"Avery, wait."
Grayson Hawthorne's voice wasn't the only thing that made me pause in the middle of the foyer.
It was a warm, calloused hand closing around mine.
Not my wrist.
Not my arm.
My hand.
The Hawthorne boy did not grab me as though he wasn't willing to let me go. But that, in itself, was what made me pause.
Paralysis wrapped around my limbs, not allowing me more than a pivot on my heel to face him.
"What's wrong?" I asked him — because something was always wrong with Grayson Hawthorne.
A frown seemed permanently stitched onto his lips.
"I was hoping you would elaborate on that question," he said, cleverly dodging my attempts to break his walls.
"If you're trying to make me confess to something," I said, leaning forward an inch, "it's not working."
"Avery, I'm not attempting to interrogate you. I'm sure Jameson would be more than happy to take the reigns regarding that situation." His ever-so-intense eyes met mine. I swallowed as he added, "All I want to know is if you're okay."
"Okay?"
Though his expression didn't change, his eyes clouded over. "I expect you've never been asked that before."
"Not of someone's free will," I agreed.
"If you trust that my inquisition is genuine, will you be honest with me?"
I narrowed my eyes. "You want something."
"I want your trust."
"You have my trust."
Grayson took a step closer. "Do I?"
With another step, I found it harder and harder to breathe. Grayson was a scarce foot away, and although not intimidating, he sure knew how to make a girl's palms sweat.
"Some of it," I hedged, forcing my eyes up to his.
"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like you to inform me as to why I only have a portion of your trust."
"It's not just you." My knees wobbled. "I've always had trust issues."
"As have I." My breath stuttered when his gaze dipped to my lips. "However, Avery, you are one of the few people whom I trust wholly."
The intensity of his eyes was confirmation enough.
"I don't understand why you trust me," I said in all honestly. "Your grandfather gave me everything you were supposed to have."
Grayson shook his head, something resembling a smile tugging on his lips. "It's for the best."
"Is it?"
He nodded, his gaze returning to stoicism. "Growing up, I thought that wealth would ensure my success. Thought that my grandfather's fortune would get me everything I wanted. A degree, a girl, a career . . ."
I shook my head. "Money can't solve everything."
"It solves next to nothing," Grayson agreed. "I spent my whole life learning that lesson and yet you discovered it in weeks. So that, Avery, is why I trust you."
I watched him for several moments.
Was Grayson Hawthorne admitting that I was smarter than him?
Or was this another game?
Another riddle?
Only when a silence gathered between us did I notice that I was wedged between Grayson and a wall. And somehow, during our conversation, our separation had narrowed significantly.
As he slowly backed me against the wall, my heartbeat skyrocketed.
"Avery," he said, his body a hairbreadth away. "Tell me what you're thinking about."
Swallowing, I forced my gaze up to his. "The ski lift," I answered. "When you told me you were my friend."
"I've had time to reevaluate my life since then."
"And?"
His narrow hips nudged mine. With the wall pressing into my back, our bodies aligned. Or better yet: collided.
Clockwork, was all I could think as his lips claimed mine.
We fit together like clockwork.
His contours housed my curves, his muscle melded to the heat of my skin. His arms draped over my hips. A pair of soft, yet firm, lips, lingered on mine. It was inhuman, really, how incredible everything felt.
I knew from experience that Grayson was a perfectionist. And kissing me was no exception.
As we both accepted an inch of space, my gaze traveled to my new favorite feature of his.
"You're smiling," I commented. "I never see you smile."
"Then perhaps you've never seen me happy."
