His? He was renting a little cabin up on the mountain. Small but definitely big enough for two. And if Jemma wanted to be alone with him—
“I turned off that light.” Jemma stopped beside him. Her head tilted as she stared at her shop. Grayson followed her gaze. He could see the faint glow coming from her chocolate shop. The lights weren’t on in the front of the shop—it seemed as if one of the back lights was turned on, a light in her kitchen.
“I know I turned off that light,” she said as her voice dropped to a whisper. “I always turn off the lights.”
He didn’t doubt her for a second. “Stay here.” Then he was rushing forward, not going for the front door of her shop, but heading for the back.
“Grayson, no!” She’d run behind him. She grabbed his arm just as he rounded the side of the building. “We should go get Brad! He’s the sheriff!”
“Yeah, well, Santa’s busy now. I’ve got this.”
“You’ve got a would-be robber? No!” She shook her head. “Not safe! This isn’t you camping out on my couch. This isn’t—”
The guy ran out of her shop at that moment, sending the back door flying open. He was dressed in black, and the guy had yanked a ski mask down over his head. He looked like a big, hulking shadow.
A big, armed shadow.
Grayson saw the guy lift the weapon that was in his right hand. A gun. Only that gun wasn’t aimed at Grayson.
Oh, the fuck no. Grayson lunged for Jemma even as that bastard fired. Grayson and Jemma tumbled to the ground, and he made sure to shield her with his body. The bullet hadn’t made a sound when it was fired—
Silencer.
They had no cover right there. He had to get Jemma to safety. “Stay low, sweetheart,” he murmured in her ear. Then he reached down and snagged the knife he always kept strapped to his ankle. The shooter had retreated, his steps loud and rushed, but Grayson could easily pinpoint his location.
And he’d always been very, very good with his knife.
He took a second to aim, and then he threw that knife. It struck their attacker in the upper, right shoulder and the guy yelled.
“Let’s move,” Grayson said, “now.” They hauled ass toward his SUV. He made sure to keep his body between her and any threat, and seconds later, he had the door to his vehicle open. He pushed Jemma inside. “Stay low,” he told her once more.
“But Grayson—”
He took his gun out of the glove box. The weight was familiar, reassuring, in his hand.
“Grayson?” Jemma’s voice was barely a breath of sound. She seemed lost, confused.
He wanted to take her into his arms and tell her that everything was going to be okay, but…he had a bastard—a bastard who shot at Jemma!—running wild out there, and Grayson needed to deal with the guy. The man’s thundering footsteps told Grayson that the jerk was desperate to escape the scene, but after he’d fired at Jemma—
You think I’ll let you vanish?
No, oh, no. Grayson turned and rushed after the guy.
***
What? What in the hell had just happened?
Jemma was crouched low in the SUV—because, yes, bullets were flying. Bullets. And she wasn’t in the mood to die. She also didn’t want Grayson to die, not when she was falling for the guy.
Only…she wasn’t exactly sure who Grayson was anymore. He’d pulled a knife out of his boot and thrown it like some kind of action movie star. And he’d yanked out that gun from his glove box, held it so casually, and given chase after the bad guy without any hesitation.
Who is he? What is going on?
She lifted her head just a little, intending to peek out of the passenger side window and see what was happening—
“Jemma!”
She ducked back down and wished that Grayson had left her with a weapon. I need to go help him. I can’t just hide. I need to watch his—
“Jemma!”
This time, the voice registered. Brad’s voice. She raised her head again and saw Santa staring back at her through the glass. She cracked open the door—she’d locked it because what good would an unlocked door really be—and Brad grabbed her hand.
“Did I just see Grayson running with a gun?” Brad demanded.
“Someone was in my shop.” A robber. Must have been a robber, right? “He had a gun. He shot at us, and Grayson gave chase.”
Brad automatically reached for his holster, only it wasn’t there. Santa didn’t carry a gun, did he?
And then she heard the rush of footsteps. Brad whirled around, his body crouching, and Jemma tensed.
“He got away.”
Grayson. Grayson was back and safe and she jumped out of that SUV and knocked Santa out of her way as she ran toward Grayson. Ignoring the gun he still had cradled—way too casually—in his hand, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. “Do not ever leave me like that again.” Don’t go chasing off into the night after some crazy guy who just shot at us!
For an instant, he stiffened against her, and she started to pull back, feeling awkward, but then his left arm came around her and he held her tight. So tight. As if he didn’t ever want to let her go.
And I feel the same way about him. Only…