The warm shower soothed my muscles if not my heart and when I got out, I felt a little more alive. I partially dried my hair, and then stuck it up in a knot on top of my head that was sure to fall out. My grandmother had always said my hair was as fiery and unmanageable as I was. But she'd said it with so much love in her voice, I couldn't help but hear it as a compliment. God, how I missed her, even after all the years she'd been gone. The absence of her unconditional love was still a painful wound.
Just as I was pulling clean clothes out of my suitcase, my cell phone rang. Kimberly, I was sure. But when I looked at the screen, it was a local number I didn't recognize. My heartbeat stalled and then sped up in my chest as I ran my finger across the screen.
"Hello," I answered breathlessly.
A deep voice returned my greeting, no warmth in it at all. "It's Grayson."
"Oh." I feigned nonchalance as I collapsed on the bed in my towel. "How can I help you?"
"What room are you in?"
"Room?"
"Hotel room. Motel 6, right? Solano Avenue?"
"Uh, yes. But—"
"What room?" he repeated.
"Two eleven. What time will you . . . hello?" Did he just hang up on me? What the—
Three swift knocks sounded at my door and I let out a startled squeak, dropping my phone on the bed and jumping to my feet. "Hold on!" I demanded, rushing to my suitcase and hurriedly pulling on a bra and underwear. The knocking resumed.
"Hold ON!" I yelled again. Of all the rude . . . dragons!
I pulled the dress I'd worn this morning over my head and buckled the belt before I pulled the door open. Grayson Hawthorn filled the doorway, wearing the same thing he'd been wearing earlier—a pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt that stretched nicely over his lean, but obviously well-muscled chest. His masculinity hit me in the gut. He smelled like he did that morning too—some sort of fresh, manly smelling soap. But now there was the slight addition of a salty tinge of sweat. I leaned forward, drawn to the masculine scent of him, but then suddenly realized what I was doing. Crossing my arms, I stepped back. "This is highly unprofessional. You should have given me some warning you were on your way."
Grayson stepped into the room, taking his time looking around. His eyes stopped for a second on my Louis Vuitton luggage before he finally made eye contact. "I wasn't sure I was coming until about fifteen minutes ago."
"I see. Well, would you like to go downstairs? We could get coffee—"
"This is fine. I won't stay long. I've gotta get back to work."
I glanced around my room at the unmade bed, the clothes strewn about. I dragged the chair from the desk forward and then sat down on the upholstered bench at the end of the bed. Grayson sat down on the chair. "I've been considering your offer. Before we go any further, I'd like to meet with the executor of the trust to make sure the money will be paid out as you said it will, upon our marriage or shortly afterward."
I nodded, my heart rate accelerating. "Of course. I understand."
Grayson gave one succinct nod. "And if everything looks fine there, we'll need to have a prenuptial agreement drawn up, stating the financial terms of our marriage."
"Obviously."
"No matter what happens financially in the next year when we're married, no finances or property will be split in any way, shape, or form."
"No, of course."
His expression remained enigmatic. "Once I meet with your executor, I'm going to have to trust that upon the payout, you'll actually give me half of it."
I frowned. "That would be our deal." A piece of hair fell out of my knot and I tried to tuck it back up. Grayson's eyes followed my hand and then lingered there as the lock slipped loose again.
"Yes, but Kira," he said almost distractedly before looking back to my eyes. He leaned forward, his gaze steady and alert now. "I don't know you. For all I know, we get married, then you get the check and take off for Brazil. Trusting you in any respect would be an act of faith on my part."
I bristled. "I would never do that."
"So you say. I've found that people say what suits them in the moment. Doesn't always mean it can be counted on."
Yes, I knew what he meant. I took a deep breath and nodded my head. "I . . . realize that. But, I intend on keeping my word."
He regarded me for one heartbeat . . . two, before he looked away. "I'll agree to you living at Hawthorn Vineyard for two months. That should be enough time to notify your father of our marriage and for you to find a place of your own with your share of the money. If there's an issue with your father, we can renegotiate the timeframe. There's an old gardener's cottage on my property that you can live in. It's small and doesn't offer many luxuries, but it has a bed and running water." He eyed me in some way I couldn’t read.