Chapter 1
He’d decided somewhere between Atlanta traffic and the first rise of the Smokies…the North Carolina side…that he, Greyson Harper, was destined for a vanilla existence. Not by choice but by elimination.
Monkhood had crossed his mind too. Silence and restraint had an appeal. At least monks didn’t pretend they wanted more than they could live with. The lack of faith on his part might throw a kink into the vows.
He exhaled a quiet, humorless breath. Kink. The word even tasted incongruous. He had too many for vanilla and not enough for the lifestyle. He existed in the narrow space between. He had tried. Repeatedly. Tried to tell himself that he could step fully in because that was the only way. He couldn’t. And, this last time was enough to tell him he was done with the clubs. As soon as he got home and in front of his laptop, he was canceling his membership. No more borrowed intimacy dressed up like something it wasn’t. No more trips out of town to try to scratch an itch that felt like it cost too much. He could do celibacy until he figured something out.
But first…liquor delivery to the Inn. The inn that had opened a couple months ago by fellow outsider Amelia Kensington. The inn with a complicated past, all of which came to light in the middle of a murder spree during the Christmas festival. The inn now doing its very best to reinvent itself and was being helped along by Amelia’s significant other Logan Talbot.
The man missed his calling as a bartender. Instead, he’d been a hot shot investigative reporter who had taken a story too far and was forced to serve penance in St Marys covering the Christmas festival.
St Marys suited Logan. And Logan suited Amelia.
And it was nice to have some outsiders around. St Marys was a tight knit community. They had welcomed him and other transplants with open arms but it was just different.
The liquor list had grown since the Valentines Festival was coming up. Greyson suspected that Logan viewed it as a personal challenge to create a happy hour that the guests wouldn’t forget. He was all for it because Logan also always made sure that his bourbon and whiskey labels were featured prominently.
The Victorian Inn came into view, all charm and curated warmth. Greyson circled to the side, parked, and hauled out two heavy boxes. Bottles clinked softly as he nudged open the kitchen door with his shoulder.
“Hey Greyson.” Logan relieved Greyson of his boxes and sat them down on the table. “How was the drive?”
“No snow. Minimal wrecks.” He walked over to the coffee pot and after retrieving a mug, poured himself a cup. “Did I miss anything?”
Amelia shook her head as she started unpacking the boxes. “Not really. Still no mayor. Valentines Festival is ready to kick off next week. Guests start arriving tomorrow.”
Greyson took a sip of coffee and watched Logan pull his phone out of his back pocket and read what looked like a text. “Problems?” Based on the look on Logan’s face, he knew the answer.
Logan frowned. “The lawyer that’s heading up the prosecution on everything I stirred up with my article last year is getting death threats.”
Amelia’s eyebrows knitted together. “Surely the police have a protection detail in place.”
“Not one that can be trusted.” Logan glanced over at Greyson. “The article exposed that most of the city officials are working for the mob.”
Greyson took a sip. “You definitely have a talent for chaos.”
“What happened here wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t like I was looking to expose a decades old mystery.” Logan looked over at Amelia. “We’re completely booked, aren’t we?”
“Yes. So are all of the individual rentals, the other B&B’s and the hotel.” If the festivals continued to grow, they would need another hotel. As it was, people drove in from surrounding areas. “It would be a great place to hide out for a couple weeks but I can’t think of anywhere that has even a room that’s vacant.”
“I have room.” Greyson finished his coffee and set the cup in the sink. “When I redid the warehouse I figured it was cheaper to go ahead and finish out the living area even though I only use a couple rooms. There’s an entire guest suite.”
Logan looked over at him. “Really? You wouldn’t mind having someone at the distillery with you? If we’re careful about it I don’t think anyone would think to look in St Marys.”
Greyson shrugged. “My insurance carrier required so much security that it’s pretty secure even if there was an issue.” He nodded at Logan’s phone. “Send the text and let me know when to expect them.”
Greyson heard the crunch of gravel as a vehicle pulled up to the warehouse. He walked out of the large open area where the distillery equipment ran twenty-four hours a day and wiped his hands on a towel before dropping it on an empty barrel by the door. He recognized Logan’s SUV. He and the lawyer had apparently made it to St Marys…hopefully without any trouble.
He stepped outside just in time to see the passenger door open. He noticed the shoes first. Stiletto. On their own, they would have been an invitation. Paired with the tailored slacks and fitted blazer they were a warning.
His gaze tracked upwards, automatically cataloguing details. The posture, the awareness. He was still processing the dark, shoulder length hair when she turned around and met his eyes.
Fuck.
In retrospect, he probably should have asked more questions. Prosecutor taking on corruption and the mob…he had assumed male. Not because he doubted women, but because his brain had apparently taken the path of least disruption. He’d psychoanalize himself later…right now, he was seriously regretting offering to let Logan’s friend stay with him. He liked Logan. The things running through his head right now were not things that he thought Logan would appreciate.
Fuck.
“Greyson…this is Maggie Carpenter.” Logan grabbed a suitcase out of the back of his SUV. “Maggie, Greyson Harper.”
“Mr. Harper. I appreciate the offer. I don’t think there’s an actual risk…”
Logan snorted. “You don’t consider someone following you home last night, slashing your tires, sitting outside your apartment this morning a problem…”
All of Greyson’s protective streak kicked in at one time and settled in his chest. “Call me Greyson. You weren’t followed here?” He took the suitcase from Logan without asking.
“No. We would have seen someone on some of those roads.” Maggie glanced toward the road they had taken to the distillery.
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” He nodded towards the other end of the warehouse. “Living space is that way.” He looked back at Logan. “You heading back to the Inn?”
Logan nodded. “The Grant's and the Rutherford's are supposed to be showing up today. If we’re not careful, they’re just going to move in permanently.” He walked towards Maggie. “You good?”
Maggie sighed. “I think you’re over reacting but, yes, I’m good.” Her gaze flickered over to the man that had lifted her suitcase like it weighed nothing. “Lead on.”
She gave Logan a final nod and followed her suitcase across the gravel parking area. She was used to moving carefully in shoes that could be classified as lethal weapons. The first time she had slipped them on, it was because she thought her 5’3” frame needed a little height if she was going to play with the big boys. She hadn’t anticipated the attitude that came with them but she embraced it completely.
People assumed she was a hard ass, and she was perfectly fine with that. She’d worked hard for every inch of ground she stood on. If four inch heels helped sell the image, so be it.
When she stepped across the threshold into what had been labeled the living space, it felt like crossing into another world. Warm wood replaced crunching gravel. An old brick wall anchored the open area, solid and unpretentious. There were no sharp edges here, no posturing. Just space and comfort. For the first time in what seemed like forever, she slowed down.
Her heels clicked too loudly against the worn wooden floors. She was used to her small apartment with its view of the city. She was there just enough to sleep before heading back out again. Her entire place would fit into maybe half of the space stretching out in front of her.
“Not what you were expecting?”
Maggie tore her gaze away from the brick wall and found Greyson watching her. “Not in the least.” She realized as the words left her mouth that she wasn’t really talking about the room. The man in front of her looked like the good kind of trouble and that was the last thing she needed. “Logan said ‘friend’ and ‘distillery’, and in a moment of weakness I took him up on his offer.” She glanced around again before meeting Greyson’s eyes. “I don’t think I stopped long enough to form an image.”
Greyson nodded toward the stairs leading to the second floor. “Bedrooms are upstairs. There’s a sitting area with a desk you can use as an office. You’ll have the place to yourself during the day.”
She followed him to the stairs and promptly swallowed.
Once he took the first few steps up, she realized she had a perfect view of a rather spectacular part of his body. She forced her eyes upward, which somehow made it worse. The Henley he wore pulled across his back as he adjusted her suitcase in his grip, muscles shifting with casual ease.
Maggie drew in a steadying breath. She had a massive case to focus on and a career that didn’t leave room for distractions. She didn’t have time for anything else.
Reaching the top of the steps, Greyson turned right and she followed him. For someone that dwarfed her by more than a foot, he moved like a predator. Sure, silent, and deliberate. The hearing was in two weeks. She could make it two weeks. Once she started proceedings she wouldn’t be as much of a target. She studied the man leading her down the hall and one thought entered her head. She was fucked.
