Wounded Birds (The Grayson Series Book 1)

by Unknown

  I have to say, I was touched and tempted to call him when he sent me another two-dozen roses to my office this past Friday. Enclosed with his recent delivery were a set of keys, pass code, and directions to his home in Sands Point, suggesting, if I ever needed to escape, I was more than welcome to hide out at his place, and if I came to the decision to take him up on his offer, he promised to stay in the apartment in the city. It was thoughtful and heartwarming of him.

  I look at the calendar and gasp. Oh, no it’s Sunday and the last game of polo for the season. I can’t get over how obsessed I am with this sport. I fell in love with polo ‘The Sport of Kings’ two years ago when I went to watch my first match at Bridgehampton. I was excited when I found out they play every Sunday from June to mid-October at Bethpage State Park. So if it’s a Sunday, and I’m not traveling, you’ll find me sitting at the park watching my favorite sport. Then again, after last night’s incident, I’m wary of going, but how can I miss the last game? Frustration and anger wash over me, I’m imprisoned in my own home all because of some fuckin’ asshole that has an obsession with me. The bastard! I wish they would find him all ready.

  Maybe we could set a trap and use me as bait. Sure Ariana, I can see Trent jumping at the idea. Whom am I kidding? He would never go for that idea, and Michael would have his head on a platter.

  The phone rings jerking me out of my thoughts. I insisted Trent forward the calls back to me. He can still record the messages. He resisted at first, but I told him I needed to give this jerk a piece of my mind. I’m tired of his charades. This has to stop. I want him to know that he doesn’t scare me.

  I reach for the phone with a trembling hand, but I pull back as if he’s going to pull me into the receiver. “That’s crazy, stop it, stop it, Ariana, you’re acting foolish,” I scold myself and finally answer the call. Even with the momentary silence, I can tell by his revolting breathing it’s him. I wait patiently for the fuck to say something.

  “Hey, baby doll,” he rasps out. “Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to fuck you. I enjoyed touching your soft, smooth skin. I loved hearing you scream. You are a feisty little one too; it’s going to be fun fucking you.

  “I have special plans for you and me. I built a house for us, secluded far away from the world.” He snickers and begins to breath heavy into the receiver. “You hear that baby doll, I’m ready to come in my pants. I’m giving myself a hand job while I imagine those lips around my cock.” His laugh echoes eerily through the phone.

  I cringe at his repulsive words. My heart is pounding hard against my chest, my body shivering and I think about his disgusting, grimy hands touching me. He’s a sick and demented man who needs to be put away for life.

  “You’re a sick bastard. You’re nothing but a lowlife piece of shit, a coward.” I explode out, my hands shaking, muscles quivering.

  “I’m no coward, something you’ll find out soon enough. I’m happy your not seeing pretty boy anymore. He was becoming a big thorn on my side,” he grates out, followed by a repugnant laugh, which seeps into me like poison filtering through my blood, scorching the lining of my veins.

  Damn him! I’m so angry I throw the phone across the room and yank the plug from the answering machine. “When are they going to catch this bastard? ” I yell out at the top of my lungs. I’m so sick and tired of this crap. Fuck him! I am not going to miss the last match of the season, nor am I calling one of Trent’s guys to come pick me up. There’s no time, and I have to get out of here.

  If he’s smart, he won’t be stupid enough to try something in the middle of the day with so many witnesses, and I can bet my life that Trent has Peterson following my every move after the stunt I pulled last night.

  I rush out and retrieve the car from valet. I’m not letting this jackass get the best of me. I’m tired of being a victim.

  There is a long line of cars waiting to get into the polo field. Big mistake to take the top down because now I’m roasting like a turkey. The weather should be cooler in October, except that today, the temperature has reached seventy-eight degrees. I’m sure by the time I arrive at the gate I’ll be well done and singed.

  I park the car and search for a seat at the grandstand. I glance around the beautiful landscaped grounds and see a few of the players mounted on their horses, practicing out on the expanded green lawn the size of nine football fields. Hard to believe, but true.

  A cool breeze sweeps through my hair, invigorating me. I smell the scent of fresh cut grass as my heart pumps with anticipation. I bite my lower lip anxious for the game to begin, just as the kids, and their families who sit in their private tents, or perched in their seats with a picnic basket at their side. This is what I call the perfect Sunday afternoon.

  Opposite of me is the VIP Tent. This season Ferrari-Maserati of Long Island is sponsoring the event. My eyes grow wide as I skim over the elegant sports cars parked alongside the tent looking sleek and shimmering with beauty.

  The tent is filled with excited spectators, drinks in hand dressed sophisticated, and the ladies’ in their stylish hats and trendy sunglasses. I glance up at the top of the grandstand and wave at Debra, who keeps score and Jerry, one of polo finest commentators.

  Both teams are lined up in the middle of the field. We stand as the “Star-Spangled Banner” echoes throughout the park by a young, inspiring artist. The thrill begins after one of the official rolls out the ball between the two teams. After the third chukker—half time—the spectators are invited out onto the field to stomp the divots. I flip the dirt back into the plush, green grass, which I find to be soothing.

  “Ariana.”

  I jump out of my skin when I recognize the deep, seductive voice. I lift my head and my brain malfunctions when I’m eye to eye with Michael. I stop breathing, and my heart begins to thunder within my chest. I had no idea how much I missed him until now, as he stands there before me looking so beautiful and our chemistry sizzling like bacon on a grill. Butterflies begin swarm around my stomach making me queasy. I take a deep breath and another to keep my cool and temper under control or is it the sexual side of me I’m afraid might surface.

  “Ariana,” he says, his tone soft and gentle. He raises his hand to touch me, and then he lowers it.

  “Michael, why are you here?” I snap.

  “I . . . I miss you, Ariana. Please, can we talk somewhere?” He asks with his hands in his pockets. He looks nervous, a bit rattled. I don’t think anyone has ever seen him this way.

  “I told you I didn’t want to see you again. Are you having a memory lapse, Mr. Grayson?” I ask, and my chest begins to squeeze to the point I can’t breathe. I feel that gaping hole in my stomach expanding and the void growing stronger. I missed him so much. Damn him. Maybe he isn’t like Danny, but what if he is, or maybe his brothers are right. I’m so confused. I don’t want to fall into the same trap.

  His face changes from soft to hard. “I’m well aware of what you wrote, and, not to change the subject but, Trent called me. He told me about the attack. What the hell were you thinking going out at night for a run on your own? I’m surprised you came out here by yourself. Are you suicidal?” He asks me with an alarmed look on his face.

  I’m stunned. “What kind of question is that?”

  His hands are out of his pockets and on his hips. His nostrils flare. “It’s a logical query. Are you suicidal? You must be to walk out of your apartment by yourself. Thank God Peterson followed you and told Trent of your whereabouts. What didn’t you get about last night’s attack?” He spews out, his eyebrows pulled in, and lips pressed into a thin line.

  “Since when do I have to answer to you, or anyone else for that matter? I am sick and tired of this lunatic imprisoning me in my home, of being a victim. If you hadn’t noticed, it’s broad daylight and take note of all the spectators. I parked right in front, near the concession stand. I’m sure he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try anything here. I was also aware that Peterson followed me,” I say waving my hands in the air.
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  His eyes narrow, “I’m aware the fuck called you today, and the message he left,” he says as he traverses around me, and then stops to face me, biting his lower lip with a disappointed look. “Unfortunately, he uses a prepaid phone, so when Trent traced the call, the signal was picked up at one of the cell towers thirty miles away,” he says with a softer tone.

  My blood begins to turn cold and I grow numb. I shut my eyes, and thank God, he can’t see through the sunglasses. I was hoping Trent would have been able to trace at least one call and finally put a stop to this travesty. Now I’m back to square one. How are they going to find him when he seems to be a few steps ahead of us.

  I open my eyes and look at Michael. “You said your peace. If you don’t mind, I have some divots to stomp. Good day, Mr. Grayson,” I say and stare at the ground.

  Seeing Michael only triggered the harsh words we exchanged to one another along with the hateful and disgusted expression he wore on his face that night. I curl my fingers into a fist and pray he will leave, but whom am I kidding? We’re talking about Michael, who doesn’t understand what the word, no means.

  Michael threads his hands through his hair with a deep frown. He stares down at me “This is a public place. If I want to sit and watch a polo game, I’m damn well going to,” he snaps and stomps the divots alongside me with pure aggression.

  “God, Ariana, you’re not thinking straight. Listen to me. I came here to apologize. I’m sorry about last week. Please let me explain.

  “I met this woman a few years ago,” he starts to explain. “She was in my office, and we were discussing the architectural drawings for her new building. After our meeting, she invited me for drinks. We had a connection, or at least I thought we did. We wined, dined, and had sex. A few weeks later, I stopped by her place to take her out to lunch. She asked me to come in and excused herself for a moment. Her laptop was open, and I just happened to glance at it and saw my name. Of course, curiosity got the best of me, and I began to read it. I was shocked. She had our most intimate conversations on the laptop.” His eyes filled with the pain of betrayal.

  “When she walked back in the room, I confronted her, and she confessed about the set-up and that she would be paid a handsome fee writing the article about me for one of those raunchy magazines. She explained how she was wearing a wire and recorded our every conversation.

  “I told her I would let my lawyers loose on her. I would make her life a living hell if she so much as printed one sentence in those magazines. I scared the living daylights out of her. Let’s just say the article was never published.” He held his hand around the back of his neck and gazed at me with those piercing emerald-green eyes, which has my heart diving into the pool with a big splash.

  “When I . . . when I touched your back . . . .” He stops and rubs the back of his neck again. “God, Ariana, I’m sorry,” he expresses with regret, his eyes glazed from tears.

  Jerry the commentator calls everyone off the field. We head towards the grandstands, and of course, Michael sits next to me. God, what kind of woman would stoop so low to write an article of your personal life for millions to read?

  “Ariana, stop ignoring me. We need to talk. God, I’ve missed you, and I’m so damn worried about you,” he says balling his hands into fists. He turns away, focusing on the game.

  I feel the heat rush over me as I watch him sitting there all sexy as sin, wearing a pale green polo shirt and khaki pants hugging every firm deliciously muscle on his lower body. Damn him, why did he have to look so good. I turn my attention to the game.

  “My first experience with polo was heart pumping.”

  “Ariana,” Michael hisses out.

  “I felt the thundering vibration beneath me as those beautiful horses and polo players sped by, sending a thrilling sensation through my entire system. I knew then I had found my passion in life,” I explain, trying to ignore his presence. I sense the air around us thickening with intense tension.

  “What a touching story. However, at the moment, we need to discuss what happened last week.” He crosses his arms over his chest, watching my every move.

  Without facing him, I say with an edge of sarcasm, “I think you should leave. We shouldn’t be having this discussion here. Polo is for spectators who love the game. You, however, are annoying me and are preventing me from watching.”

  “I hate to deflate your bubble, Miss DiMarco, but that’s where you’re wrong. I’m not only a spectator of polo. I’ve also practiced with some of the guys on Sundays out in Connecticut during the summer months for the past several years, and in England with my partner Mark,” he says with a cocky attitude.

  I clap. “Bravo for you, Mr. Grayson. Now, if you’re finished, I’d like to get back to the game,” I say with a sardonic tone, but deep down inside, I’m bubbling with excitement. The thought of Michael playing polo has my heart racing.

  I glance at him and say, “Furthermore, your accusatory behavior last week still stings, and let’s add you’re overbearing, controlling, and bulldozing personality.” Why am I being so cruel to him, this isn’t like me.

  Michael’s jaw drops open, and then it closes. He’s befuddled and blindsided by the mocking comment. His eyes grow dark and wary, glaring at me. I left him speechless. Good, it’s about time someone stumps him. There I go again, applauding my brutality. Jeez, I need to shut the hell up.

  “I said I was sorry. What more do you need from me to convince you.” He turns his head towards the horse trailers and then back at me. “I’m not controlling Ariana. I’m protective. It’s my nature. I can’t help it, but I’ll do my best to keep it at bay,” he says, with a pained expression on his face.

  “If I hadn’t proven to you that I wasn’t wearing a wire, would you have believed me?”

  He doesn’t answer, just as I thought.

  Michael’s engaged in the game. Cristian, one of the top players, slams the ball with his mallet from the forty-yard line and makes the goal. The crowd roars and cheers with excitement.

  “Way to go, Cristian,” I yell out. That was a beautiful move. The howling claps from the spectators echo throughout the field.

  I gasp and let out a squeal when Michael stands and picks me up, tossing me over his shoulder like a caveman.

  “Michael, put me down,” I scream, kicking my legs as I continue to punch him on his backside. My sunglasses slip off my face, and I grasp hold of them before they fall to the ground.

  “Put me down, you Neanderthal,” I yell through clenched teeth. I take a quick glance up, and now we have an audience. I feel as if I’m on display in a Macy’s window. I lift my head higher, and Cristian and the other players are cheering Michael on. Damn men, always sticking together.

  “I’m not going to repeat myself again, Michael Grayson.” I’m fuming, steam coming out of my ears.

  “I will, as soon as I find a spot where we can talk in private.” He chuckles.

  “You . . . are . . . infuriating,” I screech out.

  He finally sets me down in a more secluded area away from the field. “You no-good . . . overbearing . . . barbaric beast. You ever do that to me again, and you’ll be singing soprano.” My hands fisted, punching him numerous times on his chest. It’s like hitting steel, and it hurts like hell. Damn, my poor hand is probably fractured.

  “I have never . . . been so humiliated . . . in all my life. You have crossed the line, Mr. Grayson,” I say through clenched teeth, poking my finger into his chest, glaring at him. I shove him as hard as I can, and the big bully doesn’t budge, not one inch. “Damn bulldozer,” I growl out.

  He lets out the sweetest, most arousing laugh, leaving me paralyzed. Ahhh! God, This man can be so exasperating. I turn away, and he grabs me by the arm, swings me towards him, bends down, and grazes me with those luscious, sensuous lips that immobilize me. I pull away; our eyes meet, and everything but us vanishes.

  He cups the back of my head and kisses me again. I encircle my hands around his neck. Michael pulls me again
st his chest and envelops me into his heated body, making me tremble in his arms. I taste the sweet mint of his toothpaste, savoring the flavor as the blood rushes through my veins in a frenzied rush. My heart is spinning with gratification.

  He pulls just a few inches away, and we’re nose-to-nose. He looks deep into my eyes with a warm glow, and I can feel the heat rising along with my beating heart. “You drive me to a delirium, to the point I am so incoherent the moment I’m around you that I have an out-of-body experience. I can’t even think straight. You have me by the balls, Ariana.” He shakes his head, his eyes glowing with desire. He touches the side of my face with tender strokes and smiles.

  “Please forgive me for my overbearing and accusatory actions toward you last week. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. I’ll also do my best not to be so controlling,” he pleads.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say you’ll absolve me,” he begs, sounding heart-stricken.

  “You’re forgiven, Michael, but don’t let it happen again . . . you hurt me.” I stare at my feet, playing with the grass beneath my sandals.

  He tips my chin up and flashes me a wicked smile. His thumb caresses my bottom lip. He leans forward, his mouth to my ear. I feel his hot breath sending all sorts of crazy signals to my core. “I’ll make it up to you; I promise. I give you my solemn oath,” he whispers with a seductive tone, affecting my equilibrium. His mouth trails across my cheek connecting with my lips like soft silk. My breath hitches and I’m lost in the abyss. Goose bumps surface over my skin giving me a chill of excitement. He kisses me adoringly and pulls away.

  I’m left numb and speechless. It takes me a minute to get my brain into motion before I mutter a word. “Well . . . you could make it up to me by taking me out to dinner.” I smile, enjoying the vibration course through my body. He frowns, and my heart stops dancing.