Guarding Grayson Read Online Free

gloss on her soft lips ... and she meant that part too.
    Turning the corner to his Gran's street, Gray realized with a groan that he was becoming aroused just thinking about her. He had a woody for a dead woman—how twisted was that?
    And dear God, why now , on top of all his other problems? A few months ago he'd been fine—okay, he'd been full of guilt and regret over her death, but at least that was within the bounds of normal—but now his life had morphed into an episode of Brynne's favorite TV show, about the pair of brothers who hunted destructive demons and the like.
    Her favorite as in she really liked that show—the only time she ever got pissed at Gray and showed it was when he'd called one of the heroes stupid for walking into a dark alley when the guy knew bad shit was about to go down. Brynne had given Gray a glare like he'd stepped on her puppy, and shushed him. Gray had kept his mouth shut for the rest of the program, which was actually enjoyable, although he hadn't admitted that to her.
    Maybe he should've watched every episode with her, and run his mouth the whole time. Maybe that would've broken through to her, shown her he was just a selfish a-hole, not someone for whom she should bother to try and be so ... perfect.
    He'd never been able to convince her that she was her prettiest first thing in the morning, when she woke up beside him with her face free of makeup and her hair all mussed, wearing nothing but one of his too-big tees.
    Or that conversely, he’d hated it when she sat beside him in public like a beautiful doll and agreed with everything he said. That had embarrassed the hell out of him, like he was the kind of stuffed shirt who needed a 'Yes, Daddy' kind of woman to feel like a real man.
    Or that the night of their final fight, when she screamed at him that she hated him, that she'd done everything for him and it still wasn't enough, and she was done trying—that had been the truest emotion he'd ever seen from her.
    For the first time, he'd respected her, for standing up to him and showing a backbone.
    And then she'd gone and died … and now he had to live the rest of his life knowing it was his fault.
    By the time he carried the bag of supper up onto Gran's porch, Gray had lost his appetite. He walked into the house, not bothering to turn the lights on, shoved the bag and containers into the fridge, and grabbed another beer. He had the cap twisted off and the first mouthful down before he realized maybe this wasn't his best idea, drinking more on an empty stomach. He hesitated, and then took another swig. The hell with it.
    He'd drained half the bottle when a knock sounded on his front door.
    He stood there in the little kitchen. The lights inside the house were off, so maybe whoever it was would go away. He was not in the mood for the neighbors, nice as they were.
    The knock sounded again, this time hard enough to rattle the door. With a muttered curse, Gray strode back through the living room, hitting the wall switch for the porch light as he got there.
    He yanked the front door open, ready to get rid of whoever it was.

 
    CHAPTER THREE
    Gray opened his mouth, but instead of saying 'It's late, I'm tired, come back tomorrow', he took one look at his visitor and froze, mouth open, eyes wide, breath frozen in his chest.
    Then she moved, and he stumbled backward with a hoarse, wordless shout of horror.
    It was Brynne!
    Only not the Brynne he remembered—fashionably dressed, hair perfect, makeup dewy.
    This Brynne looked like she'd been at the bottom of a lake—stone cold dead.
    Her hair hung down, half-over her face, the fine strands knotted with dried bits of water-weeds still green and slimy looking. Through the filthy skein, her skin was pale, with a grayish cast. Her clothes were bedraggled, stuck to her with mud and stained with water.
    And her eyes, staring at him through the tangle, were wide and fixed on him like eerie blue spotlights.
    "Gray ... son," she intoned, in a flat,