The Spy Who Came For Christmas(11)

He licked his lips. His gaze had heated and all of a sudden, her heart was sure beating fast. She looked at the couch and remembered being on it, with him. Having his body pressed to hers. Feeling his mouth against hers.

He strode toward her. She almost backed away, but at the last moment, Jemma stiffened her spine. She met his stare and there was no missing the desire in his golden gaze.

“If you need me,” Grayson told her. “I’ll be right here for you.”

I think I do need you. But I’m not ready. Not yet.

Jemma nodded. Then she turned and hurried into her bedroom. She didn’t look back.

She did lock the bedroom door. And then she leaned against it.

Holy hell.

***

The Christmas tree lights were twinkling. Grayson lay on the couch, his eyes on that tree. When had he last put up a Christmas tree? Before his parents had died? When he’d been a teen? A kid?

Thirteen. I was thirteen the last time I had a Christmas tree. Because his parents had been killed in a boating accident the following spring. He’d gone to live with his grandfather, a tough ex-sailor who hadn’t much cared for decorations and celebrations. Oh, he’d been a good man, no doubt. Fair and hard and with a rigid sense of right and wrong but…

We exchanged presents on Christmas. Had a nice meal. Not like it was some kind of sob story. Only there had been no tree. No silly stockings like Jemma had hanging near her mantel. No little reindeer hiding in all the corners. And no big, overstuffed Santa Clauses perched on shelves.

This whole house—it just felt like Christmas. It…

Had magic?

No, no, there was no magic. Total bullshit.

But…

His gaze drifted up the tree and then, slowly, his stare turned toward the hallway. If I could have anything I wanted for Christmas…

I would want her.





Chapter Five


When he woke up, he smelled bacon. Eggs. Cinnamon rolls? And…

Chocolate. Dear God, the delicious chocolate.

Grayson nearly bounded off the couch and then he stared at the kitchen in amazement. Jemma was in there—already up and dressed and she’d made breakfast. And he hadn’t heard her. “How the hell did you do that?” he demanded.

Jemma—holding a plate of chocolate chip muffins—froze. “Do what?” Then she looked at the muffins and smiled. “Oh? These? Really easy. You just put the chocolate chips in the muffin mix and pop them in the oven.” Her smile dimmed a bit when he remained silent. “I made a lot of different things, hoping there would be something you liked—”

He liked her. Grayson hurried toward her. He’d ditched his shirt but he still had on his jeans. They hung low on his hips. “You didn’t wake me.”

“Well, no, I thought you might want to sleep.” Her gaze darted to the clock and she winced. “Though it isn’t even six yet. I’m sorry—I just go to the chocolate shop early most days.”

He took the plate from her. “You didn’t wake me.” He was having a hard time getting past that. He was the lightest sleeper in the world. He’d had to be. When your life was always in danger, you learned to pretty much sleep with one eye open. The slightest rustle normally woke him. But Jemma had been able to cook that feast? Just feet away and he’d been snoring the whole time?

Her smile flashed again, lighting up her blue eyes even more. “You were cute when you were sleeping. Less scary tough and more…cuddly?”

She had not just said that.

“You were seriously cuddling that pillow,” Jemma added.

And…he laughed. The laughter spilled out of him and it was real. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed like that. Laughed and slept easily and woken up to chocolate muffins.

Woken up to an angel like Jemma.

She was still smiling at him. His chest ached as he stared at her and slowly, his laughter faded.

He couldn’t look away from her. Couldn’t stop staring into her eyes and as he gazed at her—Oh, hell, I am in trouble. The worst kind of trouble possible.

“Jemma…” Her name broke from him as a growl.

She stepped toward him and he saw the flash of need on her face. This connection—this wild desire—they both felt it. Unnatural, too strong—yeah, yeah, he got all of that. And he didn’t care. I want Jemma. Right there on her f*cking kitchen table. Right—

Someone was pounding at the door. No. Absolutely not. No. His fingers were already up and he was ready to touch her skin. To kiss her.

But Jemma slipped around him and hurried to the door.

“Jemma, wait!”

He got to the door seconds behind her. He peeked out her window and saw the sheriff’s car waiting outside. Brad—there that early?

Jemma had peeked out and seen Brad, too. She turned off her alarm and opened her door. Brad stood there, looking tired and grim. “Found the truck,” he said. His gaze darted between Jemma and Grayson and the slight tightening of his mouth told Grayson the guy didn’t like what he saw. Too bad.

“Where was it? Who took it?” Jemma asked.

“As to where…it was sent off the side of the mountain, about fifteen miles away. Twisted chunks of metal—that’s all that’s left of it now.”

Jemma backed up and her shoulder pushed into Grayson’s chest. “The driver—was he killed?”