A Brit Unexpected (Castle Calder Book 2)

by Brenda St John Brown

  “Michael thinks so. Are you still in London? It might be good for you two to be seen today, even if it’s only at Starbucks. The fans are hungry for more.” Grandmother laughs a little.

  “Um, I don’t think that’s going to be possible. I’ve been really poorly today. I think I’ve got some kind of bug.”

  “Oh, darling, that’s a shame. It would be so good if you could get out, even for just a walk around the block.” Grandmother’s tone turns to wheedling. “Maybe if you feel better later.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to feel better.” And the thought of all that fuss makes me feel worse.

  “Well, obviously I can’t tell you what to do, but Michael is quite keen to keep the momentum going.”

  Judging by Greyson’s expression, he’s getting the same cajoling from Michael, but then he barks out, “Jesus, Mike, the answer is no. She’s sick, and even if she wasn’t, I’m not parading her around London for a photo op. As far as I’m concerned, we’ve done what we set out to do. Spin it however you want, but consider it finished.”

  Oh. Okay. So much for admitting my feelings. My stomach goes wonky again and it’s not related to my stomach bug.

  Grandmother’s voice in my ear brings me back. “Claire, darling? Are you still there?”

  “Yes. Sorry.” My voice comes out louder than I intend and Greyson turns from the window to meet my eyes.

  He keeps his eyes trained on me as he says, “Tell them my relationship with Claire is private, and aside from public events we’ll be keeping it that way.”

  Another flip of my stomach. This one in direct relation to the heat in Greyson’s gaze. If I didn’t have a fever before, I might now. “Um, Grandmother, I’ve got to go, but I wouldn’t count on any publicity.”

  “That seems like a mistake, Claire. You have to ride the wave while it’s high or people lose interest.” Grandmother’s tone is insistent.

  “I think that’s the plan. There’s nothing to see here.” At least nothing that makes a good photo op.

  “I’m not concerned with that,” Greyson says firmly into the phone. “I should never have agreed to this in the first place, but it’s turned out fine in spite of itself. I’ll be back on set on Monday because we have a few scenes to reshoot and I’ll be in touch.”

  He hangs up and it’s only when Grandmother chirps in my ear I realize I haven’t. I don’t even hear what she says, I just mumble goodbye and put my phone down too. Greyson and I stare at each other across the messy bed. For the first time today, I care about what I look like. Because when a guy like Greyson looks at you like he’s looking at me right now, you want to own it, not wish you could pull the duvet over your very disheveled head.

  “So.” I cross my arms over my stomach. “That went well on both sides?”

  “If by well you mean a damn nightmare, then it was outstanding.” He glances at the bed. “Can we pretend they didn’t call?”

  I put a knee on the mattress. “Done. Where were we again?”

  Greyson sits back on the bed with a sigh. “We definitely weren’t talking about photos from last night, but I feel like we should see them.”

  Greyson’s use of ‘we’ doesn’t escape me. I climb back in bed and pull the duvet over my legs, patting the mattress next to me. “Okay, let’s see them then.”

  He doesn’t protest, just holds up a finger in a wait-a-minute gesture and leaves the room. He comes back a minute later with an iPad and climbs into bed next to me, leaning against my shoulder. A few flicks on the screen and there’s the first picture. Greyson looks amazing, and I look... “Oh my God. Is that me?”

  Greyson laughs. “Of course it’s you. Who else would it be?”

  Someone glamorous and confident. Someone who looks like she belongs on Greyson’s arm. I squint at the photo. I know it’s me, but in that dress, those shoes, and wearing that smile, it’s a version of me I’ve never seen. The headline says, “Greyson Vaughn and Date at Forgetting Ali Premiere.” He clicks on another link, where the headline reads, “Vaughn Steps Out with Mystery Date.” The photo of us is from a different angle, but it’s still flattering.

  “We look kind of great.” I don’t know why I sound surprised. Greyson always looks fabulous, and I saw firsthand the magic Jivika and Laura worked. What surprises me is how great we look together. Greyson stands half a head taller than me and my blonde hair shimmers against his black jacket. His arm around my waist had felt like a lifeline on the red carpet last night, but in the photos we just look cozy.

  “Of course we look great.” Greyson scoffs and scrolls to another site. This one has photos of the after party. There are several of Greyson with various cast members, but only one of me, standing with Zeke at the bar. Greyson points to the photo. “Was this when you were mad at me?”

  “I wasn’t mad. I was…” I pause because it’s important to get this right. “Disenchanted, maybe? I felt like I’d been duped.”

  “Duped? How?”

  “Like maybe I’d read you wrong, assumed you were someone you weren’t. I didn’t realize that was the public version of you because I’d never been with you in public.” I squeeze his arm and point to a photo of him and Jivika. “And seeing how easy you two were together compared to the awkwardness between us? I didn’t get it.”

  “Do you get it now?” Greyson’s tone is soft but insistent.

  “I think so.” I nod and make myself look up at him. He looks so different from the guy in the photos on the screen. It’s almost hard for me to see them as the same person.

  But I’m starting to realize that maybe that’s the point.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I wake on Saturday to sun peeking through the curtains and Greyson in bed with me. I take a moment to appreciate the curve of his lips and the way his eyelashes curl up at the ends, and as I let my gaze travel down to the hollow of his throat, my stomach growls. Loudly.

  He opens an eye and gives me a sleepy grin. “Well, good morning to you, too.”

  I smile. “Good morning. I’m starving.”

  “You’re feeling better?”

  “Like a different person.” A different person who’s suddenly very aware of her bare legs. I let my knee brush Greyson’s thigh. Damn, he’s still wearing pajama bottoms. He’d changed his sweats for plaid pajama bottoms last night in between episodes of Homeland and even though I teased him, he left them on.

  He hooks an ankle over mine. “We should get you some food.”

  I nod against my pillow. “Will that require leaving this bed?”

  “Nope. You stay and I’ll make you some toast.” Greyson rolls out of bed and even though I want to protest, I have to appreciate that he lost his shirt in the night. And wow, his real-life abs beat the on-screen version, that’s for sure.

  He doesn’t pull a shirt on as he leaves, so I appreciate the back view too before swinging myself out of bed to use the loo and clean my teeth. I regret a glance in the mirror when I see the rat’s nest my hair has become after not drying it post-shower, but I can’t fix it without showering again and maybe this time Greyson will join me.

  A firework lands in my stomach. Things between us have been pretty touchy-feely, but aside from a kiss on the forehead and some almost hand holding, nothing’s been overtly sexual. Except for the chemistry. Which has increased in direct proportion to my feeling better. Even last night as we snuggled in bed, Greyson’s fingertips brushing my arm made me crave more. I’d ended up plastered against his side, my arm flung across his chest, but I could have happily climbed right into his lap.

  His lap sporting a tent in his trousers that made me realize I wasn’t the only one feeling it.

  Bloody hell. I’m going to jump Greyson when he walks back into the bedroom if I don’t knock it off. I comb my fingers through my hair one last time and head back into the bedroom just as he comes through the door with a plate of toast and a steaming mug.

  “I wasn’t sure how you took your tea, so I added milk and no sugar.” He holds the plat
e out to me.

  “That’s perfect.” I climb back under the duvet and balance the plate on my knee so I can take the mug in two hands. “Are you joining me?”

  He doesn’t move. “Maybe.”

  I take a bite of toast. God, it’s good. “Why maybe?”

  Greyson’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Because I keep thinking about you in my bed wearing just a T-shirt, and last night when you weren’t feeling well, it was one thing. But now it’s quite another.”

  Oh. Well. I swallow a mouthful of tea. “If that’s the case, I think you should definitely join me.”

  Greyson’s amazing abs tighten. “Are you sure?”

  My mouth drops in disbelief before I clamp it shut while I study Greyson’s face. His eyes are shuttered, like he expects me to say no. I hold out the plate of toast to him. “Have some toast. Stop overthinking.”

  He smiles and takes the plate in one hand, wrapping his fingers around my wrist with the other. “It’s not the toast I want, sweetheart.”

  Oh. My. Heart. I don’t miss his use of the word ‘sweetheart.’ The word I told him not to use along with any other pet name until he meant it. “Lucky for you, that’s not all I’m offering.”

  The plate disappears. Then the duvet covering my legs. Greyson straddles me, his arms braced on the headboard. The only place our bodies touch is his knees pressed against my thighs. His cheek grazes mine as his voice rumbles in my ear. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Everything.” It’s the only word I can manage, but is there really any other answer?

  If there is, Greyson doesn’t give me a chance to think it, let alone say it. His mouth is on mine so hard and hot, I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. And I definitely don’t want to, except to moan when his lips move to my neck. My fingernails scrape his back trying to pull him close, but he doesn’t let his weight drop.

  Until his hand slips underneath the hem of my T-shirt and his fingers pinch my nipples hard enough for me to cry out. My hands clasp his back and he lets me pull him down until his hard cock rubs against my wet center and, God, the friction through my panties takes the edge off, but it’s not nearly enough. I push against him and he responds with a thrust of his own that has me gasping for air.

  We rock against each other while Greyson lifts my shirt over my head and his mouth finds my breasts. When he takes a nipple in his mouth, I feel the first pulse deep in my core and I writhe against the length of him, my hips leaving the mattress.

  He looks up at me with eyes so green they look like emeralds. “Tell me how wet you are right now.”

  “Sopping.” I pull him against me. “I need you inside of me.”

  Greyson’s lips brush mine. “You don’t you want to take it slow the first time?”

  “Fuck. That.” My fingernails dig into his lower back and it unleashes another kiss between us so intense my hair could be on fire and I’d never even realize. God knows the rest of me is an inferno.

  My hands slip underneath the waistband of Greyson’s pajama pants to clasp his bum and I pull him to me, riding the length of him. “You still haven’t told me what you want.” Greyson’s voice is a low growl as he moves just out of my reach, bracing himself above me. “And I’m not moving another inch until I know exactly how to fuck you.”

  I try to tug him back down, but he’s stronger than me. By a lot. Fucking hell. He wants detail? Fine.

  “Take my panties off and touch me so you can feel how wet I really am. Flip me onto my stomach and take me from behind. I’m going to touch myself while you fuck me because I don’t want either of us to hold back.”

  Greyson’s eyes smolder and his nostrils flare. Then he bites his lip and says, “One thing I can promise you? I won’t be holding back.”

  I don’t even get to answer before his mouth is on mine again, kissing me so hard I’ll be lucky if my lips aren’t permanently swollen. Then his mouth moves to my jawline, my neck, my breasts, his teeth grazing my skin. I dig my fingernails into his back and for the first time his chest meets mine. Skin on skin. Heat on heat.

  The urgency ratchets up a notch for both of us. Greyson’s mouth moves back to mine as his hand tugs at my panties and I work the elastic of his pajama bottoms down. My pants are around my knees and his mid-thigh when I wrench my mouth away.

  Greyson freezes, his hand on my thigh. “What is it? Are you okay?”

  I nod, my eyes traveling down his chest, those abs, that V of muscle leading to the glory line, that trail of dark hair leading right to… “I’m very much okay.”

  Greyson’s erection is long and thick and making me ache in the best possible way. As in, if I don’t have him inside of me soon, I going to end up begging for it. Rather than say that, I kick my panties off my legs and take Greyson’s hand and put it on my thigh as I reach for his cock. “I need you. Now.”

  “Jesus Christ, Claire.” Greyson’s words sound strangled. “Remember, it’s been a while.”

  Six months, he said, during one of our conversations last week, which surprised the hell out of me. Now, though, it spurs me on. Especially when his finger moves in rapid circles on my clit before thrusting inside of me. One finger. Two. Three. I feel myself opening up and bloody hell, I’m so ready.

  “Now. Please, dear God, now.”

  I don’t have to ask twice, and just as I described, Greyson flips me onto my stomach. I hear the rip of a foil wrapper over my shoulder and rise to my knees. We fumble for three seconds to find the right angle and then he’s in me. Bloody. Hell.

  I cry out as he thrusts into me and brace my hands on the headboard until his teeth nip my ear and he pants, “You said you were going to touch yourself, but I’m going to do that for you. You just let me know when you’re close.”

  His hand snakes around my hips, between my legs, and starts moving in fast circles on my clit as he thrusts into me and it seems like no time at all until I feel the first signs of letting go. “I’m close,” I gasp.

  He stops moving for ten seconds. It’s agony and just as I’m about to ask what the fuck he’s doing, he thrusts back into me again as the rhythm of his fingers increases. And. Shine. A. Light.

  Greyson thrusts and my hips move to meet him until I can’t hold on anymore. I don’t even try. I tumble off the edge of the world and feel like I’m flying. I soar and minutes pass before I even feel my knees on the wrinkled sheets, Greyson’s chest against my back.

  “Oh my God.” I sound breathless. I am breathless. I ease myself down onto the bed and Greyson slips down beside me.

  “You’re incredible.” His voice is ragged and his chest rises and falls in time with mine.

  “No, you’re incredible.” I give an exaggerated pant for emphasis.

  Greyson lets out a low laugh and says, “Maybe it’s not you or me. Maybe it’s us.”

  He reaches for me then, holding me close, my head resting on his chest. Our breathing is perfectly in sync and I let myself think maybe he’s right. Maybe together we can be incredible.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Greyson slips a wooly cap over his head, pulls his up hoodie over it, then slides his glasses up his nose. He gives himself another onceover in the mirror before turning to me and saying, “Okay. What do you think?”

  I nod slowly. “I think you can definitely pass for any random London guy dressed like that, but you still look like you.”

  Greyson turns back to the mirror, nods, and then says. “Probably. The question is are you willing to risk it?”

  Willing to risk leaving his flat, walk down South Bank, maybe even get something to eat somewhere. Do things that normal people do without a second thought. I nod again. “I think so, but I’m wary.”

  “That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” Greyson raises his eyebrows. “If you don’t want to go, we’ll order pizza and eat it naked in bed.”

  “Tempting.” The truth is we’ve proven we’re good at the sex. Mind-blowingly good, in fact. But I want to know if we can do normal, even though Greyson is
Greyson. I shake my head. “But no. Let’s give it a go.”

  Greyson smiles and extends his arm for me to latch on. “Your wish is my command.”

  Indeed.

  It helps that it’s dusk when we leave the flat, moving rapidly towards inky darkness as we weave through the streets of Marylebone. I haven’t spent much time in this neighborhood, but it’s clear from the cars on the street that this is where the money is. There’s actually a guy in uniform in front of one house cleaning the grille of a Range Rover with Q-Tips.

  The quiet calm of the streets helps to ease the tension in my shoulders, and by the time Greyson and I turn down another street, we’re talking and laughing like we don’t have a care in the world. My hand remains clasped on his elbow and our strides are exactly in sync. When we stop at a crosswalk, he kisses my head as we wait for the light and it all feels perfect.

  “So this marketing degree of yours—you want to do brand management when you’re done?” Greyson asks.

  I nod. “So many companies screw up because they’re not true to their brand or they respond to a crisis in a way that makes them seem inconsistent. I want to work with them to make sure their strategy is cohesive, articulated, and ingrained. If one of those things is missing, it’s easy for it to all fall down.”

  Greyson tugs me out of the way of a person walking behind us by looping an arm around my shoulder. “That’s really cool. Have you ever thought about doing that for people?”

  “Like you, you mean?” I furrow my brow at him. He’s not turning this into a job conversation, is he?

  “I’d take it way too personally coming from you, so no. Not me. But I bet you could sell it in Hollywood.” Greyson takes a breath and it looks like he’s going to continue, but I shake my head.

  “This is going to sound odd, but my dream is to work for myself and make enough from corporate clients to work on a volunteer basis on brand awareness for children’s charities. There are so many charities out there for families and children, and people don’t know who they are or what they do, or there’s a stigma attached so real people who could use the service don’t.”