Page 31 of The Devil’s Detail (The Greystone Family: Greystone Brothers #2)

Carter

The house feels warm and fluffy. I love it here.

I’ve always thought of it as cosy, with its own private beach and an outdoor area to sit and entertain.

The outside area with the terracotta tiles on the floor feels homey, accented with lovely wooden furniture to sit on.

I spend most of my time in the shade, watching the waves.

But Jackson being here is making my house feel like it’s a home.

Even when I’ve had a boyfriend over in the past, it always felt like my house alone, and they were just a visitor.

But now, with him here, it feels like ours.

I know I might be reading too much into it.

He’s here as a friend, as my security. I’m certainly getting ahead of myself.

He cooks, I bake. He brings the light, the laughter, and I feel myself relaxing for the first time in years. I almost feel like myself. And I’d love for him to be my guy, not just my security guy.

The days after my picnic-napping are the best of my life.

Jackson and I work out, we go for walks, I talk.

I like to talk, especially about me. He laughs.

I make him laugh . Gone is the dour, aloof man I’ve become used to seeing on a regular basis, gone is the eye rolling security specialist. He’s relaxed, playful even—a big brown bear, all cute and cuddly.

I think he’d die if I said that to him. But any way you slice it, he’s one motherfucking gorgeous, god-like, masterpiece of a man.

I want to touch. I can’t. I want to lick. I can’t. I want to rip off that fucking T-shirt and sink my teeth into those muscles. But I can’t.

So I sit. I smile and chat and make small talk when all I want to do is make glorious fuckin’ love to the man.

Drag those shorts off his magnificent ass, and take that fucking cock out of its fabric hideaway.

Rub my cock against it, feel it throb in my hands.

I’m practically drooling, my eyes glassy when I catch sight of my face in the kitchen mirror.

I really need to rein it in. He’ll know.

In fact, I’m pretty sure he already does.

I’m just not sure how serious he thinks I am.

If he thinks this is more of the same old Carter. Or if he’s caught on that he’s… more .

More. Like the occasional small touches. And he’s not just about the security anymore—every focus of his being is on me. And to say that I like it is the understatement of this millennium.

I don’t think I’m going to survive when he leaves.

I want him to stay, I want him to be with me.

But not just as a one-night stand, it has to be everything.

I don’t want a hookup. I want a relationship—a good ole fashioned boyfriend.

No ‘talking’, no ‘chatting’. No casual friend with benefits.

I want a DTR, to really and truly define the relationship.

I want to shout it from the fucking rooftops.

On camera, in a restaurant, at an awards ceremony. I want him with me. Full fuckin’ stop.

And then he cooks me dinner. My heart is clattering at the inside of my chest in excitement. And more importantly, it’s from scratch. Italian. He’s telling me it’s his special meatballs recipe. A Greek god has rocked up into my kitchen with a flowery apron on and is cooking spicy meatballs.

Settled at the table, I feel like I’m watching myself have dinner. I talk, laugh, and chat with this divine creature, but all the while there’s a barrier. It’s invisible, and he can’t see me, not really. The man with him, touching his leg, brushing his fingers, is not me. But I want it to be.

I can’t let this go on. Either I come clean, or let him move on. He might not be interested, but to be honest, I am not getting those vibes. I’m not sure what vibes I am getting, though. Normally I’m upfront, and so are my partners. We all know the score. But with him, I’m all over the place.

One of the best evenings of my life is coming to an end, and I can’t bear it.

I don’t want it to ever end. The lemon scented candles flicker along nearly every surface of the veranda.

We’ve settled in to watch the sunset, a beer in our hands.

I can’t pull my eyes from him. They keep clashing, blue-green to deep dark brown with the caramel flecks, winking at me.

The ocean is a constant noise in the darkness, a soothing soundtrack to what I want my life to be like every day.

I’m going for it. I can’t not. In for a penny in for a pound.

“Jackson, sugar, I need to talk and I need you to listen.” He looks a little taken aback by my slightly aggressive tone. It’s out of character for the evening so far, and for me in general. Of course he picks up on it immediately.

“Okaaay. Is everything alright? You don’t feel ill from the meatballs, do you?” He grins, trying to lighten the mood which has just headed south.

Fuck, unless I’m flirting, I have zero game. And this is too serious to flirt. Oh fuck it, flirt, go big or go home.

“I want you to go on a date with me.” My eyes bore into his and he just nods his head.

“Fine, where are we going?” He hasn’t reacted at all. God, he’s so cool. Maybe he isn’t interested at all, and I got this soooo wrong.

“Wherever you want? But I like that little Italian place just up the coast road. Della’s?” I’m batting my eyelashes at him now. Getting a bit disheartened.

“Great, when do you want to go? How many guests?” He’s about to pull out his phone and put the date in our shared calendar. Ahh, now I see why he’s agreed so happily—he thinks I want to go out, and he’s along to protect me.

“Just two.” I smile sweetly at him. He shrugs as if no problem.

“Shouldn’t be an issue. I can scope it out. Who’s the other guest? Purely for info purposes only, do I know them?” He looks intrigued. But I think I see a fleeting look of something else in his eyes. Was that jealousy?

“Yes, you do. Very well, in fact.” My voice wavers.

God, my nerve is going to fail me. Man the fuck up, Carter.

My pep talk has my legs shaking under the table.

He’s looking at me expectantly, his brown eyes like pools of liquid chocolate reflecting the candlelight.

“It’s you, Jackson. I want to go on a date with you.

” My voice is surprisingly confident. I don’t feel it, which for me is alien.

Neither one of us speaks. He continues to look at me. His face hasn’t changed. Is that a good thing or bad? What the fuck? Is he employing tactics now? Oh God, why do I have so many fuckin’ questions? I feel ill.

“A date?” he asks eventually. Like he’s never heard of the concept.

I nod. No words are going to work at this point.

“Like, a date with someone who you want to start seeing? Or spending time with, or fucking? That sort of date?”

I nod again, to all of the above. I don’t even dare speak at this point. His voice has changed. It’s low, gruff. But his face is impassive. I know I’m seeing another facet of the man. And I find him fascinating.

“You don’t want to hook up? Tonight? A one-off?” He shrugs, like he’s casting me off.

Oh fuck me, I got this wrong. But noooo. Not a one off.

“I don’t want a hookup with you. Well, I do, but not just a hookup.” I’m wringing my hands together. What the hell am I talking about? Of course I want the hookup. Is he offering? Agreeing to it? Lots of questions, no goddam answers coming my way.

“I’m a bit confused here, Carter. Are you asking me to fuck?”

He’s brutal. And I can see his body has gone all hard edges, a bit like the voice I’m listening to.

“No, I mean yes. But no, but yes, yes.” Christ I can’t even say yes or no now.

“But not tonight. I want to do it right. I want to go on a date. Get to know you. And, well… then fuck.” I grin.

What the hell else am I supposed to say.

“I’m trying to tell you that I like you more than just a casual fuck.

And if you like me, then I’d like to take you on a date.

” My voice sounds unsure to my ears. I was going for a confident A-list Hollywood actor. Epic fail on that one.

“Like out in public. You holding my hand across the table. Staring into each other’s eyes?”

Oh shit, he doesn’t sound happy. Maybe I should’ve stuck with the fuck.

“Well, I’ve never done that on a date myself, but if you want to, I’m game, sugar.

” Might as well go for it now. He’s clearly gonna say no.

I don’t even know if he’s gay. I mean, I know things about him, but I’ve honestly never heard if he’s ever dated a man.

The family only ever talked about his relationships with women.

“Well, of all the things I thought you might say, it wasn’t that.” He sighs.

I close my eyes waiting for the brush off. But instead I get a question that piques my curiosity and quells some of my internal chaos.

“Why? You’re just out of one relationship.” He wafts his hands dismissively towards the outside of the house. Clearly thinking about Gary.

“Pfftt, don’t classify that as a relationship. It wasn’t. The man clung so tight, he was more like a leech than a lover. It was all one sided—his. And he had a saggy ball sack.” I grin impishly, hoping to get at least a grin back.

He doesn’t grin back. Fuuuuuccck. This ain’t goin’ well. At all.

“Look, Jackson, do I want to fuck you? Yes, of course I do. But I’d really love to try for it to be so much more.

I don’t want to risk a quick roll in the hay, and then that’s it.

I’ve done all that, and I know you have too.

I’m looking for more, and if you’re not, then just say so.

I’m not sure I could stand taking you to bed, and then you leavin’, and that’s it.

In fact, I know I won’t.” I’m amazed at how cool I sound.

How definite. But I can also hear the bite of desperation underneath.