Sam

“Come on,” Morgan begged as she leaned back into the passenger side of the Yukon. “You know you want to come dancing. Grayson is as moody as they come, and this is vacation.”

“It sounds like a ton of fun”—and right up my usual alley—“but I just can’t.”

“You’re leaving me with him?” She tilted her head toward where Will waited, his arms crossed.

“Something tells me you’ll be just fine.” I smiled. Like I hadn’t seen the sparks between those two. They were more metal-on-metal than kindling-a-fire sparks, but they were there.

Jagger took her place in the open door frame as Morgan looped arms with Paisley to head inside the bar. “Look at you, all grown up and not coming out drinking.”

“Yeah, well, I’d hate for Grayson to have to pull me off another bar.” If he bothered to come looking.

“You sure this is what you want to do?”

The dashboard clock said eleven o’clock. It had been over four hours since Grayson left me. “Yes,” I answered.

“That guy has walls thicker than China.”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever really tried to break through them. He deserves someone who will show up with a bulldozer.” And maybe two hundred pounds of C-4, or hell, even a nuke.

Jagger sighed. “Last year, Grayson told me, ‘sometimes voicing something gives it power over you.’ I used to think it was because he was incredibly wise…”

“But now?” I asked.

“After seeing him this weekend, I think he’s incredibly quiet because he has so many demons dying to gain that voice. The guy is in constant survival mode, Sam. He’s wired for fight or flight. Always has been, and you’re a threat to whatever peace he’s attained by keeping those walls.”

“He’s worth the bulldozer, Jagger.” With every word, my conviction grew. So did my will to fight for him.

“Yeah, he is, and you are, too. Just…be careful.”

I nodded, and he shut the door.

His words stayed with me as I drove to the directions of the GPS location Mia had given me when Grayson hadn’t shown. I crossed the bridge to Roanoke Island and turned into Manteo. A few turns later, and I was parked along the waterfront. The sign hung on the large warehouse read Masters & Son.

I killed the lights and my indecision, and then stepped out of the car. I knocked first, and when no answer came, I turned the unlocked handle, walking into a small, lit office. “Grayson?”

Another door later, I walked into a giant work area, where a huge boat rested on a trailer. The only light came from the boat itself, casting eerie shadows along the floor and walls. The beginnings of other boats took up various locations, but the one in the middle was obviously the showpiece, and her back read The Alibi.

“Grayson?” I called out again.

Movement came from high above me on the boat. “Sam?” Grayson sat on the edge, leaning on the railing as his feet dangled over the side. “How did you…”

“Mia,” I admitted. “Is it okay that I’m here?”

He studied me for a moment, and I braced. “Yeah. There’s a ladder at stern, the back of the boat.”

I kicked off my wedges as he came toward me, then climbed the ladder, using the handholds on the last rungs until I stood inside. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered, taking it in. The lines were smooth, every detail exquisitely attended to. This wasn’t an ordinary sailboat, or one I could dream of affording. The polished decks gleamed in the lights, the luxury seats were the softest leather, everything was buffed, polished, and standing in the middle of it was Grayson. Beautiful, ripped, kind, and complicated Grayson.

I’ll take one yacht and the deckhand, please.

“Your family built this?”

“She’s Dad’s pride and joy. We started the design a couple years ago, but only started building her this year. I helped out on the design, and whenever I was home. Well, when I wasn’t—”

“With Grace,” I finished for him, running my hand along the wheel. “You can say her name. You can talk about her, Grayson. I’m okay with it.”

His hand covered mine, the contact stopping my movement and my breath. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

Even the dim lights couldn’t soften his features. His jaw was tense, unyielding, his mouth set in a firm line. “Who are you?” I asked softly, resting my hand on his chest. “Are you the dutiful son? The one who moves home and takes over his family business? Designs sailboats?”

“Yes.” His hand rested on my hip.

My heart lurched. “Are you the army pilot at the top of your class, ready to be assigned somewhere? Deployed overseas?”

“Yes.”

I drew my gaze up from his chest to look in his eyes. “Are you the guy who kissed me covered in brownie batter? Or the guy who threw his ex-best friend against the wall?”

“Yes.” He pulled my hips against his, and a rush of desire slammed through me.

My hand tightened on the steering wheel. “Grayson, you can’t be both. You’re a whole different person here. At home, you’re a little hard, but here…you’re angry, and dangerous, and more than a little tortured.”

His other hand released mine on the wheel so he framed my hips.

“I get it. I see how they treat you, and what they all expect. I can’t fathom the guilt you feel over what happened to Grace, but I know it fuels what happens here…who you are here.”