Page 17 of Fury
"Guest room's upstairs, second door on the right," Greyson tells his mother, though his eyes remain on me. "Bathroom's en suite."
Chrystal squeezes my arm. "Let's get you situated, and then these men can explain the security protocols while I make some tea."
I follow her up the wide staircase, glancing back to find Greyson watching me, his expression unreadable in the dim light. The guest room, when we reach it, is larger than my entire apartment in LA with a king-sized bed dominating one wall and a sitting area near windows that presumably overlook the forest.
"He had this room redone last year," Chrystal says, opening drawers to show me where to put my things. "Though I doubt he expected his first guest would be under these circumstances."
I set my small overnight bag on the bed. Mom and I had packed hastily, just enough clothes for a few days, my toiletries, and the gun Dad insisted I keep with me. "It's beautiful," I say, running my hand over the plush comforter.
Chrystal studies me for a moment, her blue eyes so like her son's, seeing more than I'm comfortable revealing. "He's a good man, Olivia. Complicated, stubborn as hell, and too much like his father sometimes, but good where it counts."
"I know," I say quietly.
"Do you?" She sits on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside her. When I join her, she takes my hand in hers. "Because what I see between you two isn't just attraction or some old crush. It's something that terrifies fathers and thrills mothers."
I feel heat rise to my cheeks. "Mrs.…" I start.
"Chrystal, please. And I'm not trying to embarrass you. I just want you to understand what you're walking into." She squeezes my hand. "My son has been waiting for you to come home for two years. He may act all cool and controlled, but inside? He's a mess."
"I didn't know," I admit, though part of me had hoped. "I thought maybe he'd moved on."
She laughs slightly. "Honey, that boy hasn't looked at another woman since you left or, hell, even before.” Her expression grows more somber. "But being with him comes with complications. The club, your father's concerns, and now this stalker situation."
"I'm not afraid of complications," I tell her, surprising myself with how true it feels.
"Good." She stands, smoothing her jeans. "Because I have a feeling you're about to face plenty of them."
After Chrystal leaves to make tea, I unpack my meager belongings, trying to ignore the flutters of anticipation at the thought of being alone in this house with Greyson once his parents leave. I'm hanging the last of my clothes in the spacious closet when a knock sounds at the door.
"Come in," I call, expecting Chrystal to be back with tea.
Instead, Greyson fills the doorway, his broad shoulders nearly touching both sides of the frame. He's removed his cut, wearing just a black t-shirt that stretches across his chest and dark jeans that hang low on his hips.
"Getting settled?" he asks, though his eyes are saying something entirely different.
"Yes, thank you," I reply, suddenly very aware that we're alone in a bedroom. "Your mom was just helping me with?—"
"She and my dad are leaving," he interrupts, taking a step into the room. "We’ve checked the perimeter, everything's secure. Dad's installed some extra cameras, and they'll be monitoring everything remotely."
I nod, trying to ignore how my pulse has accelerated. "Thank you. For all of this."
He moves closer, until only a few feet separate us. "You don't need to thank me, Livie. I'd do anything to keep you safe."
The intensity in his voice makes me shiver. "Greyson?—"
"I know the timing is all wrong," he tells me, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that seems almost vulnerable. "You just got home, this stalker situation, your dad ready to murder me in my sleep… Not exactly how I imagined this going."
I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. "How did you imagine it going?"
His eyes darken. "That dinner I promised you, for starters. Somewhere nice, where I could see you in candlelight. Get to know the woman you've become without an audience watching our every move."
My heart flutters at the image he's painting. "Rain check?"
"Definitely." He reaches out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face with such tenderness it nearly undoes me. "But for now, you should rest. It's been a hell of a day."
I lean into his touch, unable to help myself. "What about you?"
"I'll be down the hall if you need anything. My room's at the end, door on the left." His thumb traces my cheekbone. "Anything at all, Livie. You just call my name."
