Page 42 of The Bloodfeather Promise
Ruffling past the decorative tissue paper used for cushioning, Greyson lifts the framed photo out of the box. His eyelashes, so long and thick, shield his reaction.
“It’s from The Shayla,” I explain, clearing my throat. “I talked Ginny, one of the owners, into letting me pay her for it. You know they have all these photos on the walls, right? Different people over the years who’ve dined there. Some famous, some not. Yours was in the hallway leading to the outside deck.”
I stop talking. Greyson has not said a word. His fingers trace the images in the photo, lightly, caressingly.
“I remember this. It was our last night in Sea Cove,” he finally says. “I was flying out the next morning, meeting up with the guys in Los Angeles. Seven Seconds had just been signed, we were set up to record our first album, and Alex had just been accepted into medical school. We went out to celebrate. As a family.” Looking up, those hazel eyes are fathomless and unreadable, boring into mine. “I’ve never seen this photo before.”
I had the 4x6 photo reframed in a simple, weathered grey wood frame since The Shayla prefers black ones. Rising from my chair, I pad to his side of the table and lean slightly over his shoulder to admire the photograph along with him. It’s hard to miss his intake of breath, faint though it is.
and my own voice is somewhat breathless when I manage to speak. “You all are so happy in this. I hope I don’t sound like a pathetic stalker, but so many times I stopped and admired this photo.” I smile because the four people in this photo are smiling. Their arms are looped around each other, and they are sitting on the restaurant’s open-air deck, the sky behind them aglow in shades of tangerine, fire engine red, and blush pink.
Shoulder to shoulder, Mr. and Mrs. Finch gaze at their handsome, intelligent boys with absolute pride and love shining in their faces. Greyson and Alex are laughing, their eyes connecting with the camera lens. Greyson looks so… young. He didn’t have a care in the world when this photograph was snapped. His parents were together, his brother alive, and he was chasing his ambitions. His dreams were coming true, and he stood on the cusp of more success and adoration than one man could possibly handle.
God, I’m so stupid. How could I not know this photograph might distress him? Have I learned nothing from time spent with this man? Behind the cynical, caustic veneer Greyson Finch shows the world is a sensitive soul no one thought needed help dealing with loss. I’ve just taken a treasured moment in his life and rubbed it in his face, emphasizing everything that has vanished.
I’m sick, my stomach doing long-range dive bombs. The apology for my thoughtlessness is a weak stutter. “I’m-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have assumed you would want it. Not after what you told me about your parents. And because of Alex. I thought you should have it, you know? It’s your family and…”
Greyson sets the frame down, rising from his chair so fast it overturns. The burnished iron clatters on the terrace’s floor in a clatter of noise. I briefly wonder if it cracked the marble.
Hauling me into his embrace, I’m crushed against his chest. His full lips brush my ear, nuzzling into my hair.
“Damn it to hell, Emerson,” he chokes out. “Are you for real right now? Are you? It’s the best gift anyone has ever given me. It’s…goddamn.”
The last word comes out as a whisper. Overwhelming relief floods me, quickly followed by a tide of aching sadness. Somehow, I understand him in a way I never did prior to this moment. Before I second guess my response, my arms come up until I’m holding him back just as tightly. His warm breath caresses my cheek and I shudder.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, goddamn it.” The command is muttered against my neck, right below my ear. One of his hands tangles itself in the length of my ponytail while the other curls around my waist. “Don’t do it, do you understand me?”
Exerting gentle yet unrelenting pressure, Greyson tugs my hair, angling his grip so my head casts to the side, away from his mouth. It leaves my neck exposed. Vulnerable. I half-expect to feel teeth clamping down on the artery there. Instead, his mouth barely grazes my skin. Goosebumps break out on every inch of my body, heat flooding me until I’m drowning in a sea of contradicting sensations.
It’s not just the act of finally coming here. Into his lair, so to speak. I’ve felt myself surrendering to him in ways I did not anticipate. Before, I was simply infatuated with the rockstar. But I am falling in love with the man. There is a world of difference between the two, and I’m still discovering the differences.
“It’s not pity, Greyson.” I swallow hard, swallow down the moan of desire threatening to float up out of me. “It’s sorrow. You’ve lost so much… and you are lost as well.”
Drawing back just enough so our eyes connect, Greyson studies me as if I am a curious puzzle he desperately wants to solve. His gaze is intense and unwavering. Mine surely indicates my arousal and, at the same time, terror that he might recognize me. He pulls my hair a little harder. A whimper of pure sexual pleasure escapes me.
The slightest hint of humor peeks out in the curve of his smile. “But, Feather, I found you, didn’t I? How lost can I be?”
I’m so entranced by his calm sureness I can’t react quickly enough. Lowering his head, Greyson steals the kiss he’s wanted since that morning in my book store. I revel in it, this quick possession full of thunder and lightning. Our mouths melding together is a flash of dazzling bliss then, just as quickly as it began, it’s over.
And I mourn the loss.
