"He will notice more than the furniture," she murmured, closing her eyes as his thumb pressed deeper, a slow, hypnotic circle that made her knees go weak. "He'll notice you. He'll notice that you're... different."
Grayson shifted, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder. His grip on her hips tightened, pulling her back until she was flush against the hard, reassuring lines of his body. "He is an observer by nature. It is his primary fault."
"Maybe it's his only way of being close to people," she countered, her voice dropping to a whisper. She turned in his arms, the movement awkward but necessary, until she was facing him. His shirt was buttoned to the chin, a pristine wall of fabric that felt like a return to his old, guarded self. She reached out, her fingers dancing over his top button. "You don't have to be the general tonight, Grayson. Just be the man who tends to the beans."
