Page 30 of The Devil’s Detail (The Greystone Family: Greystone Brothers #2)

Jackson

Carter at home is a different beast compared to him in the city or out of the country. I can’t believe how relaxed he is. I can’t believe how relaxed I feel here. It’s like we’ve rewound the clock back to Scotland.

“Are you sure there isn’t anyone else you want here?

” I ask him almost daily, but it’s obvious he doesn’t have anyone else, not really.

I find it so sad. I know my family are the ultimate meddlers, but I also know if I rang they would drop everything and come.

But Carter doesn’t have any siblings. He is totally alone, he only has paid help.

And even though technically I am, too, I’m also a friend.

I would come whether he was paying or not.

“Are you cooking tonight, sugar?”

I grin. Carter’s southern drawl has gotten more pronounced the longer we’re here alone. I think he loves it, letting it all hang out without any worry about anyone judging him. I love it when he does it. It makes me smile and think of hot summers and lazy days. Yeah, I’m going down that road.

The more time we spend together, the more I see the man he truly is. He's funny, dramatic, caring and considerate. And his arse in yoga shorts… well… As he’s stated on numerous occasions ‘you could bounce a quarter off those cheeks.’

Ash has honed Carter’s body to a glorious thing. And I am happy to lap up and appreciate it. I’ve taken every opportunity presented to watch his body, so fluid, so toned. The man is a God. And, fuck my life, I want him.

It hits me so hard, coming to terms with my attraction.

But I don’t stop it. I encourage it, let it pour out of me.

However, I often feel that we’re having two different conversations.

Our brains and mouths are saying one thing, our bodies saying another.

Are you baking? is code for you look amazing in that apron.

Take off the clothes and just wear that.

Are you cooking Italian? is his code for I love watching your hands make pasta from scratch. Gentle firm strokes.

I’ve watched his eyes dilate every night, and it’s amazing torture.

“Carter, dinners ready.”

We’re sat on his terrace in the early evening sunlight.

It’s lovely out here, and we’ve sat most nights here together, but tonight I’ve made a bit of a decision.

I'm going to show my hand and see where we’re at.

If he isn’t interested in what I’m offering, then fair enough.

But I truly feel he is, even though he hasn’t been crazy flirting anymore. Things seem deeper than that now.

I’m not sure what I feel about that. But I’m prepared to give it ago. For at least one night.