But the deep groove between his brows reveals his disbelief. He feathers my dampened hair away from my eyes, his finger tracing the tear track. I hold his gaze, trying to read his thoughts. He says nothing as he presses his lips tenderly to my temple.
The action is so vulnerable, baring his wonder at my emotional state, that I’m awed by his perception. I desperately try to bank my introspective anxieties and place my palm to his cheek, questioning whether this sudden insight is true connection, or curated sentiment.
“What do you feel?” I ask him.
His glacial blue eyes flick over my face. “Fascinated.”
It’s an honest answer. Most men would either downplay the moment, terrified, or overblow it, seeped in insecurities. Grayson can’t experience the emotional pull, but he’s aware of it—he knows it exists between us.
I let my hand drift to his back, run my fingers over the tattooed keyhole between his shoulder blades, tracing the patterns and numbers. I’m fascinated by him, too. I was the first moment I saw him.
I skim my nails through his hair, feeling the scars that are now hidden. “How did it happen?” The question slips out, thoughtless.
And just as quickly, Grayson’s open expression shutters. Iread the pain behind his eyes before he shifts his gaze to the wall clock. “That’s another session, doc.”
Then his comforting weight is gone. He grabs the T-shirt from the floor and offers it to me. I use it to drape myself as I head to the office bathroom, snatching my blouse along the way. When I reemerge, Grayson is again dressed in the security uniform and standing in front of the filing cabinet.
A thought flickers through my mind; a question of whether this is the first time Grayson sneaked into my office.
Doubt is a terrible affliction.
“Is there something you need?” I ask as I gather my skirt and underwear from their discarded location. I finish dressing, forcefully pushing doubts aside.
“Yes, I need you inside Nelson’s head,” he says, his accented voice still rough from before as he turns to face me. “You’re already close to him. I can handle Foster.”
“Fine, but I should go.” I check my phone. “If agents are watching, anything longer than two hours is questionable.”
Grayson inclines his head, watching me closely. He stalks toward me, the darkened office concealing his features until he’s right before me. “Stay close to him, but if he gives you any proof that he’s the copycat and that he’s becoming unhinged, leave, London. Get far away.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I know you can, love. I’m not worried about you handling yourself.” He takes the phone from me and sets it aside on the desk. “I’m worried about what I’ll do.”
I squint up at him. I hadn’t considered Grayson’s reaction to a threat against me personally. He’s never confronted something like this, for a person he cares for. If Nelson hurt me…what would Grayson be capable of? What would that do to him?
“I understand,” I tell him sincerely.
He grasps my neck, his thumb searching out the pulse of myheartbeat. “Sometimes the past is just the past, London. It doesn’t have any bearing on us now.”
This is in response to my question earlier, and my distant behavior now. Grayson may only be able to mimic emotions, to blend into society, but that intense study into it makes him a master at deciphering others’ emotions.
But I’ve invested countless hours into the study, also. I know that what I glimpsed in the therapy room signifies importance—some tie to his past that he’s desperate to sever.
For now, I nod against his hand, then move into his arms, savoring the last seconds I have with him.
We all have secrets, and I can’t judge too harshly. I’m keeping certain truths from him. Some variations on our trap, and my research into his past. I’ve made a decision that could crumble our already unstable foundation.
As his significant other, my actions are considered a betrayal. As his psychologist, that betrayal is far more offensive. This could do irrevocable damage not only to him—but tous.
Yet if he won’t give me the answers, I now know where I need to go to find them.
To his homeland. To the one woman who gave Grayson this dark life.
His mother.
13
RUSSIAN ROULETTE
