22. Grayson

Grayson

I 'm still snuggled up next to Maggie, pressing soft kisses to her neck from behind. She occasionally lets out a gentle moan, even though I know she's half asleep. Admitting she's mine has ignited a need to touch her—not just in a sexual way, but to make sure this is all real.

After we made love on the couch, we rinsed off together in the shower, where I made good on my promise to bring her to the edge again and again until she was screaming my name. That, of course, led to another round of passion in an actual bed—my bed. When we were finally spent, we curled up together and drifted off to sleep. Until her phone rang. Harry needs her back at work, two hours away from me. I don't like that. Not one bit.

When she rolls over and smiles at me, a fresh wave of butterflies takes flight in my stomach.

"We should get up. I need to get back to LA," she says.

"No." I cup her breast and kiss the pulse point on her neck. She giggles and tries to push me away, but I only growl playfully and pull her closer.

"Grayson, I really do have to go," she insists. Of course, I know that. I just don't like it. I have a feeling that once she leaves, this magic between us will slip away. Having her here, in my bed, feels like a dream come true. I want it again, and again, and again.

"Take the day off," I murmur, my eyes still closed. She wraps her arms around me, kissing me deeply before slipping out of bed.

As she stands, her naked body is displayed in all its glory. God, I'm in trouble. Maggie is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

When she turns to walk away, showcasing her perfect, heart-shaped ass, my body reacts instantly. But my eyes catch on a scar just below her ribcage on her back.

"What's that?" I ask, getting up and slipping on a pair of underwear. I walk over to her as she searches through my drawers, my fingers tracing the faded pink line.

"Kidney transplant."

"You had—?"

"No, I gave one. To my mom, but it didn't take," she says with a sad smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Now let me get dressed." I scan her body, noticing a few more scars. As she pulls out a t-shirt, my fingers gently brush over the marks.

"Gray…" she says, her voice laced with frustration. My fingers trace the largest scar on her abdomen.

"This one?"

"A knife. A strung-out junkie cut me a few years ago when I was still a beat cop." She lifts her knee. "Bike crash when I was fifteen. The neighborhood bully bet I couldn't jump over a gravel pile, and he was right." She laughs, and I smile. There's so much I don't know about her, and I'm desperate to learn.

"And these?" I ask, pointing to the most obvious pockmarks, gathered in a perfect circle that can't be natural.

She stiffens. "We don't talk about those." She tries to walk away, but I gently grasp her wrist.

"I thought you agreed you're mine?"

Her hand rubs her forehead as she sighs. "We did, but those are…I don't remember them." She tugs the shirt over her head, her movements jerky and agitated. I help her pull the fabric down, my heart aching at the hurt in her eyes.

"Maggie, I didn't mean to push—"

"They're burns from a cigarette. I'm told it was one of my dad's old friends. He was drunk and thought it was funny. I don't remember it and don't want to. Okay?" Her voice is clipped.

What do you even say to that? The thought of her as a child, being tortured for some sick man's amusement, makes me nauseous. "Is he in jail?"

She tilts her head, crossing her arms. "What do you think?" No. I don't think that bastard ever got what he deserved.

She sighs and closes her eyes. "Gray, everyone has shitty childhood stories. I'm lucky enough not to remember mine. But thinking about it, yeah, it sucks. Why do you think I became a cop? To keep shits like him from getting away with things. That's my therapy, my catharsis. And right now, you're keeping me from it."

I can't listen to any more. The more she talks, the more upset she gets. I pull her into my arms. Her hand splays across my bare chest, right over my heart. It's beating like a drum—fast, hard, hurting for her. When she relaxes into my grip, pressing her head where her hand was, I feel it slow, comforted by her closeness. "I love this sound," she says softly.

After a few minutes of silence, we pull apart, and she kisses my nose. "I need to go." With a swift move, she slips from my grip and hurries to the hall bathroom. I head to my closet and pick out one of my nicer suits. I want to impress Maggie.

When I'm dressed, I find her in the bathroom, hunched over the sink, brushing her teeth in her jeans from yesterday and my shirt. But when I realize what she's using—my toothbrush—a part of me panics.

"Hey! That's mine," I say, hurrying forward, but she turns away, giggling.

"This is for both of our benefits, babe. I stink."

"That's disgusting, Maggie." She spits out the foam and wipes her mouth, a coy smile on her beautiful lips.

"You go down on me, then make out with me for hours, and you're worried about sharing a toothbrush?" She arches an eyebrow. I hate to admit it, but she has a point.

"It's so… personal."

"I'll bring my own next time," she says, tapping the toothbrush on the sink, splattering water droplets everywhere. I resist the urge to snap at the sight. I'll be cleaning this entire room tonight. She laughs at my disapproving noise. "Stop. It's harmless."

My heart does a little twist as her eyes rake over me, clearly liking what she sees. I yank her close and kiss her as passionately as I can, suddenly glad she used my toothbrush. It feels more intimate than anything sexual we could do. Her mouth tastes minty, like a reminder of this new connection, as my tongue explores every inch of hers.

When we pull apart, her eyes are hazy, like she's in a trance. I brush my knuckles across her cheek. A bruise is already forming from where Axe hit her. She insists it doesn't hurt, but it's going to look awful by tomorrow. "Next time, I'll cook for you. Maybe even sneak in a vegetable or two," I say, my voice low.

"Yum, I just love when a man force-feeds me carrots." She pecks my cheek and gives me a lingering look, biting her bottom lip.

Before I can sweep her back into my arms, she turns. "Okay, I really am going now." Maggie has already texted her sister to get a ride back to LA. The two are obviously close if Vanessa is dropping everything to get Maggie home. "And Gray, if you talk to George today, give Lori my number. I want to talk Batman with him."

My heart skips a beat. She's talking like we're already a certainty, integrating herself into my and George's life. As she slips on her blazer, she laughs. "Breathe, Grayson. Text me later."

She walks out, and I stare at the front door. Already, a feeling of loneliness is creeping in. My fingers itch to rush after her, to get just one more kiss. I've never been this obsessed with a woman before, and it makes me wonder—what in the hell have I gotten myself into?

***

Later that day, I head into work. Music is blaring as I step through the doors. Immediately wincing, I yell out, "Andy?"

She pokes her head out of her office, the top few buttons of her blouse undone. When she sees me, her face pales. "I thought you weren't coming in today?"

My brows crinkle low on my face. "What the hell is going on?"

Clearing her throat, she stands up straighter and walks out. Behind her, Roger suddenly appears, his usually perfectly styled hair is mussed. "Uh, Andy?" I ask again, my eyes darting between them.

"He was just leaving," she says, not giving him a second glance.

He wiggles his brows and smooths his hair back into place, then tightens his man bun. "Gotta meet Cap'n Rex. Nice to see you, Gray."

I can't speak, but that doesn't seem to bother him. Whistling a cheery tune, he stuffs his hands in his khakis and strides out of the office. Miranda quickly disappears into her office, but I'm right behind her. She sits at her desk and starts typing immediately. There's no way she's working on anything real. Her keystrokes are too fast, her eyes trying too hard to avoid me. "Andy!" I yell out.

"Oh, right! The insurance," she says, suddenly getting up. Striding over to the file cabinet, she thumbs through a few things before pulling one free. I watch it all with my jaw hanging open.

Stepping in front of me, she holds it out, one hip popped. I stare at it, then her. "Insurance? I find you half-naked with Roger, and you're talking to me about insurance?" I ask, squinting at her.

Scoffing, she takes the file with her back to the desk. "Half-naked?"

I gesture to her shirt. She glances down, then buttons the blouse back up without even a hint of redness on her cheeks. "He was helping me with something."

"O-ing in the middle of a workday?" I ask.

A hint of a smile tugs at her lips before she returns her face to stoic. "No. Filing the thing."

"The docking plan?" She nods and starts typing again. Obviously, I'm not going to get anything out of her. Though I really don't want to let it go, I lower myself into one of her empty seats. I rub at my temples. The beautiful morning with Maggie is far out of my mind now. My cousin has managed to shock it out of me.

"Okay, what about our insurance?" I ask, my voice heavy.

"You need to update your policy."

My head raises with a frown. "What policy?"

She slides the folder over and taps it. Snatching it off the desk, I flip it open and read through it. A $2 million policy that goes to Suzannah in the event of my death. "What's all this?"

"Papa had you insured like five years ago. You didn't know?" I shake my head and look down at the bottom. Sure enough, Antonio Cardenas's signature is at the bottom along with Suzannah's. I don't recognize the name of the company, but as some of it is written in German, I can only assume it's something based overseas.

I close the file and put it back on the desk before getting to my feet. "Woah, you need to call them." Her chair squeaks as she stands up, following me as I stalk out of her office. "Not necessary."

"What do you mean? Gray!" I close my door behind me. The policy was probably sold to Papa by a crook. The entire company is undoubtedly a front for something nefarious. That's probably why I never heard about it. I will not be touching it with a ten-foot pole. Thinking about Suzannah and even Papa was not on my list of things to do today. Since Suzannah is presumed dead, the money would go to George anyway. So whomever ended up as his guardian—Lori—would get the money until he turned 18. Rubbing a hand down my face, I groan. This is not something I thought I would be dealing with.

All I wanted was to ride the high that is Maggie. And yet, I'm thinking about my own death and money.

Hopefully, tonight, she'll be back on my mind. After this bomb dropped in my lap, I'll drive up to see her. I need to. In the short time we've been together, I've already begun to rely on her. The best part is, that thought doesn't scare me near as much as it used to.