Grayson's Vow(20)

"Privilege isn't only defined by material wealth, Kira. I grew up in a fine home with lots of hired help, but I can assure you, I never lived a life of privilege. For all intents and purposes, I never had any parents at all."

She tilted her head, confusion filling her expression. "What does that mean, Grayson?"

I shook my head. "The specifics of my family dynamics don't matter. Suffice it to say, I'm used to hard work, and I won't let a dollar of the money you're so generously offering me go to waste. In fact, I'm considering the money you're giving me a loan. Once the vineyard is bringing in a profit, I'll pay you back."

She was quiet for a moment. Finally, she simply nodded. "We don't need to put that in the paperwork, but should you choose . . ." She waved her hand in the air as if I could do as I pleased on that front. Interesting. I wasn't sure what to think of her response.

When we walked through the upstairs corridor, Kira stopped at the picture of my father and stepmother. "They've both passed?" she asked softly, glancing back at me.

I shook my head. "Only my father. My stepmother lives in San Francisco."

She turned slowly toward me. "Does she have no interest in helping with the vineyard her husband loved? Or does she not have the financial means—?"

"She has plenty of money. My father left this vineyard to me. I won't ask my stepmother for a dime of the money my father left her. We have no relationship and we never have." I should have to tolerate you when your own mother couldn't even be bothered? she'd asked me when I was twelve. I could still hear the cold words echoing through my head. "I'd rather . . . well, I'd rather marry a stranger for money before going to her for a loan." I gave her a wry smile, but she didn't smile back. "Anyway, the vow I've made is to my father. It's for me to fulfill."

She looked at me, tilting her head. "I understand vows, Grayson. I've made them, too. I've vowed never again to depend upon my father." She turned back to the photo and looked at it for another long minute.

"You must favor your mother," she said, obviously noticing my father's very light coloring.

"Yes, to everyone's dismay," I said. She glanced at me, but didn't question that cryptic remark. I wasn't sure why I'd made it. I hardly wanted her questioning anything about my life.

She looked back to the wall of pictures, leaning closer to a photo. I studied her profile, the straight slope of her small nose, the gentle curve of her jaw, the feathery curl of her lashes, that long, silken hair falling around her face and down her back. "You have a brother," she said, looking at the picture of Shane and me.

"Yes."

"Does he live nearby?"

"No, he lives in San Diego."

"Are you close?"

"I haven't spoken to my brother in over five years."

She turned to me again. "Oh, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," I said, my voice clipped as I led her away before she could ask any more intrusive questions. I was already feeling very uncomfortable with this tour. And I couldn't blame her—it had been my own idea.

"Well, I'll leave you with Charlotte. She'll get you settled into a room. I'm going out," I said dismissively once we'd descended the stairs.

She looked confused for a second. "Yes, okay, well, thanks. Have a good night."

I nodded curtly and started to walk away, narrowing my eyes when I heard her humming. I turned back and walked toward her. "Are you humming 'Puff The Magic Dragon'?"

Her eyes blinked, looking big and innocent. A clear act. "Is that what that song is? I never knew the name, or who exactly lived in Honali, just the tune mostly." She shrugged.

I glared down at her for several long moments. She held eye contact with me, that little chin tipped up. The air buzzed, pinpricks of awareness hitting my skin. Finally—finished with her little game—I turned away again, leaving her standing alone in my front foyer.





CHAPTER FIVE




Kira



God, that dragon ran hot and cold. As reptiles tended to do, I supposed. I almost preferred the fire he shot at me to the icy act he put on when he was finished with a certain topic of conversation, or when he looked at me with frigid disdain. I wasn’t precisely sure how I knew the iciness was an act, but I did. Deep down, he was all dragon. Barely contained heat . . . and probably passion, too. I shivered. I would not think of Grayson Hawthorn in those terms. I would only get burned. He had spelled it out for me himself. I was not his "type," whatever that might be.

I took a deep breath, my eyes lingering on the words carved ornately into the stone above the doorway: In Vino Veritas. I'd have to look that up. I went back to the kitchen where I found Charlotte still wiping down the counters. She looked up and offered me a smile—a much warmer greeting than she'd given me earlier tonight.