CHAPTER SEVEN
I sucked in a shocked breath and forced my feet to stay rooted. Grayson looked so damn good with his hair combed back that my body almost burst into flame. It wanted to explode and implode at the same time from the heat of my torrid emotions. A small sound eked from my throat, hitting a dead end on my tongue. I just stood there, frozen, staring at the man who’d ruled my every thought for the past week.
His square jaw was freshly shaven and his blue eyes were bottomless, soulfully soft and hypnotically compelling. I almost got lost looking into them. He was wearing a worn T-shirt, but it fit him perfectly, stretching across his broad chest. The sleeves ended in the middle of defined biceps, flaunting a physique I would always find impressive. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of a pair of very ripped jeans that were accidentally fashionable and sexy as hell. I shook with the need to run to him, but I was determined to stay strong. A brick. Concrete. Clean hair, remember?
He looked at me sheepishly and his thick lashes lowered. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry.
Sorry? That was all he could say to me? After everything we’d been through. After I almost lost my mind with worry for him? I forced a deep, steadying breath.
Okay, just shrug and tell him it’s no big deal, that the sex had been just okay, then walk past him and toss your hair in his direction so he can smell how man-free it is.
The empowering tune started playing in my head as I continued my internal pep talk. You don’t need the cray-cray, girl! Remember? He’s coo coo for cocoa puffs! A few fries short of a Happy Meal. Knitting with only one needle. Just ignore him like he’s done to you all freaking week!
Ugh! I flew at him like a wild cat, angry, hurt, and shrieking about all the ways he’d wronged me. I punched his chest over and over, then the stupid tears started flowing in tidal waves. God, I needed therapy to help me deal with this crazy man! And the worse part of it was that he just stood there and took it, looking at me as if I had every right to vent my ire on him.
“You are making me nuts!” I yelled, delivering another jab to his chest. “And you don’t even fucking care!”
My angry words finally provoked a reaction. His stoic expression morphed quickly to anger. He grabbed my wrists mid-punch and held them securely.
“That’s not true, Angie. I do care!” he yelled back.
“You keep shutting me out!”
“I have to.”
“No, you crazy son-of-a-bitch! You just don’t give a shit!” I realized then I was more angry with myself than with him. After all, I’d pursued him relentlessly. I’d seduced him. It wasn’t his fault that I’d made assumptions or unwittingly harbored emotional expectations. He’d warned me repeatedly. He’d tried to keep me away, to remain distant. Why should he give a shit about me?
I was also stinging from the undisciplined flight my thoughts had taken. It had been wrong to call him names and to issue callous aspersions about his mental illness, but in my anger I’d slipped into endorsing the social stigmas I’d always abhorred. That guilt too was flaying me.
I tried to tug my wrists from his grasp. I was quiet now, sulky and despondent. Ashamed. My ravaged heart burned from his rejection and the knowledge that I’d brought this on myself. Grayson wouldn’t release his hold, and that ignited more fire inside me.
“Let me go!” I growled through clenched teeth.
“No, Angie. I can't seem to,” he said softly, snaking one arm around my waist and jerking me against his body.
“Let me go!” I screeched, finding his nearness unbearable. It only served to revive my longing, to fan the flames in my heart I needed to douse.
“I can’t seem to let you go, Angie.” He breathed roughly as his lips crashed down on mine, hard and insistent.
I twisted away and he followed, seizing my lips again. The hand around my waist moved down and his palm cupped my ass and pulled me tight against him. My mind registered somewhere that his cock was rock hard, and that information must have been classified as ‘needs to be addressed’ because my traitorous body stopped struggling and started obeying the movements of his cajoling fingers.
My hips arched, pressing my abdomen into his straining erection. I moaned against his mouth. Whether it was in passion or in protest, I didn’t know. I just knew this was what I desperately needed, what I craved. I swallowed his tongue and shoved mine deep into his mouth, then gripped his hair hard with my fists and devoured him. I commandeered his face, kissing and biting and licking. I was insane with my need for Grayson, with my anger for Grayson, with my weakness for Grayson.
Perhaps I was afraid that he’d vanish, that he’d sequester himself upstairs again and I’d be robbed of him. I’d missed him so much it hurt like fucking hell. He moaned and kissed me back as ardently as I kissed him, sinking his teeth into my bottom lip until it hurt, then soothing it with a vibrating suck.
He pulled off my shirt and yanked my bra down, baring my breasts so that they spilled over the top of the elastic like two ripe melons. Bending low, he sucked one nipple into his mouth, twirling his tongue like a tornado while it was nestled inside his hot mouth.
I shouted when pleasure stampeded down my spine and took a direct route to my already leaking pussy. My fingers and toes tingled with every strong suction of his lips on my hard nipples. He moved from one breast to the other, tonguing the rigid peaks. Then he buried his face between the full mounds and inhaled deeply. A low groan rumbled from his throat like an approaching locomotive. The sound accelerated in depth until it raced through my chest and reached down to curl my toes.
I grabbed for his pants, trying to release the stubborn button. His cock was hard and eager, the pink swollen head sticking up out of his waistband. The sight of it made my pussy clench with need, but the desire to have him on my tongue was overwhelming. I wanted to feel the heavy weight in my mouth, taste his sweet essence on my tongue and down my throat.
I pulled out of his arms and swooped down while rucking up his shirt. I drew the thick head between my lips, sucking eagerly on the portion escaping his waistband.
“Ohhh, yeah!” Grayson hissed above me, rolling his hips as I swirled my tongue around the slippery pink tip. My taste buds exploded with his deliciously salty taste as he dumped a few drops of precum onto my tongue. I worked on his button, but the waistband was pulled taut from the tension of his cock and the damned button needed slack to open. Greedy for him, I wrenched the fabric down, exposing another thick inch and gobbling what I could into my mouth. I used my tongue as a whip against the swollen head, loving the velvety skin gliding against my tongue.
“Mmm…ohhh, shit!” Grayson almost doubled over, going up on tiptoes as his large body shook. His hands flew to my head, gripping my hair and pulling my hungry lips away from his cock. “You’re fucking killing me, Angie!”
I looked up into his eyes and they burned with a raw passion that was almost intimidating. He slashed his lips over mine and kissed me savagely, then took my hand. “Come,”
I followed on legs that felt as unsteady as a newborn foal’s. I loved his intensity. My whole body was weak, and yet as explosive as dynamite. The rub of my jeans against my swollen lips was causing tiny explosions inside me. I thought he was leading me upstairs, and was surprised when he stopped at the table in my oasis. His lips pulled firm as he opened my jeans and jerked them and my underwear down my hips. I stepped out of them, my breath raking quickly past my lips. Impatient, I reached for his pants, but he captured my wrists and locked them with one hand behind my back. He leaned into me, his eyes glowing pure lapis. I was enthralled.
“I’m too worked up for you to touch me,” he breathed, feathering his lips against mine. “I’ve missed you. I’ve been dreaming of fucking you all week, and I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve jerked off with you in my head.”
I was surprised by the confession. I’d been sure he hadn’t given me one thought over the past week. I was more surprised when he turned me abruptly so that my back faced him. Then he bent my upper body over the small table. Startled, I held on, curling my fingers around the smooth wooden edges. My breasts mashed against the cool wood, still spilling over the top of my bra. Oh my God! I gulped. I was a little afraid of the unknown, but trembling with the anticipation of it. I was exposed and raw with volcanic emotions.
He used his knee to widen my stance and I inhaled a sharp breath as cool air tickled the damp folds of my naked pussy. I closed my eyes and waited, my channel clenching rhythmically, weeping so much I could feel moisture running down the inside of my thighs. My nipples poked into the cool tabletop and I pressed in harder to soothe the ache throbbing in my breasts. Fuck! What was he waiting for? I had only a tenuous grip on my sanity. I was out of my mind with need. He was so quiet that I wondered vaguely if he was staring, intimately studying my shape and form. I was too aroused to be embarrassed.
Just when I thought I would die from wanting him, I felt his tongue sluice one long delicious lick through my wet flesh.
“Holy fucking shit!” I gasped. I gripped the table so hard I was afraid my bones would snap. I had no time to recover before he did it again, and my knees buckled from the sizzling pleasure.
A shock of sensual delight buzzed through every nerve ending, and I felt another gush of liquid trickle from inside me. Grayson hummed and moaned as he lapped it up, and it felt as if his entire face had rooted between my legs and into my flesh. The bridge of his nose drove against my sensitized folds while his tongue snaked lower to unearth my clit and flick the nub to a tormented point.
My cheek mashed against the table as I held on, my voice disappearing into the room every time I screamed out in pleasure. He circled his arms around my upper thighs and pulled me back onto his face, using the tip of his tongue to dance figure eights through my soaked pussy. I panted roughly, my body starting to shake uncontrollably. He concentrated the pressure each time he hit my straining clit, swishing and thrusting his wonderfully dynamic tongue. It hurled me right off the cliff into an excruciatingly intense orgasm.
“Grrrraaaayysonnnn!” I shuddered over and over again, my lungs struggling with the effort to take a normal breath.
“You tasted so fucking delicious.” Grayson’s sexy voice penetrated my sensuous haze, keeping me grounded as my body flew apart then landed safely in his arms.
I felt his lips on my naked back as he moved up to hold me. He unsnapped my bra and marched a line of soft kisses down my spine. I made an attempt to push up, but the pressure of his palm against my back kept me in place.
“Stay,” he whispered, and I could hear desire soaked in his voice.
Truthfully, I wasn’t sure I had the strength to get up. My body was still humming from my orgasm and lax from the endorphins swimming through my blood stream. I heard a soft swoosh and realized that Grayson had removed his jeans. Desire punched through me as I imagined how hard and swollen his gorgeous cock must be. Instinctively, I arched my hips, sticking out my ass. I groaned when his fingers stroked along my entrance and dip inside. I shivered, and he startled me when he spanked my aching folds with three sharp smacks. I cried out, stinging arousal twitching my flesh. The smooth head of his cock pushed between my labia, sliding up and down my wet slit. I sighed with the new sensation. My quivering walls clamped down hard, needing him to fill me.
My eyes flew open and I gasped when he did it again. I could hardly think to get my words out.
“Con…con…dom.”
“I know,” he breathed hard. “I just want to feel you on my cock. I want your delicious cream all over my dick.”
Oh, God! I didn’t have a chance when he was talking to me like that. One thing that really got me off was dirty talk. He bumped my clit and I sucked in a wisp of air. I heard his choppy breaths above me growing more erratic.
“Jacket?” he asked.
“What?”
“Condom.”
“Oh. Backpack. Front pocket.”
“Don’t move.”
Was he fucking kidding me? I wasn’t going anywhere!
I heard him behind me again, felt his palms slowly caressing my back and the globes of my ass. “My beautiful Angie,” he whispered.
My body was shaking now with anticipation, and I braced myself. He plowed into me with one deep, unapologetically powerful thrust.
Oh, God! He felt amazing!
I swallowed hard, almost biting through my lip at the exquisite pleasure of him stretching and filling me.
“Fuuuckkk!” he hissed, doubling over, his naked chest against my back. “Feels so good.”
He stayed buried deep for a few seconds and I knew he was trying to gather control. I could feel how far gone he was by the fine tremors of his hands on my hips and the raw edginess in his voice. I bumped my hips back, needing him to move, and he issued a guttural moan that sounded like it crawled out of his belly.
“I have to fuck you hard, Angie,” he rasped against my ear. “I need you too desperately.”
“Please…yes!” I whispered, dying now. I could already feel another orgasm buzzing just below the surface.
Grayson reared up, his grip tightening on my hips. The first hard slam had the table rocking, but then it was as if an earthquake valued ten on the Richter scale hit the room. Grayson powered into me fast, each time hitting hard and driving deep. It was all I could do to hang on. Unfathomable pleasure burned me with a blistering heat as he pounded into me. Our coupling was raw and hedonistic, and the pleasure was as sharp as a razor’s edge.
I was shocked to hear the animal noises erupting from my throat. I pushed back, my slick walls strangling him and begging for more. He sawed in and out of me, grunting and groaning his pleasure, saying words that I wasn’t even sure he was aware of. Words that warmed my pleasure and made it bubble inside me until I was bursting with it. He called me his savior, his every pleasure, his heart—and I lost it. I came in rippling waves of a joy so resplendent that I lost focus of the world around me.
“Fuck, Angie! You’re mine! My heart! My peace! My everything! All mine!”
His cock sank deep to the root, owning me, filling me. His fingers dug into my hips with a punishing grip as he convulsed behind me, grunting fiercely. His cock swelled and stretched my passage as he shot his semen with hard jerky contractions.
He collapsed on my back, his skin slick with sweat, and I was seriously worried that the table would collapse, but I couldn't move. Harsh breaths hissed out of his lungs, stroking the back of my neck and feathering my hair. After a minute, I tried to flex a muscle, any muscle to see if I was still fully functional.
“I’m afraid the table might break,” I said, my voice hoarse from screaming.
He brushed hair away from my neck and kissed a damp spot, sending tingles down my back.
“I’m sure you’d just put it on my list of things to fix.” I could feel him smiling against my neck, and although my body was fixed—quite nicely I might add—my heart was still carved into pieces.
He stood up and pulled me off of the table, holding me as I tested my limbs.
I watched him discard the condom into one of the garbage bags. I pouted, staring at him. “You know, I’m still mad at you.”
I didn’t want him to think he’d gotten away with putting me through a week of hell, of not knowing if he was truly okay.
“Still mad?” He swung his gaze to me, incredulous. Laughter danced in his blue eyes. “After what just happened between us?”
I rolled my eyes. Leave it to a man to think that good—great—okay, freaking fantastic sex, would fix everything.
He regarded me with a lopsided grin and said, “Yeah, I could really feel your anger as you were screaming for me to pound you harder.”
My jaw dropped in shock. I couldn't believe he’d just said that! This man was outrageous! My eyes rounded and I gave him a playful punch on his chest.
“I did not!”
“Let’s see...” He screwed up his face, grinning. “I guess when you said, ‘Fuck me, Grayson,’ you really meant, ‘Oh, Grayson, I’m so mad at you!’”
I kept hitting him as he laughed and raised his palms in his defense. What made it worse was that he mimicked me in a high-pitched girly voice, which sent me into unwanted hysterics.
He continued, “Or, when you said, ‘Harder, Grayson, harder!’ you really meant, ‘I’m really pissed right now!’”
“You are the most frustrating man I’ve ever known!” I declared with a huff, pushing him backwards into the upholstered chair.
He was a big man and he no doubt allowed me to topple him, but I was surprised when he grabbed my waist and pulled me down onto his lap.
“I’m serious, Grayson.” I faced him, cradling his handsome face between my palms. “I was sick with worry.”
He regarded me seriously, hooking my loose hair behind my ears. “I’m sorry, Angie. I’m not in a good place sometimes. I really do care about you. Perhaps more than I should. I’m twenty years older than you are. You’re young, beautiful, and you have your whole life ahead of you—”
“Please, don’t give me that age difference bullshit.”
I cut him off, not willing to let him use our age disparity as an excuse for why we shouldn’t be together. It didn’t bother me.
“Does it bother you?” I asked, holding my breath.
He gifted me with a small smile, and then shook his head. “No, but you—.”
“No buts. We are the only two it should matter to.”
He sighed and kissed my knuckles. Concern darkened his face. “The big thing, Angie, is my mental health.”
I took a deep breath, needing to clear my head. I felt so much for this man that I didn’t want my emotions to rule my thoughts. I wanted to use logic and reason. “Grayson, there are many people who live with schizophrenia. About two point five percent of Americans and one percent of the world, actually. I know it can be disabling, but many people who have schizophrenia are able to work and have families, and are successful. John Nash, a brilliant mathematician and Nobel Prize winner had schizophrenia, as well as Charles Bolden, a famous Jazz musician, and Peter Green, the guitarist for Fleetwood Mac.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “I see you’ve done your homework.”
I nodded slowly. “I also know that your case is mild. You lived a highly functional life before…before your accident. An emotional trauma like that can cause an exacerbation of symptoms, especially when you’re not taking your medication.”
He quietly studied me and I tried to read his expression. I loved when he looked at me that way. It was something like awe and disbelief mingled with a tender reverence. It was as if I was his universe and all the answers were held in the stars of my eyes. How I wished that were true. Grayson was still a huge enigma to me. It was hard to get to know him when he kept locking me out of his world. I understood his behavior to an extent, especially given the fact that he’d lived in isolation for so long. It was only in these rare moments that I thought I caught a glimpse of his heart.
“I’m also a nurse, remember? I’ve taken care of patients with severe schizophrenia. I know how bad it can be.”
“My father had a severe case. It waxed and waned. Although my mother loved him deeply, it was still very difficult for her. It was difficult for all of us.”
I swallowed hard, remembering what Jack had told me about his father.
“You must have loved him very much. I can see it in your eyes when you talk about him.”
He gave a shallow nod, his finger making trails on my skin. “I did. But in the end my love couldn’t save him.”
I listened intently, holding my breath. His words saddened me. I wondered if he would discuss his father’s death, but as usual, his words tapered to a resounding silence. I leaned in close, feeling the warmth of his body. The last thing I wanted to do was force him to relive painful memories, so I doused my niggling curiosity.
“You enjoyed traveling with him?” I asked instead.
“Yes.” The tiniest smile turned up his lips. “We were happy. He was happiest when he traveled. Unfortunately, there came a point when it became impossible. Near the end of his life he spent most of his time in and out of the hospital. Getting released and coming home to this house was the only thing he lived for. Here he could surround himself with the things he’d collected over the years.”
He sighed heavily and looked into my eyes. “My disorder may have been mild, but it’s still something I deal with every day.”
I studied his face. “What’s it like for you, Grayson?”
His chest expanded and collapsed slowly. After a thoughtful silence, he said, “It’s a struggle to achieve balance. It can be a futile search for the absolute truth or an endless certainty of lies. I’m constantly sifting through my thoughts, analyzing them, looking for the truth. It never stops.”
“Is that why you don’t go out?” I remembered him saying that he didn’t like people, but now I wondered if it was more than that.
He paused. “People make it worse. The noise is endless. I can sometimes hear their thoughts.”
I nodded silently, trying to wrap my brain around his words. Living in one of the most crowded cities in the world probably didn’t help his symptoms.
He frowned deeply. “It’s often like having a nightmare with my eyes open. Is this something that you want to deal with, Angie?”
I nodded firmly. I’d given this very issue much thought over the past week. I wasn’t giving up on Grayson as long as he wasn’t giving up on me. I tilted my head and regarded him.
“Why don’t you take your meds?”
He paused for a second, twisting his beautifully shaped lips. “The side effects. They make me feel dull, drowsy, disconnected, as if I’m experiencing the world from underwater. I don’t feel alive. I want to feel things.” He brushed a finger across my cheek. “I feel so much with you, Angie.”
I gave in and kissed the lips I’d been admiring, lingering at the gentle curve at the bottom. Eventually, I pulled back and smiled at him. My heart soared. I know he hadn’t confessed his undying love, but he did have feelings for me. I folded my heart around that thought, sinking it someplace deep inside.
I remembered the side effects of the antipsychotics that some of my patients had experienced: dry mouth, sedation, apathy, and even Tardive Dyskinesia, a disorder where patients suffered from sudden involuntary movements. I also knew that the medications had come a long way in the last few years.
“There are many new drugs available now. Plus, a doctor will be able to titrate the dose to minimize the side effects.”
He still seemed troubled. “No.”
I was surprised by the harshness of his tone.
“But, Gray—”
“I said no! They’re not…safe.”
His dark brows furrowed and he looked as if he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself. Another dead end, but I could read the signs clearly on his face. He didn’t trust the pills. I wasn’t entirely surprised he was wary of taking his meds. I remembered that many of the schizophrenic patients I worked with were afraid that their drugs were really poison and that they’d be harmed if they ingested the pills. It was part of the paranoia associated with the condition.
“Antipsychotics can help significantly with thought disorders and ideas that are... distressing.” I took a deep breath, thinking about his belief that Charles had been climbing the outside walls, trying to get in through the window. I also thought about his extensive book fort. “Ideas that may not be based in reality.”
He trailed a finger down my cheek. “You know your shit, Nurse Roberts. I can see why you got a sixty-five on your exam.”
He grinned and I punched him playfully in the ribs. I could tell I wasn’t getting through to him. I knew how stubborn Grayson could be when he had his mind set.
I hesitated, and then confessed, “I spoke to Jack about you.”
His expression dulled, but he didn’t look angry. “What did the old boy have to say?”
“That you’re harmless. He wants you to be happy. He said the house is yours and you shouldn’t be worried about losing it.”
The muscles of his face tightened, alarm usurping his expression.
“Charles knows nothing about my conversation with him, and Jack agreed to keep it between us.” I added quickly and watched his face relax.
He was quiet for a long time, and I didn’t think he’d respond. “Jack is a good man. We were friends. That’s why when my wife was alive we made him executor of our estate. He controls certain things.”
I nodded. I understood a little more now about why this house was so important to him. Jack had said he’d never lived anywhere else.
“Jack got an offer on the house a year ago. He declined it. He knows how much I want to stay here. I’m safe here. The buyer then went to Charles. Charles came to me with the offer, but again, I declined it.”
I shrugged. “You have every right to. Jack said that no one can take it away from you. It’s your house, right?”
He nodded, but didn’t offer more. Maybe Charles had tried to convince him to sell and that was where his anger and systematic delusions stemmed from. It seemed his fears about his son were all in his head. I didn’t like Charles, but he clearly wanted to make sure the house was clean and safe. Although my mind was flooded with questions, again, I didn’t want to press. I was glad he was finally sharing with me, and the last thing I wanted to do was to push him away.
I also didn’t want him to know that I’d spoken to Jack about Peter, his father. Hopefully in time, he'd feel comfortable enough to discuss more of his past with me.
I relaxed back onto his chest and we sat for a long time basking in post-orgasmic lethargy and talking quietly. Well, I did most of the talking, and Grayson listened and asked questions. I told him about the graduate program I was enrolled in part time and about my job as a nurse at the hospital. We touched a little on my family, and I was surprised that he had so many questions about my parents.
We took a long shower together and made love again in his bed. It was slower this time, leisurely and just as wonderfully satisfying. He did work on his computer while I cleaned and organized items from a new crate I’d found. This one was from Ireland. I handled everything I’d found with meticulous care, trying to salvage whatever I could of his disordered past.
By the time dinnertime came, I was starving. Grayson offered to make me something to eat, but there wasn't much in his kitchen. I knew going out to dinner wasn’t an option, so I asked about take-out. His eyes widened. He looked at me as though I’d asked him to get on a rocket and fly to the moon. I was able to convince him to order Chinese food, but he would only allow the delivery man to come as close as the gate. He refused to allow him anywhere near the house.
Grayson didn’t eat any of it. He sat and watched me, smiling as I devoured everything on my plate with unabashed enthusiasm. He teased that all our sex had worked up my appetite. Although he encouraged me to eat, he wouldn’t touch any of the food. Literally and figuratively. At one point, I asked him to pass me one of the food containers and he refused to touch it. Between large bites of the sandwich he’d made for himself, he simply explained that the paper from the cartons emitted biochemical toxins that were poisonous to his body. I stared silently for a few moments, wondering deeply about this man I was coming to know.
When I was done, Grayson asked that I tie the leftovers in a bag and deposit them in the metal garbage can outside the house. I discovered that he only ate meals he prepared with his own hands. Apparently, groceries were delivered to the house once a week and left at the gate. From what little he told me, I gathered they weren’t from a local supermarket. They were shipped from an organic farm somewhere out of state.
My time with Grayson was amazing. When he wasn't teasing me, or making me laugh, he was satiating my body with endless pleasure. We enjoyed each other’s company. Our love for books was something we shared. For a few hours, we sat in the upholstered chair and read from a collection of Robert Frost’s poetry that I’d discovered in the piles.
I learned many things about him: his habits, his idiosyncrasies, and everything that made him wonderfully Grayson. Whenever he came out of the shower, which he took several times a day, he had to towel himself off immediately. It was okay if his hair was wet, but not a drop of water could linger on his body. It was a quirk with which I didn’t mind assisting him.
Grayson suffered another paranoid episode that occurred in the early hours of the morning and revolved again around Charles. He was convinced that Charles was planting bombs around the perimeter of the house. I tried hard to be strong for him, to help him rationalize, but it killed me to see him so angry and terrified, especially because his primary concern this time was that I’d be hurt.
This episode, thankfully, didn’t last too long and I was able to convince him to come back to bed. There, we held each other, entwined as I slowly stroked his hair and whispered reassurances that he was safe into his ear. Eventually, I heard the even snore of his breath and then I let myself fall into a dreamless sleep.
Grayson seemed fine on Saturday, but sometimes I could see from his facial expression that his thoughts were weaving and scattering, unfurling in every direction. Anxiety carved a deep fissure between his brows. I could also see his struggle, his desperate attempts to keep the ideas logically tied together.
I wished I could help him. It pained me to see his mind work so hard at something I took for granted. He rarely slept. He went to bed with me at night, holding me until I fell asleep, but I’d wake a few hours later to find him sitting in the dark on his computer down the hall, or restlessly pacing back and forth. Once or twice I even found him running like the hounds of hell were at his heels on his ancient treadmill.
Early Sunday morning, I discovered him upstairs in the room with the books. They were piled all around him as he scratched at something on the floor with an old shovel. The room was saturated with an early morning chill, so thick I could feel it seeping through my skin. I hugged my torso, scrubbing my palms up and down my arms. I approached him hesitantly and asked what he was doing. My heart was in my throat because I never knew what to expect with Grayson. He stopped and leaned against the handle, his cloudy gaze finding my face. He was fully dressed. He must have gotten dressed again after we’d made love earlier.
“Digging,” he acknowledged casually. “Digging a trap.”
I swallowed hard, emotion stacking like bricks in my chest. I shook my head, my mind grasping for purchase, trying to understand. “For what, Grayson?”
“Danger. I have to be prepared. I have to protect us. I have to protect the house.”
I reached out a hand, trying to keep it steady. “You’re safe, Grayson.”
His gaze shifted to my proffered hand, but he didn’t move. He didn’t believe me. Fear and skepticism drew a roadmap of worry on his face. His jaw squared and he tightened his lips into a brittle line. I watched his body uncurl as he grabbed the shovel and silently started scraping at the floor again. That’s when I saw it. There was a large, jagged crater in the dusty wood that must have been covered up by the scattered books. It was directly over the small cracks I’d seen in the ceiling downstairs, the network of spider veins I’d noticed soon after starting here. I wondered how long he’d been working at this trap. I could already see exposed beams and fluffy insulation. If he kept this up, eventually he’d put a hole right through the wood floor.
“Go back to bed, Angie.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying with you, Grayson,” I said sternly, plopping myself down on the floor next to him.
He stopped again and stared at me, his blue eyes almost cobalt in the gray dawn. His hair was a loose mane framing his face, giving him an unruly look. “You’ll be tired. You haven’t gotten much sleep.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, hurting, thinking of the reason I’d been up most of the night. We’d held each other, made exquisite love, bathed in a temporary utopia where I could pretend he was okay.
But Grayson wasn’t okay, and as I spent more time with him, I realized the extent of his fractured thoughts. My Grayson was funny and brilliant. My Grayson was tender and passionate. My Grayson could melt my heart with the tiniest smile. But this man, too, was my Grayson, a man who was sometimes out of touch with reality, who lived in the distorted world concocted by his brain. It was a world of doubt, fear, and distrust.
“I’m not going to bed without you,” I said, hating the way my voice broke with emotion.
“Go back to bed. It’s chilly in here,” he urged softly.
I shook my head, drawing my legs up to my chest to keep warm.
Grayson’s shoulders lifted with a resigned sigh and he looked around the room. I watched him lay down his shovel and take the few steps toward me. He stretched out a steady hand, and like a lifeline, I grabbed hold of it and pulled up to my feet. I tried to blink back my tears, but they snuck out silently as I buried my face in his shoulder and snaked my arms around his waist, twisting my fingers into the soft fabric of his T-shirt.
I loved the solid feel of his body, the warmth of his embrace, and the rise and fall of his chest. They were tangible, corporeal. His body was healthy and strong and offered me comfort. It kept me grounded despite my feeling of overwhelming helplessness. I hated seeing him like this. I hated how this disorder deceived this beautiful man and filled his head with lies.
Grayson’s lips brushed against my forehead as he gently guided me.
“Let’s get you back to bed. You’re freezing.”
I nodded against his chest, too emotional to speak. As we walked down the hall, I thought about his drawer full of medications. At least if he took them, he’d get some respite from his rambling thoughts.
I woke up a few hours later in an empty bed. Early light snuck into the room, drawing a beautiful rainbow across the wrinkled sheet. Sighing deeply, I thought about the man I could hear pacing in the other room. I couldn’t begin to imagine what his world was like. My senses gave me input about the world and I trusted my brain to honestly interpret the data and make accurate conclusions and predictions. What if the conclusions were often wrong? How could I ever stay grounded? How could I ever feel safe? How could I ever put my trust in anything around me?
By the time I’d showered and found Grayson, he was busily working at his computer. He told me a little about his company, Global Systems, and how he ran it from home. I was amazed. He had an entire network of people working for him all around the world. He targeted distressed companies, evaluated their financials and monitored their stocks. He bought when the stocks were undervalued, invested funds to restructure the company, and then sold it for a large profit. It was so extensive that I could hardly wrap my brain around it.
Sunday afternoon, we sat together in my oasis, reclining on the upholstered chair. I leaned against his chest with my feet up on a small stool that he’d rescued from the debris. Sunlight filtered in through my circle in the window and sliced across our torsos, dappling the space with a warm glow. We were both quiet today and I knew we both pondered the inevitable. I’d be going back to my apartment tonight. Classes resumed tomorrow, and I was scheduled to work the night shift.
Grayson was playing with a lock of my hair, holding the dark strands up to the sunlight and watching the elusive colors jump out. My hair was really chestnut, with subtle hints of red, but it was so dark that most people just called it brown.
I sighed heavily and snuggled deeper into Grayson’s body, finding tremendous comfort just listening to the soft thump of his heart.
“I don’t want to go,” I confessed sadly against his chest.
He dropped my hair and wound his arms around me, squeezing tight.
“I don’t want you to go either.”
I chewed on my bottom lip, then turned and lined up our gazes. “Don’t shut me out again, please. Last week was unbearable.”
He tucked a finger under my chin and scanned my face, his eyes boring deeply into mine. “I promise. I won’t lock you out again. I’m sorry about last week. I was scared of my feelings and I was afraid of you getting hurt. I had a lot going on in my head.”
“I was worried about you.”
“I—I don’t want you to think of me as weak.”
I gasped, turning to face him fully with my eyes wide. “Oh God, Grayson. Never. It must take tremendous courage to deal with your illness every day. You possess an inner strength that I can’t comprehend. I could never think of you as weak. You saved me from almost getting raped, remember?”
I leaned forward and kissed him gently, trying to erase the dark look that came over his face at the mention of the incident. “I’m here if you ever need me, you know that, don’t you?” I asked.
“I do.”
“I mean it,” I said earnestly. “I’m on your side.”
A hesitant smile touched his lips and a shadow crossed his face. I canted my head and looked at him, wondering what he was thinking. Did he not believe me?
“What?” I asked.
He gave a slight shake of his head, his gaze sliding away from mine. “My wife used to say that.”
I swallowed away my surprise at his confession. He’d never spoken of his wife.
“I’m sorry about the accident. Sorry you lost her.”
His head dipped with a barely perceptible nod.
“That must have been very difficult.”
He was quiet for a moment and I held my breath, tension winding through my body.
“She was everything to me,” he whispered. “After I lost her, my life derailed.”
I didn’t know what to say. I held him tight, hoping that he knew what was in my heart. In that moment, I felt the profoundness of the losses he’d experienced. I understood how he could lose himself and succumb to despair, how he could veer off track. I could only hope that he’d let me help him find a new path. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“I’ll always be here for you, Grayson.”
He brushed the back of his hand along my cheek and kissed the tip of my nose. He gave me that look I loved. It liquefied my insides, left me lethargic and slightly breathless.
“I mean it,” I affirmed.
“Yes. I know. And that’s great, because I experienced a hallucination the other day that was terrifying.”
My heart sank and I gazed into his somber eyes. I didn’t think he hallucinated. He suffered greatly from a distortion of thought, but I didn’t think he saw or heard things that weren’t there.
“What was it?” I asked, bracing myself.
“Well.” His brows came together and he lowered his head. “A few days ago I had a hallucination that you were throwing stones at my window.”
I stared blankly, nonplussed. Okay. Was he serious?
The corner of his luscious lips kicked up, and issuing an oath, I punched him playfully in the arm. This man drove me seriously batty!
He blocked my hands, laughing. “No, really. It was terrifying. You were throwing like a girl. I don’t think you hit the window once! You were dodging the stones as they were bouncing back down at you!”
“Okay, that part was definitely a hallucination,” I said indignantly, but I couldn’t help chuckling. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I am a girl!”
He waggled his brows and shot a lewd gaze at my breasts. “Oh, I’ve noticed, but I think I may require some more convincing.”
He tried to lift the hem of my shirt, making all sorts of silly grunting, lusty noises. I playfully slapped his hands away, which resulted in him tickling me until I was writhing on his lap with giggles.
“Okay, okay, Smartass!” I screeched when I came up for air. “I’ll show you who throws like a girl. I issue a challenge!”
He quirked a brow and I continued, ignoring his mocking skepticism.
“Whoever can hit the window the most times, gets a prize. Best out of ten throws. The loser has to do whatever the winner says.”
He raised both eyebrows, laughter pulling his lips. “Are you sure you want to make that challenge?”
“Absolutely.” I stood up. “Why? Are you scared I’ll win?” I teased, egging him on.
He rubbed both palms together and leered at my breasts, waggling his brows again. “Are you kidding me? I already know what I want.”
“Alrighty then. Game on!” I grinned as I turned and headed toward the front door, with him following behind.
It was a lovely spring day. We didn’t need our jackets. Dandelions sprouted all over the lawn like pieces of sunshine that had fallen to earth. I let the soft breeze caress my face as we gathered the small stones and I realized that this was the first time that Grayson and I had been outside together. The sun loved him. It highlighted the silver in his hair and made his blue eyes twinkle like diamonds. He was freaking gorgeous.
We stood in front of the house gazing up at the windows on the second floor.
“Last chance to back down.” Grayson grinned, making a show of working out his throwing arm.
I gave an exaggerated yawn. “No way. I’ll even let you go first. Let’s see what you’ve got, old man.”
His grin broadened and he winked. “I think you already know what this old man’s got. But after I win, I’ll be happy to take you upstairs and refresh your memory.”
Despite my bravado, I shivered down to my toes at the heated look he shot me. I enjoyed the funny, playful, dirty-talking Grayson, but I was growing to love this side of him, too. Confident and assured. He was starting to come out of his shell, starting to reveal more of his inner spirit, and he was, I hoped, beginning to trust me. The thought of him collecting his victor’s prize almost made me drop my pebbles and say uncle. Almost. However, there was something I wanted even more.
Grayson took aim and nailed nine out of ten shots. He stepped back with a smirk. “You are in so much trouble. Your turn.”
Unperturbed, I cradled the ten small stones in both hands. I walked right up to the house and threw them at the window in front of me. The stones all hit the pane then bounced off into the grass. I turned to a shocked Grayson and folded my arms triumphantly across my chest.
“I won.”
“You cheated!”
“No, no,” I laughed as he stalked toward me. “I didn’t specify which windows we were to hit. You assumed I meant the ones on the second floor!”
“You tricked me!” he was getting closer, laughing too, but I saw revenge color his eyes.
“Grayson, now, Grayson…” I took cautious steps back as he tracked me. “I won. I made all ten shots. You only made nine. It’s not my fault you throw like a girl!” I spat out the last sentence, turned and with a squeal, took off running around the house, Grayson in hot pursuit.
It wasn’t long before he tackled me, and I squirmed and wriggled like a captured alley cat. He flung me easily over his shoulder and marched me into the house, through the kitchen, and up to his bedroom. I shrieked in feigned protests the entire time, pummeling his back and chortling as he playfully smacked my ass.
He tossed me unceremoniously onto the bed and grinned down at me. “Now, about my prize.”
I rose up on my knees, still winded and laughing. I shuffled toward him, slinking my arms around his neck and pulling him close.
“Sore loser,” I teased. I slanted my lips over his, kissing him lovingly and foraging deep with my tongue. His lips were soft and yielding. Perfectly intoxicating. His tongue met mine and I enjoyed the happiness I tasted on his lips and hoped he detected the same flavor on mine.
“Hmmm,” he purred against my mouth. “I say we each collect a prize. And since technically, you won, I’ll let you request yours first.”
He smiled slowly against my lips and I knew that he expected me to request something sexual, something sinfully decadent.
I pulled back and stared into his face, thinking about how much he’d come to mean to me, about the wonderful spirit that lived in his heart.
“Okay,” I nodded, then scooted off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.
I emerged a few minutes later and strolled up to him. He was still rooted in the spot where I’d left him, his face flushed with anticipation.
I took a deep breath, then lifted my hand and uncurled my fist. He looked at my palm, then looked into my eyes, then looked at my palm again.
In the middle of my palm, sat a little white pill. His antipsychotic medication.