Chapter 2: Falling Into the Wolf's Den, Fake Becomes Real

Isla yanked his shirt open, pushed him back against the headboard, then climbed onto the bed herself, phone already out, snapping close-up shots of the two of them tangled together. She sat back to check the photos. They actually look convincing. This should work. "Okay, a few more the more scandalous-looking, the better!" She dragged the blanket up over his hips, his shirt hanging open, the fabric riding just low enough to leave nothing but a hard, cut set of abs on display. Distractingly hot abs. "Got it!" Isla scrambled off the bed, already scrolling back through the shots, completely oblivious to the man now propped up lazily against the pillows, watching her with the patient, hungry look of a wolf that had already decided how the night would end. Grayson sat up, his dark eyes locked on the reckless little thing across from him. "That's all? You think that's convincing enough?" Isla hesitated. Actually good point. "...Yeah?" "Want to try something a little more real? A little more convincing?" She blinked up at his ridiculously handsome face, genuinely curious. "How much more real are we talking?" Something dark flickered behind Grayson's eyes anger, quickly smoothed over into something colder, more deliberate. He rose, crossed to her side, and plucked the phone straight out of her hand. "Let's make it real." His mouth curved, unhurried. Wait. Was the fake thing about to become an actual thing? "No no, no, absolutely not!" Isla threw her hands up, backing away, chanting no like it was a spell that might actually work. Grayson's gaze dropped over her, slow and assessing. She'd practically thrown herself at him minutes ago and now she wanted to play shy? Cute strategy. Play hard to get after you've already climbed into a stranger's bed. His stare felt like it could see straight through her clothes. Isla's arms crossed instinctively over her chest. He was tall tall enough to block out most of the light behind him, his silhouette carved sharp against the window, his eyes dark and bottomless as open water, the kind you could drown in without meaning to. How did we go from "sure, whatever you want" to this? I hired him. I'm paying HIM. Since when does the customer not get to call the shots? Grayson closed the distance, pulled her against him, and turned her, pinning her gently to the wall. A full wall-pin. Textbook. His scent hit her first clean, sharp, expensive, and completely overwhelming. His eyes, dark and burning, stayed fixed on her like she was something small and cornered that he had every intention of enjoying slowly. "You already stripped my shirt off. We already ended up in the same bed. What exactly is the problem now?" His handsome face stayed maddeningly calm as he caught her wrist and pulled her toward the floor-to-ceiling window. "The view's better over here. Should really do wonders for that thrill you were chasing." His grip was warm, firm, unshakeable. Isla's whole body jolted like she'd touched a live wire. "No no no no!" She threw her weight backward, trying to twist free. Her face had gone pale with panic, but his hand around her wrist didn't budge an inch, locked tight as a cuff. Words tumbled out of her in a stammering rush, none of them landing right. "If you try anything I'm not paying you, and I'm reporting you for assault!" She forced the threat out in one breath, glaring up at his infuriatingly attractive face. Grayson's eyes narrowed, something wicked settling into them as he studied her panic. "You climbed into my bed. You're the one who took my clothes off. If anyone's filing a report, it's me against you." He leaned in, close enough that his eyes filled her whole field of vision. "Trespassing. Assault by seduction. Unlawful pursuit of my body." His mouth curved into something sharp and amused. Isla felt like she'd been struck by lightning. Excuse me?! ME assaulting HIM? She was five-foot-four on a good day. How exactly was she supposed to overpower a six-foot wall of muscle? Being hot doesn't automatically make you innocent, you absolute Before she could finish the thought, his mouth came down over hers, swallowing whatever she'd been about to say, along with every ounce of the sweetness underneath it. Oh... Something unfamiliar sparked through her whole body, limb to limb. Her first kiss. Gone. Just like that. Behind her, cold glass. In front of her, nothing but heat. The next morning, sunlight dragged Isla awake. She opened her eyes slowly, and the second she moved, her whole body screamed in protest. She sat bolt upright like she'd been electrocuted. She glanced at the wall of glass, then lifted the blanket to check on herself. Her eyes slid sideways to the man still asleep beside her and her stomach dropped straight through the floor. Last night. Last night actually happened. Heat flooded her face just remembering it, her eyes stinging with something close to despair. Grab the pillow. Smother him right now while he's asleep. Do it. No bad idea, he'll just wake up angrier. Just... file it under "unfortunate accident" and move on with your life. She eased herself off the bed, carefully scooping her bag off the carpet. Her phone buzzed her heart nearly stopped and she killed the alarm and silenced it instantly. Thank God he didn't stir. She snatched her clothes off the floor, yanked them on, and fled the room in a full panic. She needed to get to her grandmother before the Bennetts found out she'd run. She was moving too fast to notice the hundred-dollar bill the only cash in her bag slip out and flutter to the carpet behind her. By the time Isla reached the hospital, breathless and frantic, a nurse told her that her grandmother had already been signed out. Picked up early that morning. By family. I'm too late. Isla's hands were shaking with fury. She powered her phone back on and dialed Bianca's number. The call connected, and Bianca's voice came through syrupy and smug. "Oh, look who finally decided to call. If you want your grandmother safe, you'll come home and marry into the Vale family like you're supposed to. Otherwise well. Things happen to old women in hospitals all the time." Half an hour later, across town, Grayson woke up. His lashes lifted, eyes sharp and alert in an instant, sweeping the room. Empty. He was a light sleeper by nature and yet somehow he hadn't heard her leave at all. He dragged a hand through his hair and pushed himself upright. The blanket slid down, baring a broad, sun-warmed chest and a very obvious set of teeth marks along one shoulder. He glanced at the sheets. A dark stain marked the white fabric. He looked away fast, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stepped down onto the carpet. Something green caught his eye near his foot. A hundred-dollar bill. Grayson's eyes narrowed slightly as he bent down and picked it up, turning it over between two fingers. Then he noticed folded half beneath it a single ten. Ten dollars. He did the math without meaning to. Ten times. Five rounds, apparently, at ten dollars a pop. ...Unbelievable.