Brad was her friend. She liked him. She respected him. But he had no idea what she wanted. “Thank you.” She hung up the phone even though he’d been calling her name again.
She put the phone on a nearby table and her fingers unhooked the chain on her door. She opened the door and found Grayson standing just where he’d been before.
He lifted a brow at her. “Did I check out okay?”
“Well enough.” She cleared her throat. “Brad says you’re good at protection.” But that I need to watch myself with you.
Grayson stepped over the threshold and came into her house. She didn’t back away, so their bodies brushed. “I do rather excel at that,” he said.
She tilted her head back as she stared up at him. “I really…don’t think you staying here is necessary.” And if she’d had a different past, she probably would have sent him away. But…
I don’t have a different past. I have demons. I have pain. I hate them all.
Grayson’s hand rose and curled under her chin. “What do I have to do…” Grayson murmured. “To make you trust me?”
She didn’t know. Jemma backed away, quickly, but as soon as she was near the couch, she was missing his touch already. Grayson shut and locked the door. She reset the alarm. She grabbed him some extra covers and pillows and she put them on the couch as quickly as she could.
Her robe skimmed the tops of her thighs. It was made of soft cotton and she normally loved the feel of it against her skin, but right then…
Grayson’s eyes were on her legs.
She tried to tug down the edge of that robe a bit more.
He licked his lips. His gaze had heated and all of a sudden, her heart was sure beating fast. She looked at the couch and remembered being on it, with him. Having his body pressed to hers. Feeling his mouth against hers.
He strode toward her. She almost backed away, but at the last moment, Jemma stiffened her spine. She met his stare and there was no missing the desire in his golden gaze.
“If you need me,” Grayson told her. “I’ll be right here for you.”
I think I do need you. But I’m not ready. Not yet.
Jemma nodded. Then she turned and hurried into her bedroom. She didn’t look back.
She did lock the bedroom door. And then she leaned against it.
Holy hell.
***
The Christmas tree lights were twinkling. Grayson lay on the couch, his eyes on that tree. When had he last put up a Christmas tree? Before his parents had died? When he’d been a teen? A kid?
Thirteen. I was thirteen the last time I had a Christmas tree. Because his parents had been killed in a boating accident the following spring. He’d gone to live with his grandfather, a tough ex-sailor who hadn’t much cared for decorations and celebrations. Oh, he’d been a good man, no doubt. Fair and hard and with a rigid sense of right and wrong but…
We exchanged presents on Christmas. Had a nice meal. Not like it was some kind of sob story. Only there had been no tree. No silly stockings like Jemma had hanging near her mantel. No little reindeer hiding in all the corners. And no big, overstuffed Santa Clauses perched on shelves.
This whole house—it just felt like Christmas. It…
Had magic?
No, no, there was no magic. Total bullshit.
But…
His gaze drifted up the tree and then, slowly, his stare turned toward the hallway. If I could have anything I wanted for Christmas…
I would want her.
Chapter Five
When he woke up, he smelled bacon. Eggs. Cinnamon rolls? And…
Chocolate. Dear God, the delicious chocolate.
Grayson nearly bounded off the couch and then he stared at the kitchen in amazement. Jemma was in there—already up and dressed and she’d made breakfast. And he hadn’t heard her. “How the hell did you do that?” he demanded.
Jemma—holding a plate of chocolate chip muffins—froze. “Do what?” Then she looked at the muffins and smiled. “Oh? These? Really easy. You just put the chocolate chips in the muffin mix and pop them in the oven.” Her smile dimmed a bit when he remained silent. “I made a lot of different things, hoping there would be something you liked—”
He liked her. Grayson hurried toward her. He’d ditched his shirt but he still had on his jeans. They hung low on his hips. “You didn’t wake me.”
“Well, no, I thought you might want to sleep.” Her gaze darted to the clock and she winced. “Though it isn’t even six yet. I’m sorry—I just go to the chocolate shop early most days.”
He took the plate from her. “You didn’t wake me.” He was having a hard time getting past that. He was the lightest sleeper in the world. He’d had to be. When your life was always in danger, you learned to pretty much sleep with one eye open. The slightest rustle normally woke him. But Jemma had been able to cook that feast? Just feet away and he’d been snoring the whole time?
Her smile flashed again, lighting up her blue eyes even more. “You were cute when you were sleeping. Less scary tough and more…cuddly?”
She had not just said that.
“You were seriously cuddling that pillow,” Jemma added.