Page 48 of The Devil’s Detail (The Greystone Family: Greystone Brothers #2)

Carter

Fuckin’ Christmas. Always the same. Everyone is desperate to feel something. Well, I am anyway. I would settle for feeling mildly happy. But every year since my momma died, I’ve felt the same. Always dread.

The memories start to flood me as soon as the first Christmas song is played, usually in a mall, or a restaurant. I can’t escape it, and it just gets worse the nearer ‘the big day’ comes. The loss and pain… It doesn’t seem to get better.

Ash is badgering me about going to his place.

For Christmas Eve at least. But I’ve put him off—he doesn’t want me hoggin’ the limelight with his family.

His wife and kids are great. They’ve been with me for a few weeks, and they’re used to me.

But as every new family member turns up, we have the same round of wide-eyed stares and questions.

Ash tells them to chill and back off, but when he’s not there, they go underground, surreptitiously finding a way to take selfies and ask way too many personal questions, and it drags on.

He’d be better leaving them to get it out of their systems.

Over on the flip side, filming is a blast. The role of Jameson Bonney is a dream one.

Action, action, action. I’m as fit as a fiddle, thanks to Ash.

I think even the director has been amazed at my fitness levels.

They’re trying to get Ash to help Henry Blake, who has to have his abs sprayed on.

I told them all to fuck off. Ash is mine, sugar.

But I took pity on Henry, who has joined us a couple of times.

He collapsed after ten minutes, but at least he tried.

“I’ve got a babysitter coming for you, Carter. Baz. One of Jackson's top men. You’ve met him. Even guards Jackson at times.” Ash is grinning at me. “Be gentle with him. He’s not used to movie star tantrums.”

I grin back. “Honey, I’ll treat him with kid gloves. Give him the full Carter Maywood experience. Does he do bars?”

Ash shakes his head. “No, non drinker, he’s been hounded out of Ireland. Jackson’s had to send him away for his own safety.”

I smile at the image and the humor Ash is trying to infuse into the entire situation, but on the inside, I’m dying. Every time anyone says Jackson's name, my heart does this weird stutter. I think I’ve got a heart murmur. I might need a doctor.

“I’ve got a few days off. But he should be here soon,” Ash reassures me. And I’m not exactly sure I’m reassured at all.

But by early evening Christmas Eve, he hasn’t turned up, and we’re all in a bar with a cartload of Christmas revellers. My knit beanie with its adorable pompom and the ski goggles I’ve managed to keep on are turning out to be a fantastic disguise. I’m over two hours in before someone recognises me.

And all hell breaks loose.

I’m mobbed, and Ash drags me outside. It’s pitch black now, clearly we’ve been there longer than a few hours.

The moon is full and the sky clear. The snow makes it seem lighter than it actually is, as the moonlight bounces off it.

Ash hails a cab and we all end up at his chalet.

His family is loud and boisterous, the Christmas spirit running through them all.

“Are you staying a while Carter?” Ash’s kind face is totally genuine. He’s been the best person I could have asked for. “You don’t have to go, but Baz should have arrived in town by now. I can call him to come over here to get you.”

I shake my head at him. “No, it’s fine. You enjoy your night. It’s late anyway. I’ll sleep in tomorrow morning and see you all in the evening.”

“Are you definitely not coming for Christmas lunch?” I can hear the worry in his voice, see it clear as day in his eyes. He thinks I’m depressed or something.

“No, honey. Honestly, I’m better like this. Trust me. But I’ll pop in for dinner at least.” I say it to appease him. We’ll see if it actually happens.

He shakes my hand and pulls me in for a hug. “Merry Christmas, Carter. I hope Santa brings you what you wish for.”

I smile ruefully at that. “Me too, honey. Me too.”

There is no chance of that ever happening. My present is still in Ireland.

I set off toward my chalet. It’s the biggest one in this area. Not sure why they think one man needs all this space. But hey, I’m not complaining.

The snow is deep, and it takes me forever to trek through it. I’m de-layering as I get to the bottom steps of the chalet, huffing and puffing and working up a bit of a sweat. Maybe I need to up my cardio afterall.

As predicted, the whole place is dark. Could Baz not even find the lights inside the house.

Who the hell is this guy? Jackson had better have personally approved him.

But I’m not sure why I’m fussing over it.

From what Ash has said, it sure sounds like Baz is the right man for the job.

He guards the king of the guards, for fuck’s sake.

Jackson .

An image of him looking up at me—sitting outside with Ash at the table at my house, before the shit hit the fan—stops me in my tracks. I know I have no breath left from the walk, but this is a punch to my gut. I can’t fuckin’ breathe. I need to call him.

I’ve tried so fuckin’ hard not to. Everyday, my fingers have hovered over his name. It’s taken my iron will not to do it. To give him the time he’s asking me for. But I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to carry this on. I’m about at the end of my tether.

It may be Christmas, the holiday, my mother… who the fuck knows. But I need to hear his voice.

As soon as I get in and have a drink in my hand, I’m FaceTiming him. And I’ll keep on calling until he picks up.

I put my foot on the bottom step and move slowly towards the house.

As I open the door with the code, I freeze when I hear a noise inside.

Clearly Baz is already here. But what if he isn’t.

What if it’s intruders? I heard some gossip on set about places being robbed if the chalets are not filled over the holidays.

Shucking off my boots so I don’t make a noise, I drop my coat and scarf at the door.

I know my ski pants rustle, so I drop them as well.

Edging into the hallway in my boxers and thermal T-shirt, I make my way around towards the lounge.

I pick up a bronze statue from one of the tables, and step gingerly towards what I can now see as a really dim light.

I’ve lived here long enough to know where the light switches are, and which boards creak. Stepping over creaky boards, and shimmying around the edges of the room, I hit the light switch and bound into the large open-plan lounge, my arm raised, ready to swing.

And drop the statue with a scream.

Dark locks hang over one eye, the hair mussed to perfection.

Two day old stubble gives him a dangerous feel.

Long lashes sweep down onto cut cheekbones.

Full pouty lips are parted, and I watch enraptured as his tongue runs the length of the seam of his lips.

There is a Greek god of a man lounging buck-ass naked in the chair, merely looking at me curiously.

His legs are crossed, showcasing muscular thighs.

His abs are on full display. But it’s his fingers that attract my attention.

A black, silk scrap of fabric hangs from his fingertips, and he’s spinning it lazily around and around. It’s a blindfold.

My heart has stopped beating, and it may never start again in the same way.

The salacious smirk that overtakes his beautiful lips makes my knees weak.

“Well, hello Mr Bonney. As you can see, I’ve been expecting you.”

In a sentence, he tells me he’s mine. In one sentence he tells me I’m his. And I better get fuckin’ ready.