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“If I ever catch wind of you treating her with anything less than the respect she deserves, I'll make life hell for you. And that’s a promise.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line; even Roger Blake, titan of industry, seemed to sense he'd met his match. I pulled in a shaky breath, my fingers trembling. Never in my life had anyone dared confront my father for me, least of all someone as imposing as Gray Anderson.
“Are we clear?” Gray demanded, and there was a sharp intake of breath from the speakerphone—a capitulation if I ever heard one.
“Crystal,” came the begrudging reply.
Without another word, Gray ended the call, his thumb tapping the screen with a decisiveness that left no room for doubt. He didn’t turn to face me right away, and in that silence, something shifted within me.
I looked at him, really looked, and saw the lines of concern etched into his rugged features, the protective set of his shoulders. This man, who scoffed at hashtags and couldn't stand the chirp of a smartphone notification, had just declared himself my knight in weathered denim armor.
“Gray,” I began, my voice a hushed whisper, but he held up a hand, cutting me off.
“Nobody gets to make you feel small, Eryn. Especially not your own blood. Not someone who’s supposed to protect you.” His words were firm, but there was a gentleness there too, a fierce kind of caring that I didn't know he was capable of.
A warmth bloomed in my chest. He was my polar opposite in so many ways. And yet, he'd just become my fiercest advocate, my protector against the one man who'd always been able to tear me down.
“Thank you,” I managed to say, though it felt wholly inadequate for the swell of emotions coursing through me.
Gray finally turned to me, a softness in those intense blue eyes that I've never seen before. It's like seeing the sun break through storm clouds, a revelation that touched something deep within me.
The silence in the room was deafening. His broad shoulders blocked out the light from the window behind him, casting a shadow that felt like shelter. I was caught in his gaze, those blue eyes that reminding me of the summer sky just before dusk—endless and deep.
“Gray,” I started, my voice barely above a whisper, but he cut me off with a gesture so gentle it might as well have been a caress.
“Shhh,” he murmured, his knuckles brushing lightly against the curve of my jaw. The roughness of his skin contrasted with the tenderness of the act, sending a shiver down my spine.
I blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over, an emotional cocktail of relief, warmth, and a vulnerability I wasn’t used to showing. My eyelashes fluttered, catching a tear before it could fall—a stubborn attempt at holding myself together.
“Look at me, Eryn.” His voice was soft, yet there's an unspoken command in it that compelled me to obey.
I tried, really I did, but my gaze slipped down, away from the intensity in his eyes. “I've never . . .” My confession trailed off, choked by the lump forming in my throat. “I've always been too scared to stand up to him. To my own father.” The words tasted bitter, flavored with years of doubt and old disappointments.
“It's like no matter what I do, I'll never be good enough for him.” The admission hung between us, a fragile truth that I've never dared voice aloud.
Gray's expression hardened for a split second, like a thunderclap on a clear day, before it softened again. He didn't say a word, but everything I needed to hear was written in the lines of his face—the promise of protection, the silent vow that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt me, least of all my father.
In that moment, I felt something shift inside me. In the presence of this gruff rancher who valued actions over words, who saw through the filters and facades to the heart of things, I began to believe that maybe I was enough, just as I am.
* * *
“Come with me,” Gray whispered, his voice rough like the gravel roads winding outside his ranch. His breath was warm against my lips, a stark contrast to the chill of uncertainty that had seized me moments before.
I nodded, wordless, as he tugged gently on my hand. The urgency in his grip sent a thrill spiraling through me, our footsteps hastening as we exited the sanctuary of the study. With each step, my heart thumped louder, echoing the rhythm of our boots against the hardwood floors.
We reached the door to his bedroom, and he pushed it open, the room awash in the soft glow of the afternoon. As we crossed the threshold, the air seemed to thicken with desire. Gray's hands found the hem of my dress, lifting it gently over my head. The fabric whispered along my skin as it fell to the floor, leaving me exposed to his blue-eyed gaze that felt like it saw right through me.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, and the word was not just a compliment, but a caress in itself. His fingers trailed down my arms, sending shivers cascading through me. He made me feel seen, truly seen—not as Eryn Blake, the influencer or the billionaire's daughter, but as the woman who stood before him, vulnerable and wanting.
“Listen to me, Eryn,” he said, his voice threading through the tension like a melody. He took my arm in his hand and kissed his way up it with each word he spoke.
“You're more than good enough. You've got talent that can't be taught, intelligence that's as clear as day, and the kind of drive that moves mountains. Don't you ever doubt that.”
When he reached my shoulder, he straightened, taking my face in between his hands and kissing me deeply. Showing me with words, and now with his actions, how much I meant to him.
His touch was reverent as his hands wound down to my back to unhook my bra, his movements deliberate and unhurried. There's no rush this time, no need to hurry the exploration we were embarking upon. The straps slid off my shoulders, and I felt the cool air kiss my skin, my nipples pebbling, my body tingling with anticipation.
Then it was my turn, my fingers working the buttons on his flannel shirt, revealing the muscled landscape of his chest. My hands roamed over him, tracing the hard lines of his physique, committing every inch to memory.
