Page 156 of The Holiday Clause
Bottle in hand, Wren exited the kitchen with a slightly haunted expression. “Sorry, I disrupted your sex scene.”
“It’s okay. This actually helped.” She followed her to the door and yelled, “Go forth, my Valkyrie! And remember, if he’s not limping by morning, you probably will be.”
Wren drove home through the darkening harbor streets, Jocelyn’s outrageous advice echoing in her mind as anticipation and nerves warred in her belly.
When she pulled into her driveway, Greyson’s truck already waited in the shadows, headlights cutting through the evening like predatory eyes. Her pulse hammered against her throat asshe spotted his silhouette in the driver’s seat, broad shoulders unmistakable even in the dim light.
The engine shut off.
Her hands trembled as she gripped the steering wheel, watching him emerge from the truck with that confident, purposeful stride that had always made her stomach flutter. Tonight, that flutter had transformed into something deeper, more primal.
Tonight, everything would change.
CHAPTER 23
“From Your Lips, She Drew the Hallelujah”
Short-lived flurries dancedaround Greyson as he stepped out of his truck and waited. He tracked her every movement, his predatory attention to detail making her hesitate. Finally, she shut off the car and opened the door.
He crossed his arms over his chest, as if giving her a chance to change her mind. “Having second thoughts?”
She laughed nervously. “No.”
“You sure?” His gaze dropped to the half-empty bottle of prosecco clutched in her white knuckles. “Tough afternoon?”
“I stopped by Jocelyn’s.”
“Ah.” He drew in a slow breath, never taking his gaze off of her. The scent of cedar and winter air clung to his jacket, mixing with something uniquely masculine that made her pulse quicken. “Do me a favor. Whatever advice she gave you, leave it alone.”
Wren laughed, thinking of some of the more colorful tactics Jocelyn had explained to her over the years. “Are you sure?”
“Very.”
“Okay.” She stepped over Figgy to walk up the steps. “But she told me to ride you like the last warhorse out of Valhalla.” She glanced back at Greyson and laughed at his blank expression.
He climbed the steps and mumbled, “What the hell did you tell her?”
Wren unlocked the door, her hands trembling slightly as the key turned. “That’s sacred information kept strictly between me and my best friend. Do you want some wine?”
“No thanks.”
“Do you mind if I have some?”
“Not at all.”
“Good.” When she pulled a glass down from the cabinet, she confessed, “I’m a little nervous.”
“It’s just me, Wren.”
“That’s why I’m nervous.” Her smile turned shy. “It’s you.”
He took off his coat and hung it next to hers on the wall, the simple domestic gesture somehow intimate in its familiarity. Then he crossed the small den into the kitchen, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. “You have nothing to worry about.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently massaged, his calloused palms rough against her skin through the thin fabric of her sweater. Shivers raced up her spine as he pushed her hair aside to kiss the nape of her neck. Her breath hitched as her nipples tightened under her shirt. Was it already starting?
“Grey…”
“It had to happen this way, Wren, with the two of us.” His voice rumbled against her neck, vibrating every nerve.
