. They make me feel dull, drowsy, disconnected, as if I’m experiencing the world from underwater. I don’t feel alive. I want to feel things.” He brushed a finger across my cheek. “I feel so much with you, Angie.”

I gave in and kissed the lips I’d been admiring, lingering at the gentle curve at the bottom. Eventually, I pulled back and smiled at him. My heart soared. I know he hadn’t confessed his undying love, but he did have feelings for me. I folded my heart around that thought, sinking it someplace deep inside.

I remembered the side effects of the antipsychotics that some of my patients had experienced: dry mouth, sedation, apathy, and even Tardive Dyskinesia, a disorder where patients suffered from sudden involuntary movements. I also knew that the medications had come a long way in the last few years.

“There are many new drugs available now. Plus, a doctor will be able to titrate the dose to minimize the side effects.”

He still seemed troubled. “No.”

I was surprised by the harshness of his tone.

“But, Gray—”

“I said no! They’re not…safe.”

His dark brows furrowed and he looked as if he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself. Another dead end, but I could read the signs clearly on his face. He didn’t trust the pills. I wasn’t entirely surprised he was wary of taking his meds. I remembered that many of the schizophrenic patients I worked with were afraid that their drugs were really poison and that they’d be harmed if they ingested the pills. It was part of the paranoia associated with the condition.

“Antipsychotics can help significantly with thought disorders and ideas that are... distressing.” I took a deep breath, thinking about his belief that Charles had been climbing the outside walls, trying to get in through the window. I also thought about his extensive book fort. “Ideas that may not be based in reality.”

He trailed a finger down my cheek. “You know your shit, Nurse Roberts. I can see why you got a sixty-five on your exam.”

He grinned and I punched him playfully in the ribs. I could tell I wasn’t getting through to him. I knew how stubborn Grayson could be when he had his mind set.

I hesitated, and then confessed, “I spoke to Jack about you.”

His expression dulled, but he didn’t look angry. “What did the old boy have to say?”

“That you’re harmless. He wants you to be happy. He said the house is yours and you shouldn’t be worried about losing it.”

The muscles of his face tightened, alarm usurping his expression.

“Charles knows nothing about my conversation with him, and Jack agreed to keep it between us.” I added quickly and watched his face relax.

He was quiet for a long time, and I didn’t think he’d respond. “Jack is a good man. We were friends. That’s why when my wife was alive we made him executor of our estate. He controls certain things.”

I nodded. I understood a little more now about why this house was so important to him. Jack had said he’d never lived anywhere else.

“Jack got an offer on the house a year ago. He declined it. He knows how much I want to stay here. I’m safe here. The buyer then went to Charles. Charles came to me with the offer, but again, I declined it.”

I shrugged. “You have every right to. Jack said that no one can take it away from you. It’s your house, right?”

He nodded, but didn’t offer more. Maybe Charles had tried to convince him to sell and that was where his anger and systematic delusions stemmed from. It seemed his fears about his son were all in his head. I didn’t like Charles, but he clearly wanted to make sure the house was clean and safe. Although my mind was flooded with questions, again, I didn’t want to press. I was glad he was finally sharing with me, and the last thing I wanted to do was to push him away.

I also didn’t want him to know that I’d spoken to Jack about Peter, his father. Hopefully in time, he'd feel comfortable enough to discuss more of his past with me.

I relaxed back onto his chest and we sat for a long time basking in post-orgasmic lethargy and talking quietly. Well, I did most of the talking, and Grayson listened and asked questions. I told him about the graduate program I was enrolled in part time and about my job as a nurse at the hospital. We touched a little on my family, and I was surprised that he had so many questions about my parents.

We took a long shower together and made love again in his bed. It was slower this time, leisurely and just as wonderfully satisfying. He did work on his computer while I cleaned and organized items from a new crate I’d found. This one was from Ireland. I handled everything I’d found with meticulous care, trying to salvage whatever I could of his disordered past.

By the time dinnertime came, I was starving. Grayson offered to make me something to eat, but there wasn't much in his kitchen. I knew going out to dinner wasn’t an option, so I asked about take-out. His eyes widened. He looked at me as though I’d asked him to get on a rocket and fly to the moon. I was able to convince him to order Chinese food, but he would only allow the delivery man to come as close as the gate. He refused to allow him anywhere near the house.

Grayson didn’t eat any of it. He sat and watched me, smiling as I devoured everything on my plate with unabashed enthusiasm. He teased that all our sex had worked up my appetite. Although he encouraged me to eat, he wouldn’t touch any of the food. Literally and figuratively. At one point, I asked him to pass me one of the food containers and he refused to touch it. Between large bites of the sandwich he’d made for himself, he simply explained that the paper from the cartons emitted biochemical toxins that were poisonous to his body. I stared silently for a few moments, wondering deeply about this man I was coming to know.

When I was done, Grayson asked that I tie the leftovers in a bag and deposit them in the metal garbage can outside the house. I discovered that he only ate meals he prepared with his own hands. Apparently, groceries were delivered to the house once a week and left at the gate. From what little he told me, I gathered they weren’t from a local supermarket. They were shipped from an organic farm somewhere out of state.

My time with Grayson was amazing. When he wasn't teasing me, or making me laugh, he was satiating my body with endless pleasure. We enjoyed each other’s company. Our love for books was something we shared. For a few hours, we sat in the upholstered chair and read from a collection of Robert Frost’s poetry that I’d discovered in the piles.

I learned many things about him: his habits, his idiosyncrasies, and everything that made him wonderfully Grayson. Whenever he came out of the shower, which he took several times a day, he had to towel himself off immediately. It was okay if his hair was wet, but not a drop of water could linger on his body. It was a quirk with which I didn’t mind assisting him.

Grayson suffered another paranoid episode that occurred in the early hours of the morning and revolved again around Charles. He was convinced that Charles was planting bombs around the perimeter of the house. I tried hard to be strong for him, to help him rationalize, but it killed me to see him so angry and terrified, especially because his primary concern this time was that I’d be hurt.

This episode, thankfully, didn’t last too long and I was able to convince him to come back to bed. There, we held each other, entwined as I slowly stroked his hair and whispered reassurances that he was safe into his ear. Eventually, I heard the even snore of his breath and then I let myself fall into a dreamless sleep.

Grayson seemed fine on Saturday, but sometimes I could see from his facial expression that his thoughts were weaving and scattering, unfurling in every direction. Anxiety carved a deep fissure between his brows. I could also see his struggle, his desperate attempts to keep the ideas logically tied together.

I wished I could help him. It pained me to see his mind work so hard at something I took for granted. He rarely slept. He went to bed with me at night, holding me until I fell asleep, but I’d wake a few hours later to find him sitting in the dark on his computer down the hall, or restlessly pacing back and forth. Once or twice I even found him running like the hounds of hell were at his heels on his ancient treadmill.

Early Sunday morning, I discovered him upstairs in the room with the books. They were piled all around him as he scratched at something on the floor with an old shovel. The room was saturated with an early morning chill, so thick I could feel it seeping through my skin. I hugged my torso, scrubbing my palms up and down my arms. I approached him hesitantly and asked what he was doing. My heart was in my throat because I never knew what to expect with Grayson. He stopped and leaned against the handle, his cloudy gaze finding my face. He was fully dressed. He must have gotten dressed again after we’d made love earlier.

“Digging,” he acknowledged casually. “Digging a trap.”

I swallowed hard, emotion stacking like bricks in my chest. I shook my head, my mind grasping for purchase, trying to understand. “For what, Grayson?”

“Danger. I have to be prepared. I have to protect us. I have to protect the house.”

I reached out a hand, trying to keep it steady. “You’re safe, Grayson.”

His gaze shifted to my proffered hand, but he didn’t move. He didn’t believe me. Fear and skepticism drew a roadmap of worry on his face. His jaw squared and he tightened his lips into a brittle line. I watched his body uncurl as he grabbed the shovel and silently started scraping at the floor again. That’s when I saw it. There was a large, jagged crater in the dusty wood that must have been covered up by the scattered books. It was directly over the small cracks I’d seen in the ceiling downstairs, the network of spider veins I’d noticed soon after starting here. I wondered how long he’d been working at this trap. I could already see exposed beams and fluffy insulation. If he kept this up, eventually he’d put a hole right through the wood floor.

“Go back to bed, Angie.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying with you, Grayson,” I said sternly, plopping myself down on the floor next to him.

He stopped again and stared at me, his blue eyes almost cobalt in the gray dawn. His hair was a loose mane framing his face, giving him an unruly look. “You’ll be tired. You haven’t gotten much sleep.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, hurting, thinking of the reason I’d been up most of the night. We’d held each other, made exquisite love, bathed in a temporary utopia where I could pretend he was okay.

But Grayson wasn’t okay, and as I spent more time with him, I realized the extent of his fractured thoughts. My Grayson was funny and brilliant. My Grayson was tender and passionate. My Grayson could melt my heart with the tiniest smile. But this man, too, was my Grayson, a man who was sometimes out of touch with reality, who lived in the distorted world concocted by his brain. It was a world of doubt, fear, and distrust.

“I’m not going to bed without you,” I said, hating the way my voice broke with emotion.

“Go back to bed. It’s chilly in here,” he urged softly.

I shook my head, drawing my legs up to my chest to keep warm.

Grayson’s shoulders lifted with a resigned sigh and he looked around the room. I watched him lay down his shovel and take the few steps toward me. He stretched out a steady hand, and like a lifeline, I grabbed hold of it and pulled up to my feet. I tried to blink back my tears, but they snuck out silently as I buried my face in his shoulder and snaked my arms around his waist, twisting my fingers into the soft fabric of his T-shirt.

I loved the solid feel of his body, the warmth of his embrace, and the rise and fall of his chest. They were tangible, corporeal. His body was healthy and strong and offered me comfort. It kept me grounded despite my feeling of overwhelming helplessness. I hated seeing him like this. I hated how this disorder deceived this beautiful man and filled his head with lies.

Grayson’s lips brushed against my forehead as he gently guided me.

“Let’s get you back to bed. You’re freezing.”

I nodded against his chest, too emotional to speak. As we walked down the hall, I thought about his drawer full of medications. At least if he took them, he’d get some respite from his rambling thoughts.

I woke up a few hours later in an empty bed. Early light snuck into the room, drawing a beautiful rainbow across the wrinkled sheet. Sighing deeply, I thought about the man I could hear pacing in the other room. I couldn’t begin to imagine what his world was like. My senses gave me input about the world and I trusted my brain to honestly interpret the data and make accurate conclusions and predictions. What if the conclusions were often wrong? How could I ever stay grounded? How could I ever feel safe? How could I ever put my trust in anything around me?

By the time I’d showered and found Grayson, he was busily working at his computer. He told me a little about his company, Global Systems, and how he ran it from home. I was amazed. He had an entire network of people working for him all around the world. He targeted distressed companies, evaluated their financials and monitored their stocks. He bought when the stocks were undervalued, invested funds to restructure the company, and then sold it for a large profit. It was so extensive that I could hardly wrap my brain around it.

Sunday afternoon, we sat together in my oasis, reclining on the upholstered chair. I leaned against his chest with my feet up on a small stool that he’d rescued from the debris. Sunlight filtered in through my circle in the window and sliced across our torsos, dappling the space with a warm glow. We were both quiet today and I knew we both pondered the inevitable. I’d be going back to my apartment tonight. Classes resumed tomorrow, and I was scheduled to work the night shift.

Grayson was playing with a lock of my hair, holding the dark strands up to the sunlight and watching the elusive colors jump out. My hair was really chestnut, with subtle hints of red, but it was so dark that most people just called it brown.

I sighed heavily and snuggled deeper into Grayson’s body, finding tremendous comfort just listening to the soft thump of his heart.

“I don’t want to go,” I confessed sadly against his chest.

He dropped my hair and wound his arms around me, squeezing tight.

“I don’t want you to go either.”

I chewed on my bottom lip, then turned and lined up our gazes. “Don’t shut me out again, please. Last week was unbearable.”

He tucked a finger under my chin and scanned my face, his eyes boring deeply into mine. “I promise. I won’t lock you out again. I’m sorry about last week. I was scared of my feelings and I was afraid of you getting hurt. I had a lot going on in my head.”

“I was worried about you.”

“I—I don’t want you to think of me as weak.”

I gasped, turning to face him fully with my eyes wide. “Oh God, Grayson. Never. It must take tremendous courage to deal with your illness every day. You possess an inner strength that I can’t comprehend. I could never think of you as weak. You saved me from almost getting raped, remember?”

I leaned forward and kissed him gently, trying to erase the dark look that came over his face at the mention of the incident. “I’m here if you ever need me, you know that, don’t you?” I asked.

“I do.”

“I mean it,” I said earnestly. “I’m on your side.”

A hesitant smile touched his lips and a shadow crossed his face. I canted my head and looked at him, wondering what he was thinking. Did he not believe me?

“What?” I asked.

He gave a slight shake of his head, his gaze sliding away from mine. “My wife used to say that.”

I swallowed away my surprise at his confession. He’d never spoken of his wife.

“I’m sorry about the accident. Sorry you lost her.”

His head dipped with a barely perceptible nod.

“That must have been very difficult.”

He was quiet for a moment and I held my breath, tension winding through my body.

“She was everything to me,” he whispered. “After I lost her, my life derailed.”

I didn’t know what to say. I held him tight, hoping that he knew what was in my heart. In that moment, I felt the profoundness of the losses he’d experienced. I understood how he could lose himself and succumb to despair, how he could veer off track. I could only hope that he’d let me help him find a new path. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“I’ll always be here for you, Grayson.”

He brushed the back of his hand along my cheek and kissed the tip of my nose. He gave me that look I loved. It liquefied my insides, left me lethargic and slightly breathless.

“I mean it,” I affirmed.

“Yes. I know. And that’s great, because I experienced a hallucination the other day that was terrifying.”

My heart sank and I gazed into his somber eyes. I didn’t think he hallucinated. He suffered greatly from a distortion of thought, but I didn’t think he saw or heard things that weren’t there.

“What was it?” I asked, bracing myself.

“Well.” His brows came together and he lowered his head. “A few days ago I had a hallucination that you were throwing stones at my window.”

I stared blankly, nonplussed. Okay. Was he serious?

The corner of his luscious lips kicked up, and issuing an oath, I punched him playfully in the arm. This man drove me seriously batty!

He blocked my hands, laughing. “No, really. It was terrifying. You were throwing like a girl. I don’t think you hit the window once! You were dodging the stones as they were bouncing back down at you!”

“Okay, that part was definitely a hallucination,” I said indignantly, but I couldn’t help chuckling. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I am a girl!”

He waggled his brows and shot a lewd gaze at my breasts. “Oh, I’ve noticed, but I think I may require some more convincing.”

He tried to lift the hem of my shirt, making all sorts of silly grunting, lusty noises. I playfully slapped his hands away, which resulted in him tickling me until I was writhing on his lap with giggles.

“Okay, okay, Smartass!” I screeched when I came up for air. “I’ll show you who throws like a girl. I issue a challenge!”

He quirked a brow and I continued, ignoring his mocking skepticism.

“Whoever can hit the window the most times, gets a prize. Best out of ten throws. The loser has to do whatever the winner says.”

He raised both eyebrows, laughter pulling his lips. “Are you sure you want to make that challenge?”

“Absolutely.” I stood up. “Why? Are you scared I’ll win?” I teased, egging him on.

He rubbed both palms together and leered at my breasts, waggling his brows again. “Are you kidding me? I already know what I want.”

“Alrighty then. Game on!” I grinned as I turned and headed toward the front door, with him following behind.

It was a lovely spring day. We didn’t need our jackets. Dandelions sprouted all over the lawn like pieces of sunshine that had fallen to earth. I let the soft breeze caress my face as we gathered the small stones and I realized that this was the first time that Grayson and I had been outside together. The sun loved him. It highlighted the silver in his hair and made his blue eyes twinkle like diamonds. He was freaking gorgeous.

We stood in front of the house gazing up at the windows on the second floor.

“Last chance to back down.” Grayson grinned, making a show of working out his throwing arm.

I gave an exaggerated yawn. “No way. I’ll even let you go first. Let’s see what you’ve got, old man.”

His grin broadened and he winked. “I think you already know what this old man’s got. But after I win, I’ll be happy to take you upstairs and refresh your memory.”

Despite my bravado, I shivered down to my toes at the heated look he shot me. I enjoyed the funny, playful, dirty-talking Grayson, but I was growing to love this side of him, too. Confident and assured. He was starting to come out of his shell, starting to reveal more of his inner spirit, and he was, I hoped, beginning to trust me. The thought of him collecting his victor’s prize almost made me drop my pebbles and say uncle. Almost. However, there was something I wanted even more.

Grayson took aim and nailed nine out of ten shots. He stepped back with a smirk. “You are in so much trouble. Your turn.”

Unperturbed, I cradled the ten small stones in both hands. I walked right up to the house and threw them at the window in front of me. The stones all hit the pane then bounced off into the grass. I turned to a shocked Grayson and folded my arms triumphantly across my chest.

“I won.”

“You cheated!”

“No, no,” I laughed as he stalked toward me. “I didn’t specify which windows we were to hit. You assumed I meant the ones on the second floor!”

“You tricked me!” he was getting closer, laughing too, but I saw revenge color his eyes.

“Grayson, now, Grayson…” I took cautious steps back as he tracked me. “I won. I made all ten shots. You only made nine. It’s not my fault you throw like a girl!” I spat out the last sentence, turned and with a squeal, took off running around the house, Grayson in hot pursuit.

It wasn’t long before he tackled me, and I squirmed and wriggled like a captured alley cat. He flung me easily over his shoulder and marched me into the house, through the kitchen, and up to his bedroom. I shrieked in feigned protests the entire time, pummeling his back and chortling as he playfully smacked my ass.

He tossed me unceremoniously onto the bed and grinned down at me. “Now, about my prize.”

I rose up on my knees, still winded and laughing. I shuffled toward him, slinking my arms around his neck and pulling him close.

“Sore loser,” I teased. I slanted my lips over his, kissing him lovingly and foraging deep with my tongue. His lips were soft and yielding. Perfectly intoxicating. His tongue met mine and I enjoyed the happiness I tasted on his lips and hoped he detected the same flavor on mine.

“Hmmm,” he purred against my mouth. “I say we each collect a prize. And since technically, you won, I’ll let you request yours first.”

He smiled slowly against my lips and I knew that he expected me to request something sexual, something sinfully decadent.

I pulled back and stared into his face, thinking about how much he’d come to mean to me, about the wonderful spirit that lived in his heart.

“Okay,” I nodded, then scooted off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

I emerged a few minutes later and strolled up to him. He was still rooted in the spot where I’d left him, his face flushed with anticipation.

I took a deep breath, then lifted my hand and uncurled my fist. He looked at my palm, then looked into my eyes, then looked at my palm again.

In the middle of my palm, sat a little white pill. His antipsychotic medication.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Silence sat heavily between us, a stark contrast from the previously light frivolity. I thought about what I was doing, what I was asking of him, and my throat constricted. We’d had such a great time together this weekend that I didn’t want to ruin things, but my heart ached for Grayson. I felt his pain as if it were my own. He was a brilliant man. He knew he was sick.

I was never one to jump quickly to meds as first line therapy, but Grayson’s mental illness was not like other conditions. I’d done extensive research and consulted the latest journals on schizophrenia. Last week, I’d even spoken to some of the psychiatrists at work about this disorder. Grayson had responded well to meds in the past. I knew that he would benefit from treatment.

I filled my lungs completely and stared into the eyes that regarded me with dark suspicion. His face hardened, all sharp angles. It killed me to see this because I hadn’t been the recipient of that look in a while.

“It’s only half the dose,” I whispered. “I think it will help. It hurts me to see you suffer, Grayson.”

He stared, just stared, and I sensed the battle raging in his head. Shit! He could be thinking that I was trying to poison him. I really didn’t know. The tick tock of my heart marked the passing minutes, and I feared that the bond we’d formed would start to fray at the edges or unravel completely. Was this worth losing him? Was I asking too much? My hand was growing unsteady, starting to waver slightly with strain.

Grayson locked his gaze with mine, then reached into my palm. He picked up the pill, put it in his mouth, and swallowed. I let go of the huge breath I didn’t know I’d held hostage in my lungs.

“Thank you, Grayson.” I whispered.

I wasn’t thanking him for taking the pill. I was thanking him for trusting me. I wanted to cry from the emotional lump sitting like a boulder on my chest and the feelings that were choking me. I loved this man to death. I wanted to cry harder with the realization of it. I loved him truly, deeply, madly. I wished I could tell him, but I was worried about how he’d react.

“You won the challenge, remember?” He gave me a tentative smile and my heart leapt.

I smiled back, welcoming the levity and the rescue from my thoughts. My stomach was still in tumult, nervous with my overwhelming emotions and worried they’d be transparent. I put on a stern face and produced a bag from behind my back. I’d collected all the pill bottles from the drawer in the bathroom.

“As a nurse, I must charge you with a most serious patient-related crime, Mr. Whitmore,” I admonished in a deep voice.

His brow jumped into his forehead, but a smile tugged at his lips.

I continued with the charges, pouring the pill bottles onto the bed. “You are committing aggravated polypharmacy. A terrible and dangerous offense.” I tsked loudly. “Do you know how much trouble you’re in?”

He tilted his head and regarded me quizzically. “When do I get to collect my prize?”

I rolled my eyes, his expression making me smile. I grabbed a pill bottle from the bed. “Exhibit A. This medication is pharmacologically the same as all the others. You have, in your possession, multiple drugs for treating the same symptoms. Very dangerous.”

“Oh. Wow.” He screwed up his face as if troubled by his thoughts. “I just have one question.”

“What?” I asked absently, picking out the bottles that had expired.

“When do I get to claim my prize?”

I settled my lips against his as his arms snaked around my waist, pulling me against his large erection. “I’ll tell you what, you help me sort through all these meds, and you can collect a bonus prize.”

His grin was priceless. As it turned out, so was his bonus prize.

The next few days dragged by slowly. I hadn’t worked a night shift in a long time and I was drained by the time morning came. I slept the entire day after my shift and felt like I’d lost time from my life.

I missed Grayson terribly, but between work and school, I was swamped. I wished there was a way I could stay in touch with him. I made a mental note to ask him about communicating via email the next time I saw him. I knew he didn’t have a phone, but he was always on the computer. Also, I remembered Charles saying he’d emailed him.

Before I’d left his house, we’d gone through his meds and sorted them. I threw out more than half of what had been in his drawer and left him the bottle of what he should be taking along with the dosing instructions. He’d only started on a small dose, and I hoped that would help. I’d be happy with him just getting a good night’s sleep. Maybe if he came to trust me more, in time, I could convince him to see a psychiatrist. However, knowing Grayson, that would be asking a lot. I wasn’t even sure he’d continue to take the pills when I wasn’t there.

Friday, I practically ran to the house. There was coffee waiting for me and the sight of it filled me with a familiar warmth. I wondered if he put it there every day. There were many days I wasn’t able to come. Today, beside the coffee was a small bouquet of yellow daisies. They were just a few, tied with a thin string. I smiled as I picked them up and held them to my nose. I realized he must have collected them from the front lawn.

Grayson must’ve heard me come in because he emerged through the stairwell door and my heart soared. He looked good. Not just ‘good’, he looked… rested. Without thought, I ran to him and jumped into his outstretched arms. I hugged him close, just breathing him in.

God, I’d missed him. I missed his Grayson smell, his Grayson eyes, and his Grayson smile. His lips found mine, and just like that, I wanted him inside me. I intensified the kiss and he moaned against my mouth. I pulled up my shirt, briefly separating our lips so I could whip it over my head along with my bra. He marched an army of kisses over my face and down my neck, laughing at my urgency. He tongued my breasts, wreaking havoc on my boiling senses.

I tugged off his shirt and scratched my nails over the flat discs of his nipples before sucking them hard. I loved the way he breathed my name in a low rasp. He unbuttoned my jeans and his hand delved inside. When his finger sank deep into my wet pussy, I grabbed hold of his shoulders and threw my head back, moaning out loud at the knifing pleasure.

“Oh yes, Grayson! Yes! Fuck, I need you!”

Then his finger abruptly stopped moving inside me, and his entire body tensed as rigid as an iron post. Confused and thrumming with arousal, I pulled back and followed his gaze…and my blood turned to ice in my veins.

Charles was standing not far behind me, his face mottled with rage. Before I could utter a word, Grayson pivoted us, concealing my partially naked body behind him, and facing his son.

“You need to leave.” I didn’t recognize Grayson’s voice and was surprised to see him confront Charles. He stood tall, confident, and strong. Because of the nature of his delusions, I’d have thought he’d be terrified of his son, that he’d cower, but he faced him squarely. He was calm, chillingly patient, and I knew that his primary concern was protecting me.

My heart rammed my ribs so hard I could barely hear the words exchanged. I had a death grip on the waist band of his pants right at the base of his spine and my hands were shaking miserably. I could still see Charles’ face, and his expression caused blind fear to race through me. He glared at us, his eyes wild flames of anger. His hateful gaze penetrated Grayson, then silently he turned and wove his way through the books and contractor bags of debris. I watched numbly, frozen, as he headed out the front door.

I was overcome with such dread that it weakened my knees and sank me to the floor. I felt ill. I sat there, my head bowed and my hands clutching at my temples. Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! I tried to force myself to think. How could I fix this? How could I make this right? Seeing me so undone, Grayson squatted next to me and pulled me into his arms, apologizing and telling me not to worry.

But I was worried. I was very, very, worried. For us. For him.

I was in a fog for the next few days, functioning robotically. I had a strong sense of impending doom. My stomach writhed with anxious knots every time I ate. I just kept waiting for the hammer to drop. I couldn’t shake my nervous apprehension, and I was restless with tension. I was surprised that Charles hadn’t contacted me. At the very least, I’d expected him to fire me, to lash out and verbally unleash his anger with a lot of foot stomping and juvenile pouting. I kept replaying the look of rage that had turned his face to marble. The intensity of dark emotion that had poured off of him had been frightening.

By Friday I was starting to feel better. I hadn’t heard from Charles. Perhaps he’d decided to let the matter go, after all, Grayson was a grown man. And it wasn’t as though there’d ever been anything between Charles and me.

I shrugged my backpack onto my shoulders and headed for the house, excited at the thought of seeing Grayson again. I was going to finish up with the last of the main room today. The books were the only things left. Maybe Grayson would change his mind and allow me to at least make a wider path to the front door. If not, I could get a start on the adjoining parlor. I’d found a very old album of childhood family photos that I wanted to surprise Grayson with. It was obvious that his past meant a lot to him. Maybe he’d enjoy looking at it, and maybe I’d learn a little more about him.

I was just rounding the corner to his street when I saw the ambulance. The sight almost leveled me, swirling terror through my veins. It was parked in front of the gate, along with two police cars. I took off at a full run, pulsing alarm driving my feet. I stopped in front of the ambulance, my ragged breath charging from my lungs. There were people milling around, nosy New Yorkers looking past the gate at the house and an EMT loading equipment into the ambulance.

“What’s going on?” I screamed at him. “Why are you here?”

He looked at me, his gaze taking in my old jeans and sweatshirt. I didn’t wait for him to respond. Panicked, I started toward the front door of the house. That’s when the doors opened and two more EMTs emerged, carrying a stretcher which held Grayson’s body. I thought I’d drop dead at that moment. Everything inside me shrieked a long silent scream.

I raced over to the stretcher, looking down at Grayson’s pale, flaccid body. His arms were restrained, tied tightly to the edges of the stretcher, and his gaze stared straight out, glassy and vacant. I exhaled a shuddering breath and clasped his hand tightly in mine. It was cold and slack. He didn’t return my grip.

“Grayson?” I called, but there was no response. His pupils were so dilated that they almost eclipsed the beautiful blue of his eyes. I was addressing a hollow shell.

“What the hell happened to him?” My gaze zoomed from his pallid face to one of the EMTs.

The man looked me over, his thick eyebrows drawing close.

“Who are you, ma’am?”

“I—I’m his wi-wife.” I lied, and then squirmed when his eyes narrowed skeptically. I wondered vaguely if I should’ve said his daughter, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was wrung out with gut-wrenching despair at seeing Grayson like this.

The EMTs started moving the stretcher again and I shuffled along quickly beside it, my hands clutching Grayson’s as I whispered words to him I hoped he could hear. His muscles were twitching now in short jerky spasms, but there were no signs that he was aware of my presence—or anything at all, for that matter. Tears stung the backs of my eyes as I helplessly gazed at his face, trying to find my Grayson.

“We were called to the scene by the police. He was belligerent and combative. We had to sedate him.” One of the men relayed.

My face squeezed with disbelief. Grayson was not a violent man by nature. He’d only become belligerent if he were threatened or he’d felt that he had to defend himself or his home. I was still confused.

“Why were the police here in the first place?”

The second EMT shrugged. “I’m not really sure. I think he tried to attack the men who were doing a garbage pickup. When they tried to go upstairs, they said he freaked out.”

Oh, my God! Tears were running down my face, burning hot. I turned, now seeing the dumpster parked at the side of the house. There was a man idling next to it. This was not making any sense. The pickup wasn’t scheduled until next week. I’d arranged it myself for a day I knew I’d be here. I’d left specific instructions that they were not to set foot upstairs.

I stepped aside as the EMT lowered the gurney next to the ambulance, preparing to load him into the back.

“Can I come with him?” I choked out.

The EMT with thick brows regarded me sympathetically, seeing that I was falling apart. He shook his head. “I’m afraid you can’t ride with us. You can meet us at the hospital.”

I nodded. “Which hospital?”

“Washington Memorial,” he said before hopping into the back. “It’s on first and—.”

I cut him off. “I know where it is. I work there,” I informed, the words barely audible. I squeezed in front of the second EMT, ignoring the exasperated look he shot me. Fuck him! I brought my hand to Grayson’s clammy face and smoothed back the hair that had fallen over his forehead. I couldn’t help the jagged sobs that tore up my throat. Grayson’s eyes rolled in his head and his jaw hung loose. What the fuck had they given him? What the hell happened? How could this nightmare be happening?

“Ma'am, we have to go,” the first man said gently.

I brought my forehead down to Grayson’s, unable to contain my choking noises. “Don’t worry, Grayson. I’ll see you at the hospital.”

I forced myself to pull away as they loaded him into the ambulance. Just like that, the doors slammed shut and he was gone. The loss was eviscerating. I turned away with a brittle cry, feeling what was left of my control leak from my body. I now noticed the pedestrians shooting me pitying glances. I didn’t give a flying fuck what they thought.

Still confused about what had gone on, I dragged my sleeve across my eyes, trying to pull myself together. I marched through the gate, rage rolling like a hurricane through me. I wanted answers. Those fucking idiots! I’d told them to come next week! I would have been here! What the hell had they been doing upstairs?

I marched up to the man who was still idling by the dumpster and glared hotly.

“Why the hell are you here? This pickup was scheduled for next week!”

The man looked at me as if I had two heads, shrugged, and then jerked his thumb toward the house.

“Talk to the boss, lady!”

Knowing I’d get nowhere with him, I stalked into the house, needing to release my blazing fury and to get answers. I pulled up short when I saw Charles standing in my oasis, leaning on my table and chatting casually on his cell phone. Just the sight of him there whipped my already careening anger into a maelstrom. He didn’t belong there. He was contaminating the space. The space that belonged to Grayson and me. Immediately, I had my answers.

I marched directly up to him, my hands curled into fists at my side and my nails punching holes in my skin.

“You fucking bastard!” I spat at him.

He regarded me with calm detachment, and then signed off of his phone. He didn’t seem surprised to see me or concerned in the least by my presence.

“How could you do this?” I demanded.

He folded his arms across his chest and stared at me hard, his blue eyes like chips of raw marble.

“Do what?” he asked haughtily. “My father is a sick man. He attacked two men today. He needs help. Now he’ll finally get the medical care he needs.”

I gritted my teeth. “That’s bullshit! Grayson is not dangerous! He was most likely provoked. What would you do if men just walked into your home?”

He paused for a moment, regarding me calmly. “Anyone in their right mind would try to ascertain why they were there. My father is not in his right mind.”

It all suddenly unfolded and I saw things clearly. And what I saw sickened me.

“You planned this, didn’t you? You rescheduled the pickup and orchestrated this entire scenario. You told them to go upstairs. You did this to get back at him—me.”

His top lip turned up with a snarl.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Angie. You’re not all that.”

“How could you do this to your own father?” I asked softly, my voice splitting with pain and disbelief. “He was doing well. He was making progress. I was—”

“You were what? Helping him?” A snide laugh shook from his throat before he suddenly exploded. “I hired you to clean my house, not fuck my father!”

His angry words bellowed across the room, blowing over me like a furious gust of wind. His voice was loud and seething with venom. My lips tightened angrily, but I struggled to remain calm. I had to somehow appeal to him as a son, as a human being. I had to do everything I could to help Grayson.

“Charles, he—”

“He needs to be locked up in an institution where he can get help.” Charles said sternly, his face red with rage. A thick vein bulged in his forehead.

My heart sank to the floor. It dissolved and melted right through me. The tears came again. I couldn’t stop the rushing torrent. I hated the desperate helplessness that scooped away chunks of my fortitude. My gaze landed on the cup of coffee waiting on the table behind him, and blistering pain sliced through me. “Please, Charles…don’t do this.”

His offensive gaze molested my breasts, causing my stomach to lurch.

He leaned in close to me, unmoved by the fact that I was collapsing in front of him and intoned his words slowly, deliberately.

“Unless you are willing to get on this table, spread your fucking legs, and give me some of what you so willingly gave my father, this discussion is over.”

I didn’t recognize the person in front of me. I couldn’t believe his cruelty, his malevolence. I’d been a fool to think of him as just a lazy, rich kid. I’d grossly underestimated him.

“Charles, please…” I begged.

“Get the fuck out of this house.”

I shuddered with rage, hatred coiling inside me like a cobra. I wanted to strike, to lash out at this monster in front of me. I wanted to dig his eyes out of his skull with my fingernails. I straightened my spine and regarded him, profoundly disgusted. “You’re a fucking piece of shit! Nothing but a spoiled, repugnant, self-indulgent brat! You will never be even half the man your father is!”

He sighed wearily, seeming infinitely bored. I turned and walked away, the sight of him sickening my stomach. I heard his voice call after me.

“By the way, you’re fired!”

CHAPTER NINE

I waited for three hours in the waiting room at the hospital before they let me see Grayson, and they only allowed it because I’d lied and said I was his cousin. I knew Beth, the nurse who was on duty, so she didn’t give me a hard time about coming onto the unit after visiting hours.

The psych ward at Washington Memorial was a locked unit. Visitors had to check in and out, and visiting hours were restricted. I had to leave all of my personal items in a locker before I was allowed in. I made my way down the white sterile halls, following Beth. My sneakers sang a dull echo on the worn linoleum, a sound that reverberated loudly in my head. Beth pushed opened the door to his room and gave me a sad smile.

“You have one hour,” she said before turning away.

“Thanks,” I tossed over my shoulder, already bounding toward the bed.

Grayson was still heavily sedated, but at least the restraints had been removed. I sat on the edge of the bed and took his large hand in mine, noting the moist chill of his skin. I inhaled a deep breath, centering the sharp anguish stabbing like knife blades through my belly. I’d had some time to calm my anger while waiting to see him, but now witnessing him like this flooded me with wrenching despair. His eyes were closed and his face appeared to be relaxed, but his muscles still jumped with involuntary twitches. The skin stretched across his countenance was flushed with blood and there was slight bruising at his wrists where he must have fought the restraints.

“Grayson?” I called softly and got no response.

Blinking back tears, I looked around the small, dark room, noting the almost total absence of furniture. Shadows enveloped the space, curling around Grayson’s limp body as if trying to steal him away from me. They dipped and tucked around him tightly, settling into the hollow of his cheeks and snuggling beneath his closed lids. He was a large man so he barely fit in the bed, and his ankles hung off the bottom of the mattress.

I called his name again, yet he remained unresponsive. An agonizing wail sounded in my head, loud and sorrowful at my impotence. Blowing out a long tremulous breath, I settled my head on his chest and listened to the steady drum of his heart. It reassured yet tormented me. I wanted him awake. I wanted to see his blue eyes and experience the thrill of his teasing smile. I wanted my Grayson. I wanted him well. I missed the solid feel of his arms around me.

“I love you, Grayson,” I whispered weakly. “I love you.”

I inhaled deeply, capturing his fragrance in my lungs, and let the tears come. I couldn’t believe I had more left.

Grayson was unconscious for three days. It was the result of whatever sedatives he’d received—and they’d probably given him enough to level a horse. That, combined with the effects of the antipsychotic medication he’d started taken, had knocked him out. I was concerned because when he finally opened his eyes, he remained silent. He refused to say a word. I wondered if in his own way, he was silently protesting his hospitalization.

Grayson didn’t make eye contact or respond to anything I said or did. It hurt my heart deeply to see him in this unnaturally passive state. He was a stubborn man who wasn’t easily managed. I worried about him being in the hospital where he had no control over his life or his environment.

I sat with him for hours, but his mind seemed a million miles away from his body and his spirit detached from his life. Maybe his mind had escaped from this place. Wherever Grayson had retreated to, I knew he wouldn’t truly feel safe until he was back in his house.

A few nights after his admission, I was working another night shift when Beth rang upstairs and asked for me. Immediately, I knew something was wrong. I didn’t bother to get on the phone. I asked another nurse to cover me and took my break early. I ran down to the psych ward, taking two steps at a time, and almost breaking my neck in the process. I changed quickly from my scrubs to regular street clothes. Hospital uniforms were not permitted on the psych unit. They freaked out some of the patients and caused them to distrust their caregivers, so all the staff and visitors wore regular clothing.

Beth was waiting and greeted me at the door of the ward. She quickly unlocked it and ushered me in. The look on her face sent streaks of icy panic down my back.

“Come with me,” she instructed, already shuffling quickly down the dark hall.

The unit was tormentingly quiet except for a rhythmic thumping that I could hear in the distance. As we walked down the hall, the sound grew louder. When we got to Grayson’s room, I realized it was the origin of the persistent thuds. Two large male orderlies stood outside the door. Their features were impassive, but their ominous presence shot another streak of foreboding through me. Beth nodded solemnly in their direction as we passed.

“I told them to wait,” she informed, pushing open the door.

I thanked her as I rushed in, but my feet froze suddenly when I saw Grayson. My stomach bottomed out and a cold sweat scattered goose bumps on my skin. Grayson was violently pummeling a wall. His large body strained and bulged as he repeatedly hammered his fists against the hard surface. I couldn’t tell if it was the pain of the blows or the thoughts wringing delusions from his brain that twisted his face in agony. A silent suffering wrung his beautiful features with harsh, sloppy lines.

What was going on in his head? Another nightmare with his eyes open? He was hurting himself. I could already see swelling bloat his hands and discolor the edges of his tightly curled fingers. He looked like he was trying desperately to break out, to shatter the unrelenting wall.

“Gra—Grayson!” I choked out, barely able to catch a breath. “Grayson!” I called louder as he continued to pound. He was someplace very far away, deaf to the sound of my voice.

Fear gripped my body with a strangling hold when he started slamming his forehead against the wall. I was certain he’d crack open his skull. I had to do something. I knew that at any moment the orderlies would burst in and overpower him. The thought of an impending battle churned acid in my empty stomach.

Not wanting to startle him, I took tentative steps toward his large frame, calling his name out as I approached. I reached out and placed my trembling hand on his shoulder and his body jerked hard beneath my touch. I’d never seen him like this. Usually when he had an episode, he was distraught, almost timid and afraid. He’d never done anything to hurt himself. He’d never been aggressive or destructive. This was not the right environment for Grayson. He was probably terrified here. I could see the terrible agony and vulnerability on his face.

“Grayson, please stop,” I whispered, trying desperately to hold back my tears. “Please…”

He continued to hammer his head, his movements becoming more frenzied. His wild hair whipped to and fro. I tried to pull him away from the wall, but I couldn’t budge his taut body. He was as rooted as a giant oak and just as solid. Helpless and at a loss, I sealed the front of my body to his back and slipped my arms around his waist, resting my head between his rippling shoulder blades. Our sandwiched bodies moved as one kinetic force. Every blow ricocheted through me, bashing my hope and depleting more of my strength. I squeezed my eye shut and held on tight.

Just then, the door pushed open and Beth entered, carrying a large syringe topped with a ferocious looking needle. The orderlies followed her in, poised to intervene. I raised a palm, stopping them, my heart turning violently in my chest. The last time Grayson had been sedated, he’d been unconscious for days, and it seemed his condition had taken giant leaps backwards. But we couldn't let him injure himself.

“Grayson, please. I can’t stand to see you hurt. Please stop… this… this is killing me.” I hiccupped behind him, my tears flowing freely now, drenching my face and the back of his shirt.

Abruptly, he halted. His body vibrated in my arms as he turned and grabbed my shoulders roughly. He stared into my eyes, his blue gaze sharp and penetrating as his fingers dug into my flesh. He had the look of a wild animal. I wasn’t afraid. I could never be afraid of Grayson.

“It’s me, Grayson. It’s Angie. I’m on your side.”

It was as though a dam had shattered inside him. His muscles loosened and tension poured out of him. He pulled me roughly against him, clutching my body like a drowning man clinging to drifting wood. His breath was harsh in my ear, but the sound was like the collective rush of angels. I clung to him, thanking God. My fingers laced through his hair and I fisted the damp silky strands. His body was trembling, his weight tremendous against me. I turned to the concerned faces at the door.

“He’s fine now,” I breathe. “Really. Please, don’t. He doesn't need that,” I whispered to Beth, my gaze landing on the sharp needle.

After a moment’s hesitation, Beth nodded and signaled the two men to follow her out of the room.

“They’ll be right outside,” she informed, and I turned away.

Grayson sank to the floor, dragging me down with him. I held on to him as he cradled me in his lap. Despite the previous events, a flicker of hope kindled inside me. This was the first time he’d made eye contact with me since he’d been in the hospital.

“Grayson, please speak to me.”

Eternal silence wrapped around us. I looked into vapid blue eyes that seemed to see right through me.

Sighing, I examined his hands, making sure that no bones were broken, and I tunneled my fingers through his disheveled hair. There was a spot of mild swelling on his forehead, but it didn’t look as though he’d done any serious damage.

He stared straight over my head into the darkness, his eyes haunted and his body rocking us to a melody that only he could hear.

Though I sat with Grayson every day, he still didn't acknowledged my presence. He was buried deep inside himself, shut away from the outside world. During my daily visits, I brought books in and read to him. I rambled on and on about work and school. Knowing his personality and sense of humor, I tried teasing and joking with him. I got nothing but his gravid indifference. He remained in his self-induced catatonia, staring silently into the distance.

It was extremely painful for me to see him like this day after day, knowing the man he really was. I tried not to unleash my despondent tears in his presence, but my heartbreak was renewed each time I saw him. I never saw Charles. As much as he claimed to want to help his father, the bastard never visited once.

There was a small solarium in the psych ward for patients to visit and sit in the sun. I asked Beth if I could take him there. It was relatively quiet since most of the patients chose to spend time in the rec room watching television. She gave consent, but Grayson needed clothes. He only had the one outfit he’d been brought to the ER in and had been mostly wearing hospital issued garments.

I wanted to go to the house to collect some of his clothes for him, but I didn’t know if my security code would still work. After my confrontation with Charles, I seriously doubted it would. I also thought about bringing other items from the house. I knew he felt safe at home, and wondered if familiar objects might help jolt him out of this clinging stupor.

Determined to get him out of his stuffy room, I decided to stop by the house one day after class. I walked up to the gate and keyed in my code. It didn’t work. I cursed Charles six ways till Sunday and added a few more days for the asshole that he was.

Disappointed, I was about to turn away, when I saw a woman emerge from the house, walking toward the gate. I was more than a bit surprised to see her and wondered what she was doing there. I’d never seen her before. She was an older woman in a tailored skirt suit. She was holding a clipboard to her chest. She shot me a friendly smile as she approached the gate, now noticing me.

“Hi, I used to work in this house, cleaning. I think I may have left some of my things inside,” I said, hoping she’d let me in for a minute.

She walked through the gate and offered me a sympathetic look.

“Sorry, anything you’d left has probably been thrown out. The house is being cleaned out. Contractors are coming to give an estimate on the work next week.” She turned back and looked at the house. “It’s a great house. Too bad it was in such shitty condition.”

“Yeah, it was falling apart,” I agreed, chewing my lip. I wasn’t surprised that Charles had expedited the repairs.

“Hopefully, it will be ready to go on the market by the end of the summer.”

The breath stilled in my lungs. “Go on the market?”

She turned back to me. “Yep. It’s going up for sale. It should have been done already, but we kept running into snags. There’s already an offer, but it’s a gorgeous house. There should be a lot of interest.” Her smile widened. “That always drives the offers up.”

I nodded, but shock was ringing through me. How could Charles sell Grayson’s house?

“I’m sorry, but if you need to get in to check for your things, you’ll have to go through the owner, but I doubt that anything is still there,” she said as she walked off.

I hardly heard what she was saying as she left. My mind was doing backward flips and summersaults. Something she’d said struck a chord. Then it dawned on me. Charles had said the same thing, that he was hoping the house would be ready by the end of the summer. My stomach plummeted with realization.

Oh, God! He’d been planning to sell the house the entire time. That’s why he was having it cleaned out. That fucking rat! He hadn’t been the least bit concerned about his father or interested in having him live in safer or better conditions. That had all just been bullshit.

Grayson—dear God, Grayson! He’d known what his son was up to. That’s probably why he’d run off all the other cleaning people. Those ‘delusions’ of his hadn’t been totally without merit. His fear of Charles taking away the house had been based in fact. I’d just chocked up his behavior and fears to his schizophrenic paranoia, but Grayson had had every right to be worried. He knew his son better than anyone else.

The taste of bile rose in my throat. I couldn’t believe that Charles would do this. That house meant everything to his father and I’m sure he was well aware of Grayson’s attachment. But, how could he sell it? Hadn’t Jack said that the house belonged to Grayson?

My thoughts rambled as I started the route home to my apartment, confusion and despair weaving a thick layer of outrage in my head. I didn’t know how I could help Grayson, but I knew that I couldn’t let this happen. I had to think of something.

My day got infinitely worse when I got a call from my dad that evening. I was bringing a load of laundry into my apartment when Jenny told me that my cell phone had rung a few times while I was gone. I watched her slip on her shoes. She was dressed up for a night on the town. Tonight was the Maroon 5 concert. I’d given away my ticket. There was no way I could attend a concert while Grayson was in the hospital. I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy a minute of it.

I’d forgotten to take my phone with me to the laundry room downstairs. Just as I headed toward my bedroom, I heard my ringtone. Worried it was the hospital, I dropped the basket and ran to my room, closing the door behind me.

“Hello?”

“Angie? It’s dad.”

“What’s up?” I asked, my heart rate slowing.

“Tell Anna I can pick her up tonight. She doesn’t have to take the train home again.”

I frowned, confused. What the hell was he talking about?

“What?”

“Tell her she doesn’t have to take the train. I can be there by eight. It’s really nice to see the two of you getting along so well. I think spending all this time together has been good. Anna’s never been happier. She’s thrilled to spend so much time with her big sister.”My head almost exploded. Oh my fucking God!

“I hope her spending the night over there hasn’t been a problem. I know you have a roommate.”

I hadn’t seen Anna since the day after Kim and Diane’s party. The lying witch! I was going to kill her.

“No, it’s no problem at all. Uh, Dad, I have to go. See you at eight.”

I clicked off the phone, my head pulsing like a drum. I couldn’t believe my sister had been sneaking around and lying to my parents! I couldn’t believe she’d lied to me and used me as her alibi. This was a whole new level of deceit, even for her! She was in way over her head and too damn naive and impetuous to realize it.

I quickly hopped into my shoes and grabbed my jacket. I had a pretty good idea where the witch was. I’d bet this whole ruse had started the night of Kim and Diane’s party. She’d snuck out to meet up with Charles. I couldn’t believe that I’d fallen for her bullshit excuse about helping the girls clean up that morning. How could I be so stupid? How could she be so stupid? That boy was evil on a stick, the devil in designer jeans! I wanted to fucking scream.

I got to Charles’ building in less than ten minutes. Rudy, thank God, was at the front desk.

“He’s expecting me,” I said, shooting him a wink and hurrying past.

We shared a sympathetic look, but he didn’t stop me. It seemed that Charles wasn’t his favorite person, either.

I banged on the door when I got upstairs and it took longer than I’d expected for him to open it. Shock registered on his face at seeing me, followed by an arrogant tilt of his lips.

“Well, well, I see you’ve changed your mind.” He smiled slowly.

Ugh! Eew! I shuddered, repulsed. I wanted to slap the smug look off his damned face, preferably with a sledgehammer. Instead, I barged past him, walking into his apartment.

“I know she’s here!” I exclaimed, passing through the living room and stalking down the hall. I walked into the first room off to the right. “And there she is.”

My baby sister was sprawled out on Charles’ bed, naked as the day she was born. She saw me, and her entire body turned magenta with embarrassment and shock. She hopped up from the bed, clutching the sheet around her.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I yelled, although it seemed to be a rhetorical question at that moment.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her brown eyes round and wide.

“Anna! You lied! You don’t know this guy! He’s a total creep! You’re leaving here with me. Now!”

Her forehead wrinkled deeply, and I could see seventeen-year old defiance firming her lips.

“I’m not going anywhere!”

“Anna, he’s using you. He doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself.”

“He cares about me, Angie. He really likes me.”

“Are you nuts?” I yelled. “He doesn’t care about anyone but himself! This guy is evil! He’s fucking…Damien!”

Was she freaking kidding me? Hers were just another pair of panties that would be lost in this apartment. My heart squeezed with the abiding love I had for my sister because I could see she genuinely believed Charles cared for her.

“I’m not going with you. You’re not my mother!”

I was not in the mood. I straightened my back and skewered her with a lethally sharp gaze. I imagined horns suddenly spouting from my head, and I was pretty damn sure steam was shooting from my ears, too. “Get your fucking clothes on right this minute, you little liar, or I’m going to call Dad and tell him why you’ve been coming home with a smile on your face. He can pick you up from here.”

I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and started dialing. Her brown eyes splayed open with alarm.

“Wait!” she yelled. I watched her scramble to find her clothes and hop into them, spitting curses under her breath.

While she was getting dressed, I stalked back down the hall to Charles, my rage hot like a poker. He was casually lounging against his granite kitchen counter as if he hadn’t a care in the world. I walked right up to him.

“I shouldn’t even waste my breath on you, you motherfucker. But Karma is a bitch, and one day she’s going to come knocking on your door.”

He quirked a brow. “I’m sure I’ll invite her in. And I’ll probably fuck her, too.”

“Asshole!” I spat out, appalled by his absolute lack of contrition.

“Soon to be an even wealthier asshole,” he returned smugly. “Maybe I might interest you then.”

“Never! And if you come near my sister again, you’ll be sorry.”

“I guess you could say we’re even. Since I couldn’t have you, she was almost as good.” He smiled his baby shark smile and lowered his voice. “Though I imagined she were you each time I fucked her.”

I smacked his smug face, the sound crisp and loud in my ears. The sting felt good against my palm, but I was still fuming. He winced mildly, then actually gave me that stupid boyish pout where he plumped out his bottom lip. Was he for real? He was a total psychopath.

I heard a whimper and turned to find Anna standing in shock behind me, tears swimming in her eyes. She’d obviously overheard the exchange. My heart ached deeply for her. I wanted to cry with her—for her. What a fucking mess! I grabbed her arm and jerked her behind me, rushing out of the apartment.

Anna was a wreck. I spent the rest of the evening trying to console her. She’d given her virginity to Charles—that unworthy asshole, and I couldn’t help feeling guilty for the way events had turned out. He’d used her. She’d never have met him had it not been for me. Together, we mourned the loss of her innocence.

Although, the way that my sister had always behaved, I knew it wouldn’t have been long before she lost her virginity. I’d tried to warn her, to protect her, but she hadn’t listened. This had been a cruel lesson, one I sincerely hoped would help her make better choices in the future. They’d at least used condoms, she’d told me, and I was happy I’d decided to include them with her birthday present.

CHAPTER TEN

On Tuesday, the night nurse came in an hour before her shift started so I was able to get out of work earlier than I’d expected. I couldn’t wait to see Grayson. I changed into my street clothes and checked in, then raced to Grayson’s room. He wasn’t there. I frowned, unease settling perspiration on my skin. Something was wrong. He was always in his room. I walked to the nursing station where my friend was sitting behind the desk.

“Where’s Grayson?”

Beth looked up and a strange expression came over her face, making my skin prickle.

“He had a bad day. He attacked one of the orderlies.”

“What?” I gasped. “What happened?”

“Ross was trying to get him to eat.”“Oh, God!” I sighed, shaking my head. They’d been having problems getting Grayson to eat his meals. Over the last few days, he’d become more compliant, but was still very shuttered and distant. He still hadn’t spoken. A few times, I’d managed to persuade him to drink sips of juice, or take a few bites of a sandwich, but overall he hadn’t been eating much. I wasn't too surprised considering what I knew about his dietary idiosyncrasies.

I was sure Grayson didn’t think the hospital food was safe. He was afraid he’d be harmed. He’d always needed to know the exact ingredients of everything he ate. I’d even brought him in a sandwich from an organic market, assuring him that I’d watched it get prepared. But after stingily picking at the contents, he’d refused to eat it. He’d then shot me dark glances of suspicion for the rest of the afternoon. My chest burned with the knowledge that he still didn’t fully trust me, that he might not entirely believe that I was on his side.

“He doesn’t eat anything that he doesn’t prepare himself,” I informed.

Beth shrugged. “Well, I think the orderly was pretty insistent. Mr. Whitmore got angry and all I know is that furniture went flying,”

I couldn’t believe this had happened. “Where is he now?”

“Seclusion.”

I blew out a long breath, saddened to think of him locked up and all alone. He’d be there until he calmed down, and then he wasn’t allowed visitors for an additional twenty-four hours. Not even I could get in to see him. Exasperated, I sighed heavily. This was not the right place for Grayson. He did so much better at home. I must have voiced my thoughts aloud because Beth looked up at me.

“He’s leaving on Wednesday.”

I thought I misheard her. “What?”

“His son is having him transferred to Brightington.”

I frowned, shock spiraling through me. Brightington was a long-term care, in-patient psychiatric facility. They followed very strict protocols. Since I wasn’t a relative, I’d never be allowed to visit Grayson. And I knew there was no way in hell Charles would grant permission for me to see him. Who knew when or if Grayson would ever get out of there?

Grayson didn’t need to be locked up. I truly believed his mental status would suffer for it. He needed to be home. He could get the care he needed from there. I covered my face with my hands, trying to calm my erratic breathing and the fear crashing inside me in turbulent waves. My limbs started to shake.

“He has his final evaluation on Monday.” Beth informed. She tilted her head and regarded me when I didn’t respond. “Are you okay?”

I nodded and walked away. But I wasn’t. I was far from okay.

A few days later, I brought in some clothes for Grayson. I’d bought them, guessing his size. I helped him get dressed and smiled, trying to get the pants closed. What did I know about men’s pants or sizing them? In the past, I’d only aided Grayson in getting him out of the garments. Beyond that, I’d never noticed much else about them.

I’d gotten him a thirty two long, and he was probably a thirty-four giant. He was lucky I hadn’t gotten him a pair of knickers! I always did like those plaid golf thingamajigs. Perhaps I should’ve gotten him a pair of plastic hot pants with an extra tight crotch and a velcro opening. I smiled to myself, my blood instantly heating. Maybe that would’ve been a way to get a rise out of him. I bit my bottom lip, thinking of other, more delightful ways.

He hadn’t given the staff any more trouble. As long as they left him alone, he stayed clear of everyone. He remained cloistered in his room, mostly reading or just sitting quietly. Due to the visiting restrictions, I wasn’t able to spend as much time with him here as I had at the house. The thought of him suffering through his episodes at night, all alone, huddled in the dark, filled me with soul shattering despair.

He took his meds, but only if I gave them to him. I’d even found him sleeping a few times, but he still hadn’t spoken. I missed the Grayson I knew was locked somewhere inside him. I missed his humor and his loving tenderness. I missed his smile, his passion, and his dirty, possessive words when we made love. The thought of him transferring to a long-term facility weighed heavily on my heart.

I tugged on the two ends of his new pants with an exaggerated huff. I’d have thought he would have lost weight given how little he ate. However, he maintained the same muscular build that made my mouth water and bloomed delicious memories in my head.

“Suck it in, old man.” I smiled, rapping him playfully on the belly. I was having a hard time getting the button through.

He looked down at me and I thought I saw mirth light his blue eyes and a hint of a smile on his lips. Finally getting them buttoned, I brought him over to sit in a chair. I moved between his thighs to stand in front of him, combing through his thick hair with my fingers. It was longer now, the shaggy ends feathering his shoulders with a little curl. It seemed as though more gray had snuck into his temples.

His palms came up to rest on my hips and I froze. It was the first intimate touch he’d voluntarily given me since coming into the hospital three weeks prior. I’d been clinging to a fragile string of hope, fearing that it might snap at any moment. But I met Grayson’s blue gaze and my hope braided thick and secure, woven strong with love and promise. I bent down and gently kissed his temples, then pressed my lips against his, feeling a languid heat glide through me. He didn’t kiss me back. He never did, but I kissed him anyway, tracing his soft lips with my tongue. He was still my sexy, sweet Grayson.

Beth walked in at that moment. She stopped short, a brow sliding up.

“Cousins?”

I chuckled, seeing the curious expression on her face. “Kissing cousins. We’re a crazy family.”

I thought I felt Grayson’s palms squeeze my hips.

Jack’s secretary showed me into his office and I nodded to him in greeting.

“Have a seat, Ms. Roberts,” He stood briefly from behind his desk, his face lined with concern.

“Thank you for seeing me.”

“Yes, anytime. I assume this is about the unfortunate turn of events with Grayson.” He settled back into his leather chair.

I nodded, knowing that Charles had been thus far his primary source of information. I swallowed nervously, not sure why I sought out this man. I was never one to make waves or stir things up. I was neither kin nor an official caregiver to Grayson, and I no longer worked for the Whitmore family. Jack knew I had a romantic relationship with Grayson, but who knew if he’d listen to anything I had to say.

I couldn’t stand what was happening to Grayson. I had to do something and I didn’t know who else to turn to. A little bit of me died each time I saw him in the hospital, and the thought of him possibly committed for a lifetime was agonizing. I took a deep breath and spoke.

“Yes, it is. However, it’s not just unfortunate what has happened to Grayson, it’s unconscionable.”

Jack frowned and looked a bit confused. He leaned forward on his desk, causing the leather chair to creak noisily in protest. “What are you talking about? Grayson is getting the care that he needs. He’s being transferred to a wonderful hospital that can monitor and care for him.”

I had to refrain from rolling my eyes. “Grayson would do so much better if he were back at home. He loves his house. He doesn’t do well in the hospital. Do you know that he hasn’t been eating? Nor has he spoken since entering the hospital.”

“Charles says—”

“Charles has not been to see him! Not one single time!”

I had to take a deep calming breath. I needed to maintain my equanimity.

Jack took a moment, his keen eyes roving over my face. “I know that you care about Grayson, but I heard about what happened at the house a few weeks ago. It appears that his mental status has been heading downhill for a while now. Charles has it all documented.”

I’m sure he does. Control the eye roll.

“Grayson was provoked. Those men just walked right upstairs, unannounced. They probably scared him half to death!”

I refrained from saying that Charles had put the men up to it. I wanted Jack to know I was there strictly for Grayson’s sake, not have him think I had a beef against his son. Although I did—a whole fucking cow. Diplomacy was my goal. I needed to appeal to him using calm logic and common sense, not with a plea of emotional hysteria.

“From all accounts, and I’m sorry to say this, Grayson is not rational. He can’t think clearly.” Jack said.

I sighed heavily. How could I get this man to listen and believe what I was saying?

“Have you heard of Global Systems?”

He raised a brow. “The investment company?”

I nodded. “Yes. That’s Grayson’s company.”

Jack shifted toward me, his brows high on his forehead.

“What? That company is worth close to one hundred million dollars.”

I gulped. Holy Shit! I had no idea. This wonderful, crazy man who I loved dearly, was running a hundred million dollar company from the second floor of his broke-down house? If I weren’t so upset, I would have laughed out loud.

“Well, Grayson started it, and he runs it from his computer in his home. Now, tell me, would a man who’s not able to think rationally be able to do that?”

Jack was quiet for a moment. He folded his hands on his desk, looking thoughtful.

“Look,” I continued. “He’s done it before. You said it yourself—he’s brilliant. I’m not saying he doesn’t have mental problems. He does. Everyone, including Grayson, knows that. I’m saying he doesn't need to be locked up. I’m saying that living in that house means the world to him. If he can be treated at home—then why institutionalize him? His schizophrenia is mild. It’s not as bad as you’re led to believe. In my opinion both as a nurse and as a friend who’s spent considerable time with Grayson, he was making progress before his hospitalization. He’d even started taking his meds again.”

I could see Jack’s face relaxing. I could see him coming around, but I was afraid to be hopeful.

“He would have to be compliant with a treatment regimen. He would also have to be seen regularly by a psychiatrist.”

I was nodding my head vigorously. “Absolutely,” I agreed, but my fingers were crossed in my lap. I would drag him there myself, if I had to. I almost smiled thinking about his defiant blue eyes.

“There is one other issue.” I stated, pausing briefly. “I’m afraid the house might be going up for sale.”

Jack’s forehead crunched with surprise. “I didn’t know about that.”

I straightened my spine. “Yes. I wasn’t sure if you were aware. I thought you’d said that it was Grayson’s house. I thought it couldn’t be sold unless he agreed.”

“Well, yes, however, if Grayson is institutionalized because of a deterioration in his mental status, then Charles does not need his permission. Grayson would be deemed unsound. From what Charles tells me, it seems he lacks judgment or the capacity for decision making.” Jack paused. “I can understand Charles wanting to sell the house. The majority of the Whitmore’s assets is that house.”

I twisted my lips, biting hard on the inside of my cheek as realization carved a clear path through my tangled thoughts. This had been the asshole’s plan all along—to have his father committed so he could sell the house. He wouldn’t need Grayson’s permission. This was all about money. I suddenly remembered what he’d said at his apartment, that he’d be a lot wealthier soon. Bastard!

“Does Charles know about Global Systems?” he asked.

“No,” I shook my head. “Please don’t tell him.”

Jack nodded and blew out a weighty breath. “I don’t relish the thought of Grayson being institutionalized either. I have to admit that I was truly saddened to hear that his mental status had taken a turn for the worse. I wish there was something I could do, but my hands are tied. I’m sorry.”

“What?” I gasped. I hadn’t expected to hear that. “What do you mean? You have to help!” I choked, water filling my eyes.

Jack’s expression was somber. “Legally, I can intervene in matters involving the estate, but where Grayson is concerned, I’m powerless. Charles is his healthcare proxy. And even with the house, I have no legitimate argument against its sale now that Grayson isn’t living in it.”

The wind had been knocked out of me with the shocking blow of his words. Jack’s lips were moving but I couldn’t focus on what he was saying. My entire system had shut down after hearing that Charles was Grayson’s healthcare proxy. Charles had the legal rights to make all decisions regarding his father’s healthcare. He could institutionalize Grayson, sell the house, take all the money, and no one could refute him.

“What can I do? How can I help him?” I asked, trying to quell my rising anxiety.

Jack thought for a moment then scratched his jaw. “The only way would be to have Charles sign his father’s healthcare proxy back over to me.”

I frowned, confused. “Back over to you?”

Jack reclined in his chair. “I was the healthcare proxy for both his parents until Charles came of age. They have no other living relatives, you see, and Charles had been too young. He’s only been Grayson’s proxy for a little over a year. That had been outlined in a will they’d created over a decade ago.”

I nodded, considering this news. Grayson and his wife probably never realized what a heartless monster their son would turn out to be when they’d created the will. Grayson would probably have been able to contest it if his mental status hadn’t degraded.

He’d admitted that his life derailed after his wife’s death. He’d stopped taking his meds. He’d locked himself away in seclusion from the world. When he realized what his son was up to, he’d tried to protect himself in the only ways his disordered mind could devise—with book forts and traps in the floor.

“You and Charles are friends,” Jack continued, reclaiming my attention. “You might be able to convince him. I couldn't. I’m sure he wants what’s best for his father, but I have a feeling it’s been a burden for him. He’s only nineteen. It’s a lot of responsibility. There’re tough decisions that must be made.”

I kept the bland expression on my face, but inside I was imploding. Right. Friends. The only decision Charles was interested in making was the decision to commit Grayson.

“If I can get Charles to sign the proxy over to you, you’ll get him out of the hospital? You’ll let him go home?”

Jack nodded. “As long as his doctors agree to that plan. As long as he’s taking his meds and getting professional help.”

I stood, leaning forward to shake Jack’s hand. I knew I’d have to move the moon to make this happen, but for Grayson I had to believe in the impossible.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When I got back to my apartment, Jenny was sitting on the couch indulging in her favorite processed meats: SPAM and canned corned beef. I grabbed a fork and joined her with my legs curled under me on the sofa. She knew that I was seeing someone who was sick in the hospital, but I hadn’t filled her in on any of the details. Lately I’d been an emotional roller coaster and I appreciated the fact that she gave me the space I needed to deal with the tumultuous events in my life.

“You okay?” she asked, looking up from the papers she had spread out on the coffee table.

I shook my head, digging my fork into the can.

“You know, all my life, I’ve never had money. I’ve never had designer clothes, fancy shoes, or a fabulous penthouse apartment.”

Jenny nodded with understanding, her brown eyes absorbing me silently. She was probably wondering about my sudden introspection.

I shrugged with a slight smile. “None of that stuff really matters.”

“Agreed. I think sometimes those things can cause more problems than they’re worth.”

“I’ve always had the love and support of my family. I’d do anything for them.”

Jenny returned my smile. “You’re lucky. Love is everything. Family is everything.”

“I know that. I’ve learned that.” I stared off into the room, and then I brought my gaze back to the papers on the table. There were long lists of names and signatures. “What’s all this?” I asked, shaking myself from my melancholy.

“The Work Horse petition. We’ve got over a hundred signatures.”

My eyebrows drew up. “That’s great. Hand it over.”

Jenny’s confused gaze searched my face as she picked it up then hesitated.

“I said, ‘hand it over.’” I smiled, grabbing it from her hand and penning my name in the next open slot.

She took it back and shot me a quizzical glance as I shoveled more SPAM into my mouth.

“What made you change your mind?”

I shrugged, catching my bottom lip. “It’s important to stand up for what you believe in, to follow your heart and do what you believe is right. Even when all the odds are against you, you can’t ever give up. Plus, it’s good to be proactive, right?”

I smiled at her and she hugged me. I held on to her for a long time.

I sat with Grayson in the solarium, watching the sun reach tendrils of warmth into the room. I loved sitting in there with him. For a suspended time, I could pretend we weren’t in the hospital at all, but lounging together in our oasis with sunbeams dancing on our skin.

Today, I’d brought some Robert Frost poems with me to read to him. He seemed to enjoy them and it reminded me of the wonderful time we’d shared reading together at his house. That seemed like eons ago. Now, we sat playing a protracted game of chess. I really wasn’t into it. I was distracted and he kept beating me, although I had a feeling he’d beat me anyway. Chess wasn’t my game. Grayson raised a brow, which meant that he had me in check—again.

I growled and sat back in my chair, my gaze escaping out the window. I had a lot on my mind, and my musings diverted my thoughts elsewhere. I’d never discussed my revelations about Charles with him, or told him about his plans to sell the house. I was afraid of what it would do to him. I was afraid this news would be the catalyst to a complete dissolution of his mental state. Never the less, there was something I needed to talk to him about, and I wasn’t sure what to say or even how to bring it up.

I needed him to trust me completely, an almost impossible undertaking for his intrinsically suspicious mind. It would be like asking a bird not to take flight, or a fish not to glide through the water. Because of his illness, he was excessively suspicious of the motives of others. It was simply his nature.

I also worried about erasing the progress he’d made. He still accepted his medications only from me, and at least he was taking them regularly. I feared that if he got transferred, he’d again stop taking them all together. I owed a great deal to Beth, who gave me occasional rundowns of Grayson’s medical management. His doctor had added a second drug that was supposed to control emotional lability and help with negative symptoms such as apathy and decreased motivation. I’d told her these were symptoms that Grayson had been concerned about and I was glad the issue had been addressed.

Although he still had a long way to go, I could already see a clarity in his gaze that had been sometimes lacking. I took a sip of water to soothe my suddenly parched throat and tried to quell my rising anxiety.

I leaned forward on the table and locked gazes with him, watching his blue eyes focus intently on me.

“Grayson, you know the plan is to transfer you to Brightington, which is a long-term care facility, right?”

He stared silently, but the color in his eyes dimmed.

“The doctors have scheduled your final evaluation for this Monday. They want to see if you’ve improved.” I took a deep breath, feeling my lungs expand. “I need you to fail that evaluation.”

He raised a brow and his forehead furrowed with a craggy groove. My heart felt strangled in a tight fist, as if it would be crushed to a bloody pulp. I hated asking him to do this. What must he be thinking? I’m sure he knew if he failed the evaluation there would be no way in hell they’d send him back home. Without a doubt, he’d be transferred to Brightington. Would he think I was working with Charles? That I’d been plotting against him all along? Would I lose him?

“Trust me, Grayson!” I gripped his hands tightly across the table, my muscles almost popping from the strain. Tears filled my eyes. “I need you to trust me. You have to fail miserably. I need you to act crazy, Grayson.”

His lips tugged in a small smile at my statement and I wept.

Grayson did fail miserably, so miserably that he’d ended up in seclusion. On hearing the news, I was filled with profound anxiety and apprehension. I hoped I hadn’t just sealed his fate for a lifetime of misery.

Tuesday, I walked into Charles’ building with my stomach churning with needles. Rudy was at the front desk. I talked to him about the favor I needed from him, and he agreed before he buzzed me up. A few minutes later, Charles opened his apartment door, an arrogant smile on his lips. His blonde hair was slicked back and he looked even more sleazy than usual in his skin tight blue jeans.

“Can’t get enough of me, can you?” he snickered. “Admit it, you really want me.”

Let the eye roll commence!

“I’m here to make a deal with you, asshole!” I said sternly, pushing past him. The apartment was a pigsty.

“Deal?”

I turned and faced him, my hand on my hip. I watched his odious gaze travel my body and I tried not to vomit on his shoes.

“Well, what are you offering?” He smiled slowly.

“I’m offering you one opportunity to keep your lecherous ass out of jail.”His eyebrows jumped into his hairline. “What the fuck are you talking about?”I got in his face, my anger renewed. “I’m talking about my baby sister. She’s sixteen. That makes your fucking her statutory rape in New York State! An offense with a mandatory jail time of three years!”

The color of his face changed several shades and his smug look disappeared.

“Sh-she said she was seventeen!”

“Yeah, and you and I both know what an honest girl my little sister is.”

His eyes widened and his palm skimmed over his hair. I took a deep breath. I had to drive the knife in now before he figured out I was making this all up. I couldn’t wait for him to rationalize this. I had to keep that look of stark fear on his face. “My father found out about it the night she left here. He was pissed! I had to talk him off a fucking ledge. He took her right to the ER where she was examined. They took semen samples. I’m sure you figured out that she was a virgin. You’re the only one she’s been with.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“No. Her last GYN exam was a few days before.” I wasn’t even sure if the GYN could tell that, but I was going with it. I figured that he wouldn’t know, either. “She was as virginal as fucking Mother Theresa!”

He glared at me. “You two set me up! What do you want—money?”

“No! But you should’ve left Anna alone, like I fucking told you to. My father wants blood. He’s been meeting with his lawyer. I just want to save Anna the embarrassment of being dragged to court. She’s been through enough. She was really hurt.”

He dashed his fingers through his hair, his forehead crinkling. He was obviously only concerned about his own ass.

“Do you know what they’d do to a pretty boy like you in jail? The only person who can talk my father out of this is me.” I smiled.

A muscle in his neck was jumping nervously, almost as if it had a life of its own. Panic dilated his irises and his color was that of wax paper.

“What do you want from me? Why are you here? What’s your fucking deal?”

I took a deep breath and pulled out the form Jack had given me. “I’ll make this easy. I want you to make Jack your father’s health care proxy.”

“What? No fucking way! He’ll let him go home!”

I tried to remain calm. I knew he’d give me a hard time. There was a lot of money at stake.

“No. Your father can’t go home. I’m sure you heard about his evaluation yesterday. He failed. No medical professional would let him out in society. They’ve recommended long-term, in-patient psychiatric treatment. Isn’t that what they told you, that he has to be locked up?”

His eyes shifted around the room. He was thinking. I knew he was calculating, trying to see into the future. If Grayson ever did get out, and because of his horrible evaluation it wouldn’t be anytime soon, Charles would’ve already liquidated the house and taken the money.

“Jack agreed to this?” he asked suspiciously.

I sighed. “Yes. He was your father’s friend. He cares about Grayson and he’ll make sure that Grayson gets good care at Brightington. They require ongoing input from family members. Frankly, I don’t think you’re interested. It’s tedious having to deal with all of the doctors, the social workers, case managers, therapists and there’s also all the paperwork. Decisions need to be made and there’re monthly meetings with updates. He’s willing to do it. He’s been Grayson’s proxy before. He’d actually be doing you a favor.”

“And what’s it to you?” he shot back.

“I just want Grayson to get the best care and I don’t trust that you’d make sure of that.”

I held my breath, praying that he’d agree. Hope was smoking embers inside me and I was afraid to let them burst into flame, but hope was all I had left. I had to believe in it for Grayson’s sake. I took a deep breath and called on my reserve, thinking about how much I loved him.

“What’s the alternative? Jail? You’d never survive in prison. This is a no-brainer.” It seemed the thought of imprisonment was too much for him to bear.

“Fine!” he snarled through gritted teeth.

I looked at my watch. “Just one more thing.” I walked to the door and opened it. As if on cue, Rudy and another doorman were walking up the hall. “Come on in gentleman,” I said, ushering them in. I turned to Charles. “They will both sign as witnesses.”

He snatched the papers away from me with a dirty look and started signing. My heart was a time bomb ticking in my chest. I felt as if it would explode at any moment and everything would fall apart. I watched him scrawl his name on the bottom of the forms.

He started to hand them to me and then suddenly pulled them back. My heart stopped beating. Holy fuck! I wanted to scream. I forced myself to take slow measured breaths.

“How do I know you won’t file charges anyway?” Charles asked, pouting.

I schooled my features, trying to remain calm and look unperturbed. I held out my palm, giving him a hard, steely look.

We stood for a moment at a stalemate with our gazes colliding, playing a tense game of dare. The air in the room was charged with tension and I could feel sweat trickling between my shoulder blades. There was no way in hell I was backing down. I denied my eyelids permission to blink. Every muscle in my face was paralyzed.

Finally, the fucker cowered, slapping the forms in my hand. I could now see how truly afraid he was that I’d carry out my threat. God forbid he lost his worldly trappings. He was a pathetic child who cared about no one but himself.

I checked to make sure he’d signed in all the right spots, then handed the forms to the two doormen. They each signed and I thanked them as they left.

I turned back to Charles and stared into his selfish blue eyes, finally answering his question. “You’ll just have to trust me, won’t you.”

He didn’t realize it yet, but Karma had just come calling.

I called Jack from my cell phone on my way to the hospital. Jitters were jumping inside me like crickets. I couldn’t wait to see Grayson. The next step of the plan was for Jack to insist on a reevaluation in the morning and delay Grayson’s transfer. I was sure the doctors would want to observe him for more time in the hospital before they would agree to discharge him home, but I was optimistic that he’d be home soon, especially with his proxy pushing for it.

I burst into his hospital room. Grayson was sitting on the bed with a book in his hand. Robert Frost. I thought about the long road I’d traveled. From the first time I’d spied on this man to the notes on the door. From him saving me from Mark, to preserving his father’s treasures. Our earth-shaking passion and this ordeal in the hospital. The path hadn’t been smooth, but I was glad I’d chosen it. I couldn’t imagine my life without Grayson in it. I wouldn’t want to.

He hadn’t been allowed visitors yesterday because of his feigned melt down, so I was thrilled to see him. Finally. I was grinning so wide that I knew he thought I’d lost my mind. I pounced on his lap and flung my arms around his neck, wetness already glazing my lashes. His eyes crinkled with worry as he explored my face.

“Grayson, I have great news! Jack is your healthcare proxy now. He wants you to go home! We both want you to go home!”

His eyes opened wide, disbelieving. I cradled his face between my palms and nodded fervently, tears blurring my vision. “Yes! Yes! It’s true! Charles signed it over. Soon you’ll get to go home!”

I saw hope flicker in his blue eyes as his lips twitched with a tentative smile. My pulse pounded a little faster, racing ahead.

“They are going to re-evaluate you tomorrow. This time, you have to do a fantastic job!”

He studied me intently, his expression one of disbelief. Then he gave me that look of reverence that I loved, and for the first time he revealed himself. A part of him unfurled and blossomed right before my eyes, a part he never trusted to anyone. I saw it all. His dark fears, his crippling doubts, his fervent passion—and, his amazing heart. It was perfection. A perfect soul with fissures and flaws that made him beautiful. And I knew at that moment that we could overcome anything as long as we were together. He inhaled a shaky breath, then the corner of his lips kicked up.

“Like a sixty-five fantastic? Or a one-hundred fantastic?” Grayson asked.

I gasped with the pure joy of hearing his voice. The sound flowed through me like warm, liquid gold. I laughed and cried at the same time as I looked into his eyes and caressed his cheeks.

“One-hundred fantastic, my love.”

He smiled fully. A smile that I’d been deprived of for weeks now. I ate it up like it was candy when I bent and kissed his lips. His lips melted into mine, soft and yielding. When I felt the gentle thrust of his tongue, I was filled with bursts of golden sunshine.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Grayson spent an additional three weeks in the hospital. The doctors wanted to titrate his medications and monitor his response to the new regimen before they would recommend his discharge. Although Grayson complained about the testing, the lengthy psych evaluations, and even the group therapy sessions he was mandated to attend, the promise of returning to his safe haven ensured his compliance.

The day I was to accompany Grayson home I was bubbling with nervous excitement as well as immeasurable apprehension. I’d informed Grayson about the changes to his home and explained that the rooms had been cleared in preparation for the construction. I hadn’t seen the house, but I knew that everything, including his book fort, had been removed. He’d frowned at the news, but in his eagerness to leave the hospital, I wasn’t sure he’d fully processed what he’d be returning to.

Jack had put a hold on the construction and ordered everyone out of the house in expectation of Grayson’s return. He’d visited Grayson a few times in the hospital and I’d made sure to remain scarce during their meetings. I didn’t want Jack to think that I was the one pulling Grayson’s strings. According to Grayson’s doctors, he was fully capable of making decisions about his life as long as he was safe and his continuing therapy and psychological rehabilitation weren’t compromised. Everything had been arranged for his continued therapy at home by clinicians he’d met in the hospital and somewhat trusted.

Now I sat with Grayson in the back seat of the town car that had been sent to collect us from the hospital. It was a gray, wet day and rain pelted the roof of the car like stones flung from the sky. Grayson held my hand in his, clutching it firmly as the car wound its way through the busy midtown traffic.

His face was relaxed, but I could tell by his steely grip that he was as anxious as I was—perhaps more so. I knew he wouldn't truly believe he was going home until he walked through the iron gate and the sturdy mahogany door of the townhouse.

The noise of the city was almost deafening, and after being cloistered in the hospital for so long, it was obvious that he was having a hard time being outdoors. He darted furtive glances out the window at the active streets as we headed across town, and I sensed his muscles flinch each time a horn sounded.

The car pulled up to the gate and Grayson’s eyes were fixed in the distance, earnestly absorbing the massive stone structure. I gave his hand a squeeze as he turned and shot me a smile that somersaulted my heart. That smile unwound the tension that had spiraled tight in my body, and I realized that I, too, had feared that this moment would remained trapped in my dreams. Joy danced through me. Finally.

Without waiting for the driver to open his umbrella and come around the car, Grayson unlocked the door and stepped out, holding it open for me.

It was then that I saw a shadow move behind him, a fleeting whisk of darkness that immediately sprinkled alarm beneath my skin. I exited the car just in time to witness the man’s hurried approach and it took me a minute to realize it was Charles shrouded beneath a large black umbrella. Despite his shield, he was soaked, water dripping from his disheveled hair and drenching his expectant face.

“Father!” he shouted happily as he approached. “Father, I’m so glad that you’re home. I found out from the hospital that you were being discharged today. I had trouble getting into the house. There must be a problem with the security key.”Grayson immediately stepped in front of me. He pulled to his full height and squared his shoulders as he faced his son. The driver of the car came around to ask if we were okay and Grayson dismissed him with a nod, his gaze never leaving Charles. Charles’ gaze flitted to me then quickly back to Grayson. His expression sobered and he lost the buoyancy in his demeanor. Understanding darkened his expression and black hatred filled his eyes.

“We have to talk,” he said sternly to Grayson.

Grayson’s expression remained calm, but even with the rain now pouring down on us, his gaze never wavered.

“We have nothing to talk about.”

His reply was sharp and final, entertaining no argument. I felt his hand at the small of my back, gently ushering me forward. He stayed protectively between me and Charles and I was thankful for his nearness. My heart was a battering ram against my ribs. I just prayed that we would quickly make it inside, away from this unexpected menace. It was just like Charles to ruin his father’s homecoming.

“Wait!” Charles tracked us, his steps rushing behind us as we approached the gate. “Wait! This is all her fault! Don’t listen to that bitch! She’s poisoned your mind against me!”

My hands were shaking by the time we got to the gate. I was shivering from my rain soaked clothes and the cold that had permeated my core.

“That bitch threw herself at me! Don’t listen to her lies!”

Charles’ vile words stung. Not that I feared that Grayson would give them any credence. He, more than anyone, knew his son’s true nature. I just hated being the bull’s-eye for the insults that he flung, and I knew that to respond would only make this bad situation worse. I wouldn’t do that to Grayson. Jack had told me that Grayson had cut off Charles’ funds, and although I’d expected him to show up sooner or later, I hadn’t anticipated being confronted on Grayson’s first day home.

“She’s a fucking whore! She only wants—”

Charles didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Without warning, Grayson’s fist arced through the air, crashing solidly into Charles’ face. Charles’ umbrella went sailing away on the wind as he stumbled back, holding his jaw and shrieking wildly.

Grayson keyed in his security code and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, drawing me into the shelter of his big body. Without a look back, we made our way into the house. As soon as the door closed behind us, he dragged me into a tight embrace and held me close. I felt energy quicken through him, an invisible lightening of a load, and I knew that he was relieved to be finally home. Still trembling, I snaked my arms around his waist and inhaled deeply, not wanting to think about what had just occurred.

“I’m so sorry, Grayson. I wanted today to be special for you.”

Grayson pulled back and looked into my eyes, his face only inches from mine. His warm breath feathered my cheek.

“With you, every day is special, Angie. Every day is cherished.”

“Charles is—”

“Charles got what he deserved. Jack told me what you did for me.” I watched his throat work down a hard swallow. “I can’t tell you how much you mean to me.”

I shivered, missing the warmth of his body. With a deep sigh I wrapped my arms around his wide shoulders, squeezing my eyes shut and drawing his scent deep inside.

“I’m on your side, Grayson. Always.”

“I—I can’t make any promises, Angie. I don’t know what the future holds. Right now I can only take it one day at a time—one step at a time.”

“As long as you allow me to take those steps with you. That’s all I want.”

I felt his smile as he buried his face in my neck. His wet hair brushed against my cheek, smooth and silky.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

I smiled and opened my eyes, my gaze landing on the other side of the room. With a gasp, I pulled from his arms and turned in a circle to take in the cavernous space. It was empty except for a small table and two upholstered chairs toward the back windows, in the spot where our oasis had been.

“Grayson!” I laughed, almost giddy with disbelief. “How?”

“Jack asked me what I needed.” He shrugged, pushing his wet hair back from his handsome face.

I now noticed a massive pile of books neatly stacked, lined up against an entire wall. There must have been thousands, all brand new. I stared, wide-eyed, unable to form words. Jack must have emptied out an entire bookstore.

Grayson came up behind me, his arms slipping around my waist. I could feel the even thud of his heart against my back.

“I need my books, Angie.” His voice was an apologetic whisper against my ear.

I nodded, pivoting in his arms. I swallowed down the emotion in my throat, knowing what he planned to do with them. He’d rebuild his fort. Hopefully a day would come when he wouldn’t need it, but right now every day was a day to take slowly, to savor. We’d cherish the small steps and not agonize over the big ones.

“I’ll help you.”

His lips pulled into a stunning grin and his blue eyes sparkled. “You can help me after.”

I frowned. “After?”

A naughty twinkle flashed in his eyes as he removed my messenger bag and drew up my limp shirt. He pulled it over my head and traced his warm lips across my naked shoulder. Electric sparks exploded beneath my skin at the touch of his lips. It had been so long since we’d been intimate that my body instantly responded. His lips captured mine and his tongue glided slowly into my mouth. I savored the sweet emotion on his lips and the heady flavor of our burgeoning desire.

Still kissing me, he removed my wet bra. My nipples instantly beaded in the cool air. He palmed my breasts and massaged them gently before flicking his thumb across my straining nipples. I gasped as the delicious sensation shot like lightning to my pussy. Grayson’s fingers traveled down to my soaked jeans.

“Let’s get out of these wet clothes. I need to be dry.” He gave me a look that made my toes curl with anticipation. “We’ll start building after I make you come over and over again. I’ve missed you, missed holding you and listening to you cry out in pleasure.”

He planted soft kisses along my jaw and my body warmed by several degrees. I moaned and snuggled closer, unable to contain my joy. I’d missed our passion too. “I hope Jack got you a bed.”

He pulled back and grinned down at me, his wicked expression setting me on fire. “Since when have we ever needed a bed?”

I couldn’t help chuckling as he pulled off the rest of my wet clothes, then his own, and led me to one of the upholstered chairs. His cock stuck straight out from a thatch of dark hair, thick and engorged, already leaking. I reached down and cupped his heavy balls, rolling and squeezing them gently before ringing the thick root of his cock and pulling a sure stroke up his shaft.

“Fuck!” A rough cry accompanied a sharp buck of his hips. Grayson pumped his hips back and forth, shuttling his cock slowly in and out of my tight fist. He hissed a curse through clenched teeth and his pupils flared as he stared into my eyes.

“Angie…” he breathed my name on a broken groan, then leaned forward and sealed his lips to mine. He kissed me breathless with a fierce, thorough passion.

I was forced to release him when I felt my feet give way. Grayson lifted me and deposited me on my back on the soft chair. I let my wet hair fan out above me. The look on his face could only be described as predatory as he pulled my hips forward to hang off the edge of the big chair. My breath started coming in short bursts of air when he knelt in front of me and gently eased my knees up and back, exposing my sex to his hungry gaze.

The move only made my pussy grow wetter and my channel pulsate with raw, achy need. I was audibly panting now with a desperation beyond words, but when Grayson issued an appreciative moan and dragged the flat of his tongue through my sensitive folds, I thought I’d split apart.

“God, Angie, I’d forgotten how beautiful you are,” he whispered hoarsely against my hot flesh. “How delicious.”

His lips clamped over my needy clit and he sucked hard. Sensation ricocheted through me, crashing into every atom of my being. My scream echoed in the empty room, bouncing off the plaster walls. Grayson’s tongue flicked my nub over and over again and my spine curled off the cushion.

“Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!” I chanted, gloriously close to orgasm.

Pulling back, he ran his palm up my abdomen, caressing my heated skin with a lethargically soothing rub. A cascade of flutters beat through my body in rippling waves. My thighs trembled and my nerves sizzled like live-wires. Grayson fisted his cock and slid the thick shaft between the slick lips of my pussy, drenching it with moisture.

I keened again, the slow, smooth glide a wicked torture.

“I want you to come around my cock,” he growled, his voice unrecognizable. “Please tell me you have condoms.”

For an instant I thought about telling him no, just to be a devil, but my desire to have him inside me was too powerful, too demanding.

I jerked my gaze to the messenger bag that he’d discarded on the floor and he followed, a schoolboy grin splitting his face.

“Don’t move,” he tossed out as he stood, and I wondered why he always felt the need to tell me that. I wasn’t going anywhere. Ever.

In a flash he was back in front of me, rolling the latex down his twitching shaft. The ruddy head looked painfully distended and I could see from the tight flex of his muscles that he was hanging on to his control by a thin thread.

Just the intensity on his face had drugging arousal buzzing through my bloodstream.

“Please, Grayson…” I mewled, undulating my hips.

My eyes slid close when he bent his knees and tucked the swollen head of his cock between my plump folds, just inside my entrance.

He stopped. I whimpered.

“Please, Grayson…” I rolled my hips, trying to steal more pleasure from his delicious cock.

“Tell me what you want, Angie.” The words purred from his throat.

My eyes flew open to meet his arresting gaze, blue crystals glittering with hot flames. There was profound emotion there, but also so much vulnerability that it made my chest hurt. As skilled as Grayson was at giving me pleasure, I realized that he needed my reassurance. He was still afraid I wouldn’t want him. Because of his mental illness and his age, he didn’t feel deserving. He couldn’t be more wrong. I stared into his eyes and was awed by what I saw in the blue depths. Beauty. Strength. Determination. And dare I hope—love. He was everything to me.

“You, Grayson, you.”

He rewarded me with focused little pumps of his cock, and my flesh throbbed terribly. The harsh ache inside me flamed to scorching life. Moisture leaked between my thighs, making me slippery, and I felt the warm wetness pooling beneath me. The scent of sex perfumed the air, potent and wondrously erotic.

“Tell me!” Grayson demanded roughly.

“Fuck, Grayson, you! I need you! Please, fuck me!”

With one deep, powerful stroke he filled me to bursting. My back arched and I lapsed into inarticulate moans and pleas as mind-blowing rapture tore raggedly through me. I surfaced briefly from the sensual storm when I heard my name sigh past Grayson’s lips.

“Angie. My heart. My salvation. My love.”

Happiness blossomed from his words. My hope was a delicate flower in full bloom. I pulled him close and my arms circled his naked shoulders as I savored our connection. I slipped into a world where we were joined. Mind, body, and soul.

EPILOGUE

I made my way up the front steps and punched my code into the key pad. My security question popped up and I typed in the words, thinking I really should’ve picked something shorter than ‘I love Grayson Whitmore more than anything else in the world.’ When I’d been given the opportunity to pick a new password five years ago, I’d picked the first thing that popped into my head. Grayson always laughed at me because it took me five times longer than him to get through the gate and into the house. And God forbid I missed one letter, I’d have to start all over again. His was simply, ‘Angie’.

Smartass!

I was happy to finally be back home. I’d been at the doctor’s office all morning, mostly waiting. Grayson usually came with me, but today I was just getting blood work, so I told him to stay home. My doctor’s appointments were the only time he voluntarily left the house. I could persuade him to go to an occasional movie, but Grayson always took advantage of the darkness and I’d end up missing most of the movie.

I also knew that today he’d wanted to be home with Peter, our four year old who was sick and had stayed home from preschool. Although our nanny, Alice, was in the house, Grayson always took care of Peter when he wasn’t feeling well. He’d lovingly dote over him and nurse him back to health. I felt bad thinking about him sitting at Peter’s bedside all morning, worrying.

I pushed open the door and quickly realized that my worries were unwarranted. Grayson was on the floor with Peter on his back. They were playing a boisterous game of horsey. Grayson pranced around on all fours, neighing and bucking like a bronco while Peter, wearing a giant cowboy hat that kept falling down on his face, rode him like a seasoned cowboy. Peter whipped one hand in the air, whooping and laughing, while his other tiny fist grabbed hold of Grayson’s shirt.

“Faster, Daddy! Faster!” Peter yelled. Grayson neighed, laughing and galloping around the room.

The afternoon light illuminated the massive space, streaming in through the large colonial windows that had been replaced when the house was renovated. It bounced around the room and landed on the two ‘children’ prancing around joyfully. Yes, children, because when my husband was around our four year old, he was as whimsical as a kid. I didn’t know how he kept up with Peter. I was often exhausted from just watching Peter ping around the house like a pinball.

“Ride ‘em, Cowboy!” Grayson’s voice rang through the room.

“Gitty-up! Gitty-up!”

“Alright, last ride, Cowboy. We have to get you back to bed before your mother comes home!”

Just as I suspected… Again, Peter had feigned being ill in order to stay home and play with his dad. This time, though, I suspected collusion.

I crossed my arms across my chest and my hip closed the door with a bang, making sure it was a loud one.

I stifled the laugh that threatened to burst out when, upon seeing me, Grayson reared up, unseating the cowboy and toppling them both onto the Turkish rug. The two Whitmore boys laid together on the floor, two pairs of bright sky blue eyes warily watching me as I drew closer.

“Are we in twouble, Daddy?” Peter whispered, and I could see his sweet little face wrinkle with worry.

“I’m pretty sure of it,” Grayson whispered back.

“Oh, no!”

“Let’s just stick together, okay? I got this. Don’t say a word.”

I stopped at their feet, skewering them both with the stern look my mom used to give me when I did something wrong. Peter’s lips firmed into a thin line, then our gazes locked and his face crumbled. He bounded up from the floor, hugging my legs, his dark waves a mop on his head.

“I love you, Mom! Daddy made me do it!” he rushed out, and then took off up the stairs to his room with his little legs churning beneath him.

Grayson stood up, laughing and shaking his head. He towered over me as he stepped closer. I watched the fine lines crinkle at the corners of his eyes and his brows pleat.

“That little monster!” he laughed. His strong arms folded around my body, pulling me against him. “You know he made me do it, right? He tricked me into letting him stay home from school.”

“Oh, now you both turn on each other,” I tsked, my body relaxing against his. “You are in so much trouble.”

His lips brushed over mine, taking samples of the side of my mouth. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

I rolled my eyes, but the absolute knowledge of that truth spun a coil of warmth through my body.

“You’re just changing the subject. You’re trying to get on my good side.” My arms crept around his neck.

“Yes, I am,” he admitted with a smile, stamping kisses along my jaw. “But I do love you.” He looked up, his blue gaze seizing mine. “More than I can ever express. You and Peter are my world.”

I tiptoed, kissed the tip of his nose and pulled back to line up our gazes. “And you both are mine. Now, about Peter…”

“How was your visit with the doctor? How’s our little girl?”

I laughed, knowing he was detouring again, but answered, “Girl?”

“Yes. And I hope she’ll be just like you.”

I smiled at the thought. “Everything went great. The baby is fine.”

I was just starting to show, entering my second trimester of pregnancy. We’d told my parents last weekend, and they’d been thrilled. It had taken my dad some time to get used to my marriage to Grayson. He hadn’t been thrilled with his daughter marrying a much older man, and one with a mental illness, but eventually he’d come around. My mom had loved Grayson instantly. She’d seen how happy he made me, and how he filled my life with joy.

I angled my neck, giving Grayson better access to his favorite spots. He traced his lips along my cheek and plotted a scintillating course to my neck, sending a shiver down my body to my toes.

“I’m still mad at you,” I breathed, my fingers spearing into his hair that was now all salt and pepper. It fit him perfectly. He was the spice of my life.

His lips found mine and he kissed me deeply, our tongues dueling slowly. I could feel his growing erection against my abdomen and I flexed into him, causing him to inhale a quiet breath.

“How about we have Alice take Peter for a walk? I think he’s feeling much better, now.” He smiled against my lips. “Then I’ll take you upstairs and you can tell me how mad you are.”

I couldn’t help chuckling. “I think Alice knows what we do every time you ask her to take Peter for a walk. It’s like your code phrase for ‘we’re going to have sex.’

He straightened and grinned down at me, stealing my breath away as always.

“This time, I think I’ll ask her to take him for a long walk. What do you think she’ll make of that?”

“She’ll think we’re having kinky, crazy sex.”

He sucked on my bottom lip. “Hmm…that’s the best kind of sex, don’t you think?”

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, unable to help my wide smile. Grayson’s delusional episodes were rare. Although he still had his unique quirks and some rigid beliefs he’d probably never abandon, he was taking his medication regularly on his own, and now only seeing his psychiatrist every few months.

It had taken him a while to adjust to having Alice in the house, but she’d been with us now for almost four years, and we loved her like a member of our family. The book fort had been steadily deconstructed and as of two years ago our living room was free of books.

Grayson’s palms cupped my heavy breasts and his thumbs and forefingers teased my nipples to rigid points. I was much more sensitive because of my pregnancy, and I gasped as a bolt of pleasure streaked directly to my pussy. I squeezed my thighs together, growing wet and achy with my need for him.

A throat cleared pointedly behind us, and I turned to see Anna standing by the front door. My face heated with a blush and I put a safe distance between my enticing husband and myself. She surveyed the two of us and rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Geez! Don’t tell me you two are at it again,” she scoffed, and then inclined her head to Grayson. “She’s already knocked up!”

Grayson grinned and stepped behind me, slipping both arms around my torso as he pulled me back against his solid chest. I snuggled in, loving the familiar comfort of his embrace. I tried hard to ignore the steady press of his cock against my lower back. His teeth sank gently into my earlobe.

“We have to keep practicing or—” he mumbled.

Anna raised a palm, cutting Grayson off as she made her way further into the room. Her hair was chopped short in a chic modern style and she wore a neat sundress with wedges. Her face crinkled with exasperation. “Puleeze, I do not need the visual of you two practicing. After all, she is my sister. I may be scarred for life.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Grayson responded, ignoring her drama.

“I may end up on the couch with you at your next therapy session.”

His soft chuckle brushed against my ear.

“Believe me, Anna. With all your baggage, you’d need your own couch.” he tossed back at her.

“Funny,” Anna responded dryly, but I noticed her lips twitch with mirth.

I laughed at the look of censure on her face as Grayson returned his attention to my earlobe.

“I swear, you two are worse than two teenagers!” She shot an appalled glance at Grayson. “And aren’t you like—eighty?”

Grayson’s deep laughter resonated through his chest. “Almost, but some parts of me are still seventeen.”

I bit my lip, suppressing my laughter. Anna and Grayson were always verbally sparring. The two seemed to delight in their good-natured teasing. I usually hung out on the sidelines and enjoyed the show. Grayson could more than hold his own with my snarky sister.

Anna was working and living in the city now, not far from our house. It was great having her nearby. She’d matured a lot, but I knew she still bore scars from her experience with Charles. She hardly dated, but I hoped that one day she’d find the kind of happiness I’d found with Grayson. Anna and I had grown close, and we truly were best friends. She adored her nephew and often came by to spend time with us.

Charles was living somewhere downtown. He’d been forced to move out of the penthouse once his funds were cut off. Last I heard, he was working as a busboy in a seedy restaurant on the Lower East Side. We saw him occasionally—when he needed money.

“I came by to visit my nephew,” Anna informed. “I heard he isn’t feeling well.”

“Long story,” I sighed. “He’s had a miraculously recovery.”

“Don’t tell me he conned you two again?” Anna shook her head, laughing.

Grayson took another nip of my ear and uttered in Anna’s direction, “I’m the tough one, but you know your sister—umphf!” He sucked in a startled breath and grinned widely when I jerked my elbow back into his ribs.

“Where’s the cutie? In his room?” she asked with another eye roll in Grayson’s direction.

I nodded in response to her question, and she headed toward the door that led upstairs.

Grayson’s arms slipped back around my waist and I was wrapped in the sensuous heat of his body.

“We were thinking that you and Alice should take Peter out for a walk,” he drawled.

Anna pivoted in front of the door, her brows disappearing into her shaggy bangs. It was obvious she knew what we were up to.

“A walk?” Her voice dripped with innuendo.

“A looong wa—umphf!”

Another elbow in the rib had Grayson chuckling behind me. I grinned innocently at Anna and she rolled her eyes and mumbled something about bunny rabbits before disappearing through the door.

Although I knew there must’ve been amusement in my eyes, I turned in Grayson’s arms with a reprimand on my tongue. The words were effectively silenced as his lips swooped down on mine for a voracious kiss, his tongue twirling over mine. Powerless against his heady taste and the promise of his delicious body, I sank into him.

I could never get enough of Grayson. He was woven into the very fabric of my soul and his love had a permanent imprint on my heart.

“So, what do you say?” he asked, skating his lips over mine. His voice was hoarse with desire. His hands came up to palm my breasts and my breaths rushed from my lips.

“I say that Peter should stretch his legs.” Gazing into his loving blue eyes, I could barely think straight. I needed to be naked in his arms. I needed to be loved by this man who filled me so completely. A smile tugged the corner of my lips. “Then you can take me upstairs and show me what you’ve got, old man.”

Ready for the challenge, his gorgeous grin slowly widened. I’d never loved him more than at that very moment.

Mental Illness affects us all. Reach out. Get help. Talk about it.

—One in four adults−approximately 61.5 million Americans experiences mental illness in a given year.

—One in 17−about 13.6 million−live with a serious mental illness such as schizophrenia, major depression or bipolar disorder

Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the United States. It accounts for the loss of more than 38,000 American lives each year, more than double the number of lives lost to homicide.

—-National Alliance On Mental Health

Suicidal thoughts and behavior are common with some mental illnesses. If you think you may hurt yourself or attempt suicide, get help right away:

•Call 911 or your local emergency number immediately.

•Call a suicide hotline number — in the United States, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-TALK (800-273-8255) to reach a trained counselor. Use that same number and press 1 to reach the Veterans Crisis Line.

•Reach out to a close friend or loved one.

•Contact a minister, spiritual leader or someone in your faith community.

•Contact your doctor, other health care provider or mental health specialist.

Thank you for reading GRAYSON. If you enjoyed this book, I would appreciate if you would post a brief review. Thank you, Lisa Eugene

About the Author

Lisa Eugene began writing as a way to mentally escape from the hectic medical world where she has been a practicing nurse for over twenty years. After publishing her first novel, STRICTLY BUSINESS, she quickly learned that readers couldn’t get enough of the world she created and now she lives out her wildest fantasies by writing steamy romantic suspense for her fan-favorite Washington Memorial Hospital series.

When she’s not plotting her next dangerous, fast-paced, sexy adventure, you can find her juggling a full time job, playing soccer mom, or curled up reading a good romance. Lisa loves hearing from fans; be sure to connect with her on her website at lisaeugenebooks.com, make sure to sign up for her newsletter to hear about exciting new titles. Twitter at @lisaeugene43, or at lisaeugene43@gmail.com.

Look for other titles by Lisa Eugene

These are all stand alone books

Suggested Reading Order:

Wrapped In Shadows/Steal My Heart/Surrender My Love/Strictly Business

STRICTLY BUSINESS by Lisa Eugene

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Conservative Emergency Room Physician, Nina Henley has always followed the rules. Her life has been dictated by her unwavering commitment to medicine. Wade Connolly, renowned medical malpractice attorney and 'New York’s sexiest bachelor' enters her life and challenges her with his bold sexuality and intense passion. One look into his gorgeous blue eyes and Nina is forced to acknowledge needs that have long been repressed. When she becomes involved in Wade’s perilous malpractice case she realizes that she is at risk for not only heartbreak, but betrayal as everything she's worked so hard for is threatened. Will Wade's passion and love be enough to save her or will she lose everything…including her life?

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Maggie Lawson is an OR nurse, a certified germaphobe! She likes to keep things clean and orderly. When she meets Ex-Navy SEAL, Gabe Masters, he’s disguised as a dingy dirty hobo. She cringes as she’s forced to use her nursing skills to revive him. She soon finds that he’s a ‘dirty boy’ in more ways than one! After being forced to do his bidding, she unwittingly gets entangled in a dangerous, fast-paced, sexy adventure that tests the boundaries of her spirit and the capacity of her heart. Gabe’s passion spirals her to unimaginable heights. She soon starts to wonder if he is the real danger. Will she succumb to this ‘dirty boy’ who’s keeping secrets about his past, or will she chose to keep things clean?

Surrender My Love by Lisa Eugene

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Patients are dying at Washington Memorial Hospital and no one knows why….

Nurse Chloe Bennett is a dedicated healer. Her job means everything to her, and she needs it to support her family. When she finds herself in the middle of yet another Code Blue, she questions the unexplained deaths.

Doctor Brad Markson is a world renowned cardiac surgeon. Brilliant, powerful, and sinfully sexy! He does not tolerate losing patients. When his patient mysteriously dies, he looks for answer.

The two work together to unravel the sinister events surrounding the deaths at Washington Memorial Hospital, and soon find themselves fighting for their lives in this fast paced, erotic thriller. When Chloe becomes the center of suspicion, she is surprised to find she has an ally in the gorgeous Dr. Markson.

Shy, sweet Chloe is unable to resist him with his sultry blue eyes and wickedly sexy smile. His passionate kisses ignite her body, and his mere touch induces shivering pleasure. She doesn't know if she’s ready to give away her heart after her traumatic past, and Brad is battling career demons of his own.

Can the two learn to trust each other? Will they live long enough to find love and happiness…or will there be two more deaths?

Wrapped In Shadows by Lisa Eugene

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One night of shadows. One night of bliss. One night it all falls apart.

Katherine Regina Vandercamp has everything. Wealth. Beauty. Social standing. She’s the heiress to the Vandercamp fortune and engaged to the man of her dreams. One night it all shatters…

Finding her fiancé with another woman, she is distraught and makes a reckless decision to go with a friend to a sex club. Needing total anonymity, she has sex with a stranger in a room of total darkness, a sensuous cocoon of silky shadows. She has no idea who this man is or what he looks like. But it is in the shadows she finds solace. In the shadows she finds bliss.

She can’t forget this stranger’s touch, his taste, his scent. He infiltrates her dreams and holds her thoughts and body captive. But has she made a false assumption about her fiancé? Was he truly unfaithful? She regrets her hasty actions and is tormented by guilt. She is determined to marry the man she loves and forget her stranger.

Sinister events unfolded at the sex club. There was a gruesome murder and her stranger has been charged with the crime. Katie knows he’s innocent because she was with him at the time of the murder. She is more shocked to find that he’s not a stranger after all. What will she do? Will she reveal her horrible secret? Will she besmirch the Vandercamp name? Will she risk losing the man who has her heart to save the man who’s touched her soul?

Her life is in turmoil. All because of that one night.

A night that was wrapped in shadows..

Copyright © 2014 Lisa Eugene

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Thank you.