Page 47 of The Bloodfeather Promise
I had an Uber on the way before I even exited his hotel room. At the end of the hall, Conrad the bodyguard gave me a quizzical look as I hurried past. Keeping my head down, I managed to hide my embarrassment. Hiding my scarlet-hued cheeks and smudged makeup.
“Goodbye, miss,” he said, and I could only nod, the lump in my throat strangling all speech. The elevator was already there, thankfully ready and waiting, because God forbid the mighty Greyson Finch should be forced to wait for anything. I kept my back to the hallway as the doors slid shut behind me.
I exited Greyson’s life as quickly as I entered it. It wasn’t until I was halfway to Carly’s parents’ home that I discovered something equally devastating. The topaz bird pendant Grandpop gave me was gone, lost at some point during the night. Devastated, I wiped tears away until the worried driver asked if I was gonna be all right.
By that point, I wasn’t sure if I was crying from losing something so dear to me or because I’d never see Greyson again. I was angry for being upset over him. After all, what did I expect? That we would fall in love and spend the rest of our lives together? Did my heart really believe he would recognize my virginity? That he would swear his undying devotion after taking it?
It opened my eyes, showed me quite clearly the type of man he truly was. It served as the best possible way of ending my infatuation. If the cost of this lesson was a very special piece of jewelry and my innocence, then I had no choice but to pay it. My heart would mend and I’d keep reminding myself this was nothing but a one-night stand. I was nothing more than a novel treat he quickly lost interest in. Nothing more.
Every single alarmbell I possess is exploding in my head right now. This is a dangerous game I play, being so close to Greyson. I weigh the risks and all the rewards, and it’s pathetic that my attempts at distraction are half-hearted at best. When it comes to this man, I am a fool, and no matter how hot, how bright his flame is, I continue flying closer and closer. Eventually, he will incinerate my fragile wings, and I’ll only have myself to blame for my destruction. Iknowhim. I know the danger. I know how this will end. But I can’t help myself, not when he smiles at me, lighting up my insides, making me remember every second we spent together. He’s an addiction. One I thought I kicked a long time ago.
“I’ve never seen the wine cellar in this house…” It’s my second stab at distraction.
Disappointment sparks in his eyes. He does not protest however, just nods his head and concedes defeat with such grace I feel guilty for denying him.
“Let’s start there and work our way up.”
“That sounds fine. I can’t wait to see your studio,” I say meekly.
Taking me by the hand, he leads me to an entrance fashioned to resemble an old dungeon door, complete with iron bars set in a tiny window.
“I had this constructed from old wine barrels I found in France,” Greyson explains, rubbing a hand over the highly varnished grey and tobacco-hued wood. “Had them shipped over, and a craftsman made them onsite during the remodel.”
“It’s so lovely.” I watch as he picks up a ring of keys from a hook beside the door and inserts one into the old-fashioned strike plate. “Is this the only way of getting to the wine cellar?”
“No, there’s another, more conventional entrance from the garage.” Swinging the door open, he replaces the key ring on the hook and motions that I go ahead of him. “I also have an interior elevator that goes directly from the studio up to my bedroom on the third floor.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Completely extravagant and lazy is what you mean.” He grins at me.
“Well, that too,” I agree, letting him re-capture my hand.
The cellar has walls of cool, textured stones that look like they came straight out of a centuries-old castle. Explaining how the stones were shipped in from a quarry in Tennessee, he selects and opens a bottle of Malbec. There are five wine caskets crafted into tables, and after pulling two glass from a lighted cabinet inset in the wall, he pours one for each of us. While this is being done, I notice another glass-fronted cabinet niche containing rows and rows of high-end whiskey and rare scotch blends.
“Do you like scotch?” I ask after sampling the wine he hands me. The bouquet is incredible, like sipping liquid velvet.
“Occasionally. Have you tried it before?”
“My old boyfriend thought he was an expert on it. He wasn’t, but he thought he was. I tried it a few times but didn’t care for it.” I don’t know why I brought up Justin, and mentally, I kick myself.
Greyson’s head cocks, and he studies me for a long moment as I drink my wine. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, especially with the wine cellar’s dim lighting. The iron wall lanterns, flickering with gas flames, and the huge matching chandelier overhead emit a low, warm glow. It’s terribly romantic. Awful for determining someone’s mood.
“Did you date him for long?” he finally asks. His voice is tight with something I can’t quite discern. Surely not jealousy. We do not know each other well enough for that emotion.
“Two years while I was at Belmont.”
Speaking of Justin reminds me of the ugliness marring the last few months of that relationship. It always leaves me feeling a bit nauseous. I guess it shows in my demeanor, in the twist of my lips, because Greyson’s expression softens. He’s doesn’t say anything, but I think his silence is an attempt at crafting the right question. I continue looking about the cellar, taking in all the details until his soft voice drags my gaze back.
“I’d ask what happened, but I probably shouldn’t pry.” Greyson drinks from his glass, eyes never breaking contact with mine. I’m unsure if I want to answer truthfully, but I do wish I’d never mentioned my ex-boyfriend.
“No, it’s okay, really.” Sipping my wine, my gaze skitters away as I move from the niche display.
The bottles of wine that are not displayed in the cabinet, and there must be close to four hundred of them, rest horizontally on racks as high as my shoulder and about twelve feet in length. Arranged in seven rows, they take up the middle portion of the cellar, with each end open and unattached to a wall. This enables a person to cross over to the next corridor of bottles upon reaching the end of a rack.
Traversing that first row, I peruse the vast selection of wine while Greyson matches my steps on the opposite side. The rack serves as a barrier between our bodies. “Justin and I had a difference of opinions. He believed I should sleep with him, and I disagreed.” I don’t meet his eyes as I relate the details of my break-up with Justin. “He blamed my refusal for our break-up, but I believe finding him in bed with another girl ruined the relationship. That and his abusive behavior. He was very frustrated when I wouldn’t move to the next level with him. So, he found someone who would.”
An odd noise escapes Greyson, one that seems pulled from his throat. Looking up, I see his features have hardened into stone. An involuntary shiver passes through me. His unforgiving stare and those glittering eyes of his threaten the exposure of all my secrets, including the ones involving him.
