Chapter Ninety-Three

Safiya

H e was moving into the house.

He brought me to a beautiful Turkish restaurant. One with a wishing tree, and the smell of my childhood, and dishes I had not eaten in years. Brimming with excitement and warmth and nostalgia, my affection for this man only grew, and I had too many emotions to capture, but all I kept thinking the same thing.

Grayson is moving into the house .

Staring at the beautiful plates of kavurma and manti and kisir and roasted beet hummus and sarma that the owner set down on the table with deserved flourish, I inhaled the warming spices and exhaled Turkish. " ?ok te?ekkür ederim. Yemek lezzetli g?rünüyor ."

The owner smiled wide. " Sen Türksün! "

" Evet ." Suddenly realizing what I had revealed and the protocol I had just broken, I glanced nervously at Grayson. Then I looked back at the owner and switched to English as I attempted to recant. "I meant I know some of the language."

He laughed with friendly joy. "You have no accent whatsoever. I think you know more than only some of our language."

Saving me from myself, Grayson stepped in. "She's being modest, and she's right. The food smells delicious."

The owner beamed, then waved his hands. "Please, please, enjoy. While it is hot."

Grayson tipped his chin, and I thanked the owner before he left.

I apologized to Grayson once the owner was out of hearing distance. "I am sorry. I did not mean to break protocol. That was reckless, and it will not happen again."

"Let it go, Safiya." He took my napkin from the table and placed it on my lap. "Eat."

For a moment, I hesitated. Last night at dinner, each of our individual dishes had been placed in front of us. There had not been any plates to share. At the house, I had always served Grayson food, and I was relatively sure he would not want me to do so in public, but it felt… disrespectful and wrong.

Grayson placed his napkin on his lap. "Problem?"

"I am unsure if I am to serve you."

"In public, you do not." He picked up a spoon and put some of the perfect little manti dumplings onto my plate. "At home, when you cook, it'll remain as it was."

My heart swelled, and I did not hold back the thought. "You enjoy me serving you."

Glancing up from placing a portion of the manti on his own plate, his blue-gray gaze met mine, but this time, it was full of a summer thunderstorm—dark and threatening. "More than you know."

Need pulsed low in my belly, and heat licked across my flesh like fire. My face flamed, and I dropped my gaze.

Without further comment, Grayson filled our plates with generous portions of the rest of the dishes and picked up his fork. "Eat, Safiya."

Same as at home, I waited until he took his first bite.

Then I tried the kavurma.

Familiar flavors danced in perfection, my eyes closed, and I tasted my past.

"Good?"

I looked at the impossible warrior of a man sitting across from me, and the thought came unbidden. My husband .

Swallowing the delicately sautéed meat and my emotions, I nodded. "Very. Thank you for bringing me here."

Watching me, he took a bite of the same dish I had just tried and slowly chewed and swallowed. Then he fed my heart. "Yours is better."

Warmth bloomed, and I smiled.

He winked. "Eat, beautiful."

For the next hour, we ate.

He told me more about the house he was having built for Raine. I thanked him for the shell he had left me this morning, but he had merely nodded. I asked where he would be moving in from, but he had been evasive, only saying no one particular place. Then he said his clothes and some personal effects would be at the house by the time we got back and that he would eventually retrofit one of the bedrooms to accommodate his needs .

I did not ask what that meant.

I was overjoyed that he was not just moving in but was staying.

My ghost, my American SEAL, he was going to stay .

Sipping my perfectly made tea, I glanced at the wishing tree I did not need, and I smiled.

"What was that one for?"

I looked back at Grayson. "Pardon?"

"You smiled again." Looking serious and intent, a mostly empty plate in front of him, his napkin on the table, his long fingers resting on the brim of his water glass as if it were a tumbler of whiskey, Grayson sat almost reclined in his chair, watching me.

"You seem… content." If a lethal mercenary with his skills could be such a thing.

"I'm observing my wife enjoy her meal while simultaneously thinking of our afternoon. Content is not the adjective I would use. But that's not why you smiled."

The fluttering anticipation that had been humming all day swelled into a rolling tidal wave. "You are right."

He raised an eyebrow.

I confessed. "I smiled because you are moving in to the house and you are staying."

Keeping his gaze on mine, he took a swallow of his water.

I watched his throat move, and the ache between my legs grew.

He set his glass down and pulled out his wallet. Looking over my shoulder, he tipped his chin.

A nervous-looking waitress appeared and silently handed him the check before discreetly retreating.

Eight years ago, Grayson had had that effect on me as well. He still did, but in a different way. Now, I wanted to lean into that illicit danger he emanated.

After placing a few large bills with the check, Grayson stood and pulled my chair out. "Come." Taking my hand, he led me toward the exit.

From across the restaurant, the owner smiled and waved at us.

A moment later, Grayson was silently lifting me into the SUV and securing my seat belt. His eyes stayed on mine, and he watched me as intently as ever, but he did not speak.

He did not speak on the way home.

And he did not speak as he pressed preprogrammed buttons on the Mercedes to open first the gate and then one of the garages.

He did not speak as he pulled the large SUV into the bay, turned off the engine, and closed the garage door behind us.

He did not even tell me to wait as he opened his door.

But I did.

Fluttering nerves and wild anticipation and breath-stealing apprehension all swarmed, and suddenly this, what was coming, what I had wanted for eight long years, had become very, very real.

He opened my door.

Anxiety spilled out. "I am very nervous."

Watching my eyes, he undid my seat belt. "About?"

I used his words. "Our afternoon."

He glanced at his watch. "Afternoon is almost over."

I pleaded with him. "Please do not do that. You know what I meant."

He studied me for a moment. Then he leaned his muscular arm against the top of the frame as if to cage me in. "You need to be able to effectively, succinctly communicate with me. Especially in the bedroom. I'm not gentle. I demand control, and I don't do safe words. No means no, but I like to fuck, and I'm going to push you past every one of your perceived boundaries. So when you say to me you're nervous, that's no longer going to cut it. If you're nervous about fucking, say so. If you have questions about the act of sex, ask them. If this is about intimacy or emotions, explain."

Both aroused and terrified by his openness, I did as he asked. "I am afraid I will not satisfy you."

"If I fucked you while you were unconscious, I'd still get off."

Fear eclipsed shock. "Is—is that what you prefer?"

"No. Hard negative. Nor would I ever attempt it. The point being, you'll satisfy me, Safiya."

"But I am inexperienced." I did not even know how to touch him.

"I know."

Embarrassment warred with compounding nerves, and I looked away.

Cool rain, vetiver, and musk swirled, then he grasped my chin, bringing my gaze back to his. For a brief moment, he studied me. Then he stepped back and held out his hand in silent invitation.

I took it.

He led me into the house, stopped in the kitchen, then lifted me onto the counter. Sliding his hands up my calves, he brought one of my legs up and placed my foot against his thigh. "Any other questions?" He deftly untied the first gold sandal and let it drop it to the floor before he brought my other leg up.

I could not ask what I did not know, and anxiety peaked that he would have sex with me on this counter, but I had to remind myself that he had said bedroom. "No. Thank you."

He undid the other sandal. Then he placed his hands on either side of me on the counter that he had me grab on to just yesterday. "Still trust me?"

I did not even have to think about the answer. "Always."

"Good." He lifted me off the counter, whipped my dress over my head, then turned me toward the hall. "Walk to the bedroom, Safiya."

Cool air-conditioning washed over my naked body, and I knew.

Our date was over.

Doing as he bid, I walked to the bedroom. But as soon as I got there, the hurricane shutters closed and the lights turned off—all of the lights, including the recessed ambient ones that stayed on at night.

Panic struck, and I called out. "Grayson?"