Page 19 of Fury
"And now?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Now you're back." His gaze drops to my lips. "And I'm done staying away."
The air between us charges with electricity, the same crackling tension that's been building since I first saw him at the party. I lean forward, drawn to him like a moth to a flame, when a sharp beeping sound cuts through the moment.
Greyson tenses immediately, reaching for his phone. "Perimeter alarm," he explains, pulling up a security app. "East side, near the back property line."
My heart leaps into my throat. "Him?"
"Stay here," Greyson orders, already on his feet. He crosses to a cabinet, unlocking it to reveal an arsenal that would make my father proud. He selects a handgun, checking it efficiently.
"I'm coming with you," I say, standing up.
"Like hell you are." His voice brooks no argument. "You stay inside, doors locked. If anyone but me tries to enter, you shoot first and ask questions never. Understand?"
The authority in his tone would normally make me bristle, but I see genuine concern in his eyes. "Be careful," I whisper.
His expression gentles for a moment. He crosses back to me, cupping my face in his free hand. "Always." Then he presses a swift, hard kiss to my lips that leaves me dizzy. "Lock the door behind me."
I follow him to the front entrance, watching as he steps out into the darkness. The moment the door closes, I throw the deadbolt and engage the security system as he showed me earlier. Then I retrieve my own gun from upstairs, returning to the living room where I can see the security feed on the large television screen.
The cameras show different angles of the property—the driveway, the backyard, the tree line that surrounds the house. I spot Greyson's figure moving cautiously along the eastern perimeter, gun held ready. My heart pounds as I scan each camera view, looking for any sign of movement, any shadow that shouldn't be there.
Minutes tick by with excruciating slowness. I jump at every creak of the house settling, every pop from the dying fire. Just as I'm about to call Greyson's cell, his figure reappears on the front camera. I rush to the door, disarming the system and throwing it open before he can knock.
"False alarm," he says, holstering his weapon. "Motion sensor picked up a deer."
Relief floods through me so intensely my knees nearly buckle. "Thank God."
Greyson steps inside, relocking the door behind him. His eyes fall to the gun in my hand, and approval flashes across his face. "Good girl."
"I wasn't going to sit here defenseless," I tell him, lowering the weapon.
"I wouldn't expect anything less from Wilder Bennett's daughter." There's a hint of pride in his voice that warms me from the inside out.
We stand there in the entryway, the adrenaline of the moment slowly receding. Without the immediate threat, I become acutely aware of how little I'm wearing, just thin sleep shorts and a tank top that leaves little to the imagination in the cool air.
Greyson's eyes darken as they sweep over me, lingering on the bare expanse of my legs, the curve of my waist, the outline of my breasts against the thin fabric. Heat blooms in my cheeks, but I resist the urge to cover myself.
"You should get some rest," he tells me, though his tone suggests rest is the last thing on his mind.
"I don't think I can sleep," I admit. "Not alone. Not tonight."
The implication hangs between us, heavy with possibility. Greyson takes a step closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
"What are you asking for, Livie?" His voice is low, rough with restraint.
I swallow hard, gathering my courage. "Just hold me. Please. I don't want to be alone with my thoughts right now."
He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with a gentleness that belies his strength. "I can do that."
He leads me upstairs, but instead of returning to the guest room, he guides me toward the master suite at the end of the hall. The door opens to reveal a spacious bedroom dominated by a massive bed with dark linen sheets. The room is undeniably masculine, leather, wood, and steel, but comfortable in its simplicity.
"Bathroom's through there if you need it." He gestures to a door on the far wall. "I'll be right back."
While he's gone, I set my gun on the nightstand and slip under the covers, the sheets cool against my skin. When Greyson returns, he's changed into sweatpants, his chest bare in the dim light filtering through the windows. The sight of him, all sculpted muscles and tattoos, makes my mouth go dry.
He slides into bed beside me, keeping a respectful distance between us until I move closer, seeking his warmth. His arm wraps around me, drawing me against his chest where I can hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
