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And the worst thing? I’ll be the center of another scandal. Only this time, I’ll be taking Grayson down with me. That’s the last thing I want to do.
He deserves better than my disastrous self.
We successfully make it outside, without anyone interrupting our escape. The cold December breeze has my teeth chattering, and I wrap my arms around my waist. My wet gown is starting to turn into an icicle around my body.
Grayson digs his hand into his pocket, taking his car keys out. “W-wait. My dress is wet,” I tell him, my lips numb from the cold. I can barely speak. “I don’t want to ruin y-your c-car seat.”
Grayson doesn’t seem to be listening to me. He unlocks his car and opens the passenger door. My protest dies on my lips when his hands curl around my hips and he easily hoists me into his vehicle, as if I weigh nothing.
Did he just manhandle me?
I blink as he closes the door and jogs around to the other side of the car. He gets into the driver’s side and starts the engine. A few seconds later, a blast of heat fills the car and I practically whimper in response.
I melt into the leather seat as the numbness slowly fades from my chilly bones. Okay, I guess I don’t mind Grayson manhandling me.
The car ride to my house is quiet. I study Grayson’s profile, my gaze lingering longer on his full lips. For a brief moment, I envision him kissing me. His full lips on mine, tasting and kissing me in the ways I crave to be touched.
The images of us kissing turns into more. His body over mine, his hands touching and teasing me, his lips exploring my sensitive skin. I squeeze my thighs together when my imagination sends tingles shooting through my veins. My core pulses, and my whole body flushes at my dirty thoughts.
Oh God, what’s wrong with me?
When he pulls into my driveaway, I don’t get out of the car right away. Indecisiveness claws at me. I don’t want us to go our separate ways like this.
If I go inside my house now, and he leaves…the night comes to end, just like that. This moment between us, whatever is, will come to an end. The thought of it leaves a hollow feeling inside me, an emptiness that I despise.
What about his confession?
What about the things I want to say to him?
What about the unsaid words between us?
I don’t want this moment to end and for him to leave just like that. I want more of Grayson. I want to learn his secrets, to know his deepest desires; I want to see if my gut feeling is right about him, about us.
“Why don’t you come inside?” I ask him, biting on my lip at the bold proposition. “I can put your clothes in the dryer. It won’t even take an hour. Because the longer you stay in that wet suit, the quicker you’ll catch a cold.”
Grayson is thoughtful. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
Yes, damn you. Why does he have to be such a perfect fucking gentleman? It only makes me want him more. His sweetness, his tenderness, his warmth — I want more of all of it. I want everything.
Because that’s exactly what I’ve been yearning for…
I’m only just now realizing it.
My life has been hollow, for what feels like an eternity of coldness. I’ve somehow become detached from emotions, from the idea of love, of wanting someone. Of what it’s like to desire and to be desired. Somewhere along the line, I lost my passion for life.
I’ve lost the meaning of what it means to live. And Grayson, he ignites something in me. An inferno of emotions I can’t possibly describe.
The way he makes me feel? That’s what I’ve been yearning for, what my heart’s been longing to have.
“You said you’ll help me find the gift of my patience.” I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palm. Anxiety makes my chest heavy and my breathing comes out in short, frantic pants. What if he refuses my proposition? Because if he does…I might just actually dig a hole and bury myself in it. Forever. “I’m just giving you a chance to be helpful, since that’s what you promised.”
As his response, he opens his door and steps out of the car first. He then rounds it and comes over to my side, opening my door for me. He stretches his arm out, giving me his hand to take. Ever the gentleman.
I take his hand, and he helps me out of the door. My gown, heavy and still wet, pools at my feet as I put in the password for the automatic gates. It creaks open, and I lead him through the opening. The spacious front lawn is neatly kept, with the grass freshly cut. A dust of snow covers the pine trees, giving it the best wintry look. We rarely ever get a white Christmas. It snows on average only two days in December in New York, and we were lucky this morning to get some heavy flurries as the temperature starts dropping even more.
I lift the hem of my gown, my heels clicking against the stony path to the door. The house is quiet and dark when I unlock it, and we walk inside. Miss Miller, our housekeeper, already left for the night. This means, it’s only Grayson and me, in this big house. Alone.
Just the two of us.
