Growing up a Storm meant growing up with the legend. It had begun with his father, who swore he’d known the second he met their mother, the moment their hands touched, that she was his.
Grayson had always believed the story, because he had eyes. He could see how utterly in love his parents were.
Then the same thing happened to three of his brothers, all of them swearing that they’d been flattened by a single touch and impossible certainty.
He suspected the concept of love at first touch must sound insane to those on the outside looking in, but Grayson never doubted it was true. Anyone with eyes could see Theo, Levi, and Maverick were absolutely wrecked for their women. Hell, Boone wasn’t even a Storm, but within a month of living on the farm and working in the vineyard, he’d been claimed by the legend as well, falling head over heels for Mila.
Hadn’t Grayson just spent the last couple of months watching Ella twist his stubborn bachelor of a brother, Maverick, into knots? The whole reason he’d had to work this festival was because his “never getting married” brother was determined to have his woman wed to him before the year was out.
For most of his adult life, however, Grayson hadn’t assumed the same thing would happen to him. He was too much of a realist for that kind of cosmic lightning-strike bullshit. Too practical and grounded. So, despite believing in the legend, he always figured he’d meet a girl the normal way. That he would date someone for a time, fall in love the usual way—over months or years, instead of in a split second—build something steady, and then he’d get married. He’d seen nothing wrong with that route.
Except for the fact that he always—ALWAYS—picked the wrong woman. Not only had he given up on his practical search for the one, but he’d also stopped trusting in the legend. Not feeling anything when he touched women in the past could have been his early warning system, if he hadn’t been so damn stubborn, trying to force square pegs into round holes.
Until Lark.
The instant she was in his arms, something inside him had locked into place with terrifying finality, and he’d known.
Not suspected.
Known.
She was the one.
Even as his gut screamed that this had to be some kind of mistake, his heart knew it with absolute certainty.
Not hope. Not infatuation.
Just…yeah…certainty.
He tightened his arm around her waist before he could stop himself, and Lark made a soft, sleepy sound, burrowing even closer against him. That tiny movement nearly fucking destroyed him.
Mine.
The word struck hard and fast and fierce, and possessive enough to wake some hidden part of him that was all alpha, all chest-beating Tarzan. Every cell in his body recognized her in that instant before his brain could catch up.
Lark stirred again, but this time, her lashes fluttered before she opened her eyes slowly. There was enough light in the room that he could see awareness creep over her face, along with a blush. Until this weekend, he would have sworn Lark McCoy wasn’t capable of embarrassment. She was too sharp-witted, too confident, too fearless.
Now, he was discovering there were layers to her he’d never seen before, and they called to him in ways he didn’t understand. Not that he was going to overthink or resist them.
Reluctantly, he loosened his arm from around her waist, even though letting go of her felt all kinds of wrong. “Sorry. Not sure what happened to the pillow wall.”
She bit her lower lip before admitting, “I moved it.”
He wasn’t sure what to make of that response, but he sure as hell liked it. His heart kicked against his ribs. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t.”
“You just couldn’t resist curling up to all of this, could you?” he teased, flexing one arm, his attempt at flirting rusty as hell.
“So cocky,” she replied with a playful grin.
She didn’t have a clue, he thought, grateful the lower part of the bed was cast in dark shadows that hid his current fully erect state.
Her gaze briefly dropped to his chest as she only now seemed to realize she was touching him. She lifted her hand. “I’m…restless tonight.”
He smirked. “Lark, you’re restless all the time.”
Grayson was relieved when she laughed rather than taking offense. The sound slid through him, warm and easy.
