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He nodded, still not speaking. It was unnerving. She usually wished he would shut up, and now he wasn’t saying a thing. Suddenly, she felt nervous.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as a joke. “Are you upset or something?”

His eyes met hers, flashing with hurt. Suddenly, Lucy felt bad. Her habit of reaching for levity in tense situations was clearly not good for this one.

Still, he wouldn’t speak.

“Why are you here?” she asked, genuinely curious and hoping for some honesty. It had been two weeks now since he had arrived. Grayson furrowed his brows, confused.

“I told you,” he said, finally finding his voice. “I’m here for Charles.”

“If you’re here for him, why don’t I see you trying?” she asked. “You were silent through dinner, and you didn’t let him help cook. It’s like you want nothing to do with him.”

Grayson’s face fell. He shook his head. “Charles is injured,” he said, voice defensive. “I’m only trying to make things easy for him. I don’t see how making him cook dinner will do anything to improve his health when I’m perfectly capable of doing it on my own.”

Lucy shook her head. “You think you’re being practical, but you’re only being cold.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Grayson scoffed. “Everything is so easy for you.”

“Easy?” she repeated, balking. “It’s not easy; it’s the result of hard work. Years of it! You don’t get to waltz in here and expect everyone to fall at your feet after five seconds just because you’re his blood.”

His jaw dropped. “I don’t expect that. But I do expect to have a fair chance, something you don’t seem intent on giving me. There’s no room for me!”

Lucy paused. Maybe things were more complicated than she had initially imagined. This clearly wasn’t easy for Grayson—none of it.

Grayson took in a deep breath, stepping toward her.

“I do have a heart, you know,” he said, voice gentle and sad. He reached for her hand, taking it and lifting it to his chest, where she felt his heart beating against her palm.

His touch was warm over hers as he pressed her hand, holding on to her.

Heat spread through her, and her breath hitched. She felt stuck in place, as if held there by a spell.

The house was quiet around them, the lights low.

Eyes wide, she felt disarmed, stripped of her defenses. His gaze open and soft, he stepped closer.

His lids lowered as his gaze dropped to her mouth. She glanced at his lips, how soft they looked, perfect to sink her teeth into and tug.

They were so close, breathing the same air. She recalled the feel of his body over hers, the solid weight of him right where she ached.

She felt lightheaded. She swayed a little, but he held on to her hand, anchoring her.

“Lucy,” he whispered.

She jolted. Nerves beat through her, and she didn’t think. “Bye!” she blurted out, pulling away. Throwing open the door, she ran outside. The night air was frigid, biting her flushed cheeks, and she inhaled deep breaths as she went to her car.

She had no idea what that had been. They hated each other.

So why did she want to run back and crush his lips to hers?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Lucy

Lucy wondered if Grayson felt the same pull toward her, but the next day at work, he was back to his grumpy, unpleasant self. In fact, he was downright rude, making ceaseless, unnecessary commentary, driving her up an absolute wall.

Perhaps she had imagined the softness in his eyes, after all.