Sinful Ever After (Romance Collection)

by Vivian Wood

  I shiver as the air conditioning hits me. I can feel goosebumps rise on both of my arms.

  Looking around, I’m unimpressed by the pro shop. To my left there is a water cooler and a couple of folding chairs. To my right, there is a plush massage table with a young man sitting on it. He’s looking at a book, but he quickly puts it aside and pushes off the table when I come in.

  Then I see that it’s not just any young man.

  It’s Grayson.

  I’ve admired him from afar and my friends have giggled about him, but I’ve never been so close to him. With no one else around, it feels a little bit naughty to be here, even though my purpose is legitimate.

  Grayson is a few years older than me and drop dead gorgeous to boot. Too-long dark hair, the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, and he’s so damn tall that I feel like a child gazing up at him. He looks me up and down, zeroing in on my knee.

  “Hey.” His expression turns concerned, those brows furrowing in a way that I find just devastatingly handsome. “Seems like you’re looking for some first aid.”

  “Hey.” I turn scarlet. Talking to Grayson is even more embarrassing than I could have thought. “I hurt myself after a lesson with Jared. He said I should come over here.”

  One corner of his mouth kicks up in a grin. My heart skitters to a halt, on the edge of a high cliff. “I see. Well…” He motions to the table he just slid off of. “Come sit. I’ll grab the first aid kit.”

  Remembering to exhale, I lean my tennis racket up against the wall. Then I walk over to the padded massage table and hop up. My eyes go to Grayson. He’s bending over, getting the first aid kit out of a low cabinet. I can’t help but look at his butt, which makes my face heat again.

  Almost everything makes me embarrassed nowadays but I’m triply embarrassed to be ogling this guy I don’t even know. Even if his white polo shows off his biceps and he wears dark shorts that show his toned, athletic thighs.

  I don’t remember my grandmother well, but one thing she used to say stuck with me. Staring is impolite.

  I jerk my eyes away as he comes back toward the table, a white first aid kit in tow. He cracks it open beside me, glancing at me. As he does, his hand brushes my thigh, burning me like he is pure molten steel. My cheeks go red and I honestly worry about my body bursting into flames.

  He glances at me as he sorts through the supplies. “I’m Grayson, by the way.”

  My face burns all the redder. His gaze makes me feel alert, as if every single hair on my body is turned toward him. An overreaction on the part of my body, sure. But that doesn’t make me feel it any less.

  “I’m Rachel.”

  He picks up a wad of cotton and looks at my wound. “I know who you are.”

  His words make me short of breath. “You do?”

  He doesn’t answer, at least not right away. Instead, he kneels down and indicates my leg. “May I?”

  I can only manage to nod. There is a big lump of twisted emotion and nerves balled up in my throat. Grayson begins to sop up the lazy trail of blood, starting with my shoe.

  “My boss pointed your family out on the first day I started here. He said that the Blacks run this club.”

  He grabs my ankle, turning it deftly as he wipes the blood off. His fingers are warm and strong, leaving impressions that I can’t possibly forget. Thinking that makes me blush, though I’m not sure why.

  “I see,” is all I can think to say.

  He stops cleaning and looks up into my eyes. I’m lost for a second in the color of his eyes, a brilliant blue. My family took a trip to Hawaii earlier this year, and the blue of his eyes reminds me of the restless blue ocean I saw there.

  “My boss told me to do whatever I can do to make sure your family is comfortable at all times,” he says slowly. His gaze is steady on my face. “He said that you people can buy and sell guys like me a million times over.”

  Lost in those swirls of blue, I am superheating. What was he saying to me?

  Something about comfort, I think. Or how my family has too much money. I lift my hand to my scalding hot cheek.

  “My dad, maybe. Not me,” I answer lamely.

  He smiles again. My heart feels like it’s swelling, like it’s a balloon ready to pop. What is he doing to me, exactly?

  His touch is gentle but it makes me feel… restless. And looking into his eyes is like diving into a deep blue pool. I could splash around in them, do a backstroke, stay pinned right here forever.

  Luckily, he breaks his gaze to look back down. He resumes cleaning my leg, swiping the cotton up my shin. “That’s good to know, I guess.”

  I can’t look at him and not burst into flames. And I can’t look at my injury, so I look up instead. “How long have you worked here, Grayson?”

  “I started about a month ago.” He touches my knee experimentally. It burns. I wince. “I’m afraid this is going to hurt a bit.”

  “Just… keep talking to me.”

  He dabs at the wound on my knee, making me flinch. Still, his hands are steady. That calms me a bit. I distract myself from the pain he’s causing by focusing instead on his hands, especially how they interact with my skin.

  They are hot, their placement firm and knowledgeable. Every time he moves them, he always seems to already know where he plans to touch me next.

  There is something about that, something about how he knows, that makes me yearn, even though I don’t know what I’m wishing for.

  “Alright. How old are you?” he asks. His voice has a low timbre that makes me shake when I think about it.

  He dabs at my knee again. It stings and I wince again. “Fifteen. Well, almost fifteen. How old are you?”

  A smile curves his lips. “I’m about to turn eighteen. I’m spending my summer working here, waiting until my eighteenth birthday.”

  “So we are…” I do the math. “Three years apart. What are you waiting for?”

  I feel his eyes on me and shiver a little. He smiles.

  “I’m enlisting on my eighteenth birthday. Joining the Navy. I want to be a Navy SEAL.”

  “Oh.” I can’t think what else to say. I just absorb the information.

  He clears his throat. “Have you always been a member of this club?”

  I shrug, my head still tilted up. “Since I can remember.” I pause, the gears turning in my head. He is awfully cute. It’s almost painful to look at him, honestly. “Tell me about the book you are reading.”

  He puts the cotton down and picks up a brown bottle. “It’s called Catcher in the Rye. Have you heard of that?”

  I nod, glancing at him. “Yeah. It’s actually on my to-read list for this summer.”

  His lips curl up. “You’ll have to let me know if you like it. I mean, assuming that you are allowed to talk to me.” He puts the clear liquid from the bottle on a fresh wad of cotton, then puts that wad over my kneecap. I suck in a breath and he winces. “Sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s my own, for being so clumsy.” I grit my teeth. “Wait, why wouldn’t I be allowed to talk to you?”

  He gives me a funny look. “Because I’m the hired help.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “So?”

  He shrugs. “I just figured your parents are really careful about who you’re friends with.”

  “I’m friends with anyone I want to be friends with.” I frown. The second it’s out of my mouth, I can see my mother reacting to the news that I’ve befriended a tennis pro. Her look of distaste, used so casually, drives me insane. “We are friends.”

  Grayson doesn’t say anything. He just grips my knee and holds the wad of cotton down against my cut. I look at down him, at his messy hair and his perfect jawline. His lips are so expressive, more than I’m used to anyway.

  I want to kiss those lips, I realize. My heart starts beating faster. All the girls I know are stealing kisses this summer.

  Why not me?

  He glances up at me and sees me looking at him. That makes him smile. “What?”

&nbs
p; I bite my lower lip. “Do you think I’m pretty?” I blurt out.

  His cheeks color faintly. He looks me in the eyes, swallowing. “Well… yes.”

  I smile with my heart thundering. “Do you want to kiss me?”

  He glances away, then looks back. Guilt is written all over his face. His eyes dart to my mouth, then down to where his hand still grips my knee. “Yes.”

  I cock my head. “Then you should.”

  I say it almost as a dare, not expecting him to agree.

  There is a flash of negativity in his eyes. He drops his hand away from my knee. “I shouldn’t.”

  Leaning closer to him, I feel like I’m a lion tamer and he’s an angry lion. “But you want to.”

  “Maybe—” he starts.

  I close the distance, kissing him on the lips. I’m almost startled by the contact, even though I was the one that initiated it. My eyes open wide.

  He makes a soft sound. I’ve caught him by surprise, I can tell.

  Grayson’s lips are warm, their feel is foreign to me. I press forward, eager to learn more of him. His breath is sweet. He pauses for a second, frozen. I feel so small next to him. If he is a lion, I am a mouse, trying to get close enough to remove a thorn.

  Then his eyes slip closed and his hand comes up to land in my hair. He pulls me closer. I let my eyes close too.

  Kissing Grayson feels primal, electric. Raw.

  He deepens the kiss, encouraging me to open my mouth against his. I let my tongue slide against his, understanding just now what a thousand women before me have known.

  Kissing is amazing.

  Essential.

  Life-changing.

  How on earth didn’t I do this before?

  When Grayson pulls back, breaking the kiss, my eyes snap open again. I stare at him in wide-eyed wonderment, my fingers coming up to touch my lips. He looks as though he is feeling the same thing, amazement echoing through his deep blue eyes.

  “Is every kiss like that?” I wonder.

  “No.” He slowly shakes his head. “Not every kiss. Not at all.”

  I beam at him. “I guess that means we are lucky, then.”

  He clears his throat, standing up. It’s only then that I appreciate just how much taller than me he is. “We should get you bandaged up.”

  “We should kiss again.” I blush, because I know that women shouldn’t be so pushy or forward. I can’t help it, though.

  Just like that, blunt and straightforward. Color creeps into his cheeks.

  “I don’t know.”

  Arching a brow, I reach out and grab his shirt, tugging him closer. “Don’t you want to?”

  His gaze drops to my mouth again. I watch his Adam’s apple move as he swallows. “More than anything.”

  “Then we have to.” I pull him down to my lips, feeling that electric connection once again, running through my veins and curling my toes.

  Dark brown hair.

  Deep blue eyes.

  Tall as a tree and nearly as sturdy.

  Here in this little one-room shop, I learn what the very beginning of love looks like.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Grayson

  You can do this.

  Rachel is just a girl.

  You are strong.

  Embarrassing as it is, I spend about ten whole minutes giving myself this pep talk. As I fold up my hammock in the early morning hours, I try to convince myself that everything is going to be okay.

  I can make it through whatever this summer has to throw at me. It can’t be worse than the literal war zone I left behind.

  That gives me a strange kind of comfort, knowing that I have already seen the most traumatic thing that I’ll ever see in my life. It’s bittersweet because I’m so fucked up from that memory but I will take anything I can get right now.

  Thinking about facing down Rachel is putting me in a weird head space, so I try not to do it. I get everything together in my pack. There is something infinitely satisfying about the fact that everything I own can fit in this one gray canvas backpack.

  Slinging it onto my back, I feel the comfortable and familiar weight compressing my spine.

  This. This I can do.

  I walk down to the main area of camp in front of the mess hall. To my surprise, Rachel is already there. She’s sitting on one of the picnic tables, her backpack on the ground, and she is reading a paperback book. She licks one of her fingers and then turns a page.

  When I stride up to her, she looks up at me like I’m interrupting her reading. Closing her book with a sigh, she purses her lips.

  “Are you ready?”

  I roll my eyes at her. “I’m going to grab some breakfast. Then we can head out.”

  Rachel arches a brow but says nothing. Opening her book again, she peers down at it. I head into the mess hall and grab three bananas and two oatmeal bars. That should hold me over until we get to the semi-permanent camping site at Snug Harbor.

  It’s only a five hour hike. From there, we will be able to take a series of day hikes to a number of water sources. Plus Snug Harbor is reachable by car, which means that when we arrive there should be a refrigerated bundle of food for us to eat.

  Not having to eat rehydrated camping meals for the first week sounds like a win to me. And we don't have to carry that much out to the camp which is sweet. After filling my canteen, I head back outside.

  Rachel is still poised on the same picnic table, reading her book. She looks up at the sound of my approaching bootsteps.

  “Have you peed?” I ask. “Do you have water? Sunblock? How about trail mix or something like that to keep your energy levels up?”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “I just went while you were inside. I have water…” She holds up a clear plastic Nalgene bottle which is attached to her backpack with a carabiner. “I’m already wearing sunblock. And I have a whole bag of rainbow bridge mix in here.”

  She pats an exterior pocket of her backpack. I nod.

  “Okay. I had a little time to plan where we are going to camp. We’ll take it easy today and this whole week.”

  Her body seems to bristle. “I hope that’s not on my account. I can hold my own, I assure you.”

  A huff of laughter escapes me. “It’s for anybody that has been resting for more than three days.”

  She levels a look at me. “Fine.”

  I continue as if she wasn’t just rude to me. “We’re going northwest today. I expect it to take us around five hours to get to Snug Harbor, where we’ll be stationed for about a week. Maybe more.”

  She stands, sticking her book in her backpack. “Fine.”

  “You said that already.”

  She pulls a deadpan expression. “Are we ready to go?”

  “Hey, I’ve been waiting around for you to be ready for almost a week,” I point out with a shrug. Smirking, I can’t help but dig the thorn in her side a little more. “I’m always ready.”

  She makes a little ohff of exasperation and then picks up her pack. I watch her shoulder it. She grimaces a bit and takes a few steps, struggling under the weight of her new burden.

  I narrow my eyes at her. I’ll have to watch her closely and make sure that she didn’t overpack. She might be fine at first, but as the day goes on and she tires, she could really struggle with it. That is, assuming that she doesn’t have me here to take on some of it for her.

  Clearing my throat uncomfortably, I start walking. If it were any other park, I would probably need a map and a compass. But here in Olympic National Park, I know my way around. At least in the top third of the park. When we get a little lower down, I may use the compass a lot more.

  In the hazy light of morning, I head for the trail that we will take to Snug Harbor. It starts less than a mile outside of Whiskey Bend and it’s pretty smooth sailing once you hit it. It’s a pretty enough hike, following the Elwha River as it twists and turns, snaking a lazy trail south.

  I keep looking back to check on Rachel. She shoots me an irritated look every ti
me she sees me watching her.

  “I’m fine,” she says.

  My mouth curves upward. She’s pretty damn stubborn, is what she is.

  Looking up at the canopy of pine trees, I wait for my favorite moment. The trees grow smaller and eventually the canopy recedes. I bask in the sunlight, paltry though the early morning beams may be.

  This right here, this is perfection.

  The grade of the ground changes, shifting upward a bit. It makes the hike more challenging which I personally live for. Turning my head, I check on Rachel again. I can see a trickle of sweat appear at both of her temples after just a mile.

  “I swear Grayson, if you don't stop giving me that look,” she mutters.

  “What look?”

  “Stop expecting me to fail.” She grimaces. “Nervous nursemaid is not a good look for you.”

  I want to retort, but of course she’s right. I am expecting her to fail, on some level. I am waiting for that break, that lapse. It’s what I have come to expect from everyone around me, her especially.

  I think that Rachel will get on the trail, get a taste of life out here, and find that it isn’t up to her standards. She won’t be able to work well or she will get too many blisters on her feet and she will just… be done with this part of her life.

  I realize that I have been thinking of her as a tourist, staying for just long enough to wreck me. My cheeks warm a little, because she pinned that accusation to me rightly.

  So I don't answer. I just look ahead and tell myself not to worry about her. It’s not the easiest thing to do. I’m a natural born leader, or at least I was back in the Navy. Everyone with me was one of my fellow soldiers and therefore essential to me, from the lowest camp cook to the highest of my commanding officers.

  I let my thoughts pause there for a second before they start to grow heavy with memories. Shaking the thoughts off, I start hiking faster. It’s automatic. I need that little bit of an endorphin boost from exercise, to help me not to dwell on the past.