Brad looked at Grayson, then Jemma. Then Grayson. “I’ll talk to him,” he said, voice tight. “He knows better than to try shit like this in my town.” He spun on his heel. “Free gym membership or not, he doesn’t get to pull crap like this,” Brad muttered as he stalked off.
Jemma released the breath she’d been holding. At least Brad had stopped talking about taking her home. Seriously—what was she? Twelve? So maybe she didn’t go on a ton of dates, but she didn’t have to be coddled like that. And while Brad was her friend, he didn’t control her life.
No one did.
I won’t let anyone control me. She shivered, the memories from her past trying to sneak forward, pushing up—
No. “Come home with me,” Jemma blurted.
Grayson’s body stiffened. “What?”
And Brad spun around. Figured he’d be close enough to overhear what she’d just said.
“I, um, you want dinner right?” Jemma said, making herself smile. “I told you I knew another great place in town. Well, that place is my kitchen. So how about we have dinner at my house?”
Grayson stared at her.
Brad was shaking his head.
She was thinking she’d made a huge mistake. Perhaps she should have stopped while she was semi-ahead.
“Sounds like a great plan to me,” Grayson said.
And Jemma found herself smiling once again.
***
He watched them from the shadows. Grayson Fucking Cole. The bastard was so cocky. Arrogant. He was smiling at the woman. No doubt, he thought he’d be charming her into his bed.
Grayson had always been able to work the ladies so easily.
And the woman was reaching for his hand. Pulling Grayson down that cobblestone street. A pretty woman, with a real hot body. Just Grayson’s type.
The sheriff had finally turned away. He was mumbling to himself as he strode off in the opposite direction. The sheriff and Grayson—they seemed to be friends. Maybe. It was always hard to tell with Grayson.
Who was a friend? Who was an enemy?
He’d watch the players for a little bit longer. Find the best moment—and way—to attack. After all, he didn’t just want to hurt Grayson.
He wanted the bastard to suffer. To go through hell…
And then, when you can’t bear life even a moment longer…that’s when I’ll kill you.
Because, once upon a time, he’d been Grayson’s friend.
Now…I am your worst fucking enemy, Gray.
Chapter Three
“Jemma White, you are a dangerous woman.”
Jemma glanced back at Grayson, smiling. She was in front of her fireplace, stoking the fire, and he couldn’t remember ever seeing a more gorgeous sight. She’d taken off her shoes and her toes—painted a fire engine red—were so freaking cute. The lights from her Christmas tree twinkled nearby, and the whole scene…hell, it was like something out of a movie. One of those This-Is-Your-Life bits.
Only…
This wasn’t his life. His life was about lies. Deception. Danger. Death.
Not Christmas trees. Not a Christmas angel…
And that is sure what Jemma looks like to me.
She laughed as she rose. “I’m hardly lethal.”
Oh, sweetheart, but I think you are.
Gingerly, she sat on the couch, her thigh brushing lightly against his leg. “Ask people in town, and they’ll tell you that I’m quite harmless.” For an instant, sadness flickered in her beautiful gaze. “I’m very, very good.”
There was just something about the way she said those words. As if being good were a crime. Grayson tilted his head to study her. He hadn’t met a whole lot of “good” people in his line of work. Most of the people that he met, hell, he could never trust them. They were all playing the same game of deception, and one wrong move meant disaster.
“I’m really sorry about what happened earlier. Matthew is—”
“An idiot.” He waved that away. “Any man who would say that about you has to be a fool.”
But her lashes flickered, “Maybe.” She glanced down at her lap. At the hands she’d twisted together.
For some reason, he didn’t like it when Jemma was sad. Truth be told, he didn’t really give a flying shit about how most people felt. To do his job—to do it right—he couldn’t afford a whole lot of feelings. When emotions got involved, people died. Simple fact of life. But Jemma was different.
Or maybe he was just different with Jemma.
He leaned forward and his fingers curled under her chin. He tilted her chin up, wanting to look into her eyes. “You burn, Jemma,” he told her simply. “It’s like there’s a fire in you, lighting you up from the inside. There’s nothing cold about you.”
He was the one who was cold. He’d been freezing, but not anymore. Not with her.
He leaned in toward her and took her mouth with his. Her taste was incredible. So delectable, so delicious. Better than her chocolates—and those chocolates had been insanely good. He eased her onto her back, moving over her on the couch, and he kept his mouth on hers. He also made sure not to crush Jemma with his body. He knew he was bigger and stronger than she was, and he wanted to be careful with her.
But when he began to kiss his way down her neck, when she gave a little, sexy moan and her nails bit into his shoulders…his control began to crack.
Slow down. Give her the time she needs. Slow—