Lovely Pink

That same feeling returned just a few minutes later when I lifted the heavy Victorian knocker on the door to Lance Oakley’s house, letting it fall three times in quick succession.  Lance is a friend I met when I started working at SIA.  He’s also the son of our sitting Vice President, so we totally “get” each other.  He feels just as trapped by his father’s role in government, as I do within the confines of my family.  For an Army veteran who lost his left leg below the knee in Afghanistan, Lance is remarkably positive in his outlook on life.  If you don’t count all those tats he has.  He is literally covered from the neck down.  I think he gets them as a form of therapy for the PTSD, but tattoos are better than drugs if it’s your addiction.

The front door to Lance’s house opened before me with a creaking groan, the tired iron hinges in perfect step with the Halloween decorations lining the stone steps and scattered across the landing.  I could hear music blaring and people shouting from inside, but I couldn’t see who was greeting me.

I tilted my head to peek around the door, but then pulled back quickly, anticipating a horrifying monster face to punch out and scare the crap out of me.

No freaky Halloween gag-greeting exploded from behind the door.

But there was something.

Actually, it was someone.

And not the host of the party, either.

“Hello, Pink.  I’ve been waiting for you.”  He smiled, his eyes registering my costume before widening his mouth into an even bigger grin.  “That’s a very pretty dress, but I think the sign you've pinned to the skirt needs to go, baby.  No more running away.”

“Gr-aay?” I stuttered, momentarily shocked to see him.  Grayson Lash looked as delicious as usual, this time in bespoke gray pinstripe from head to toe.  In keeping with the Halloween theme, a nametag in the shape of a crayon with GRAY written on it, in gray magic-marker of course, was stuck to his jacket.  “What are you doing here?”

“Lance invited me, but I’m really here just for you, Pink,” he answered in his sexy drawl, “and you already know why.”

“What do you want, Gray?”  I regretted my question the instant the words left my mouth, because he was correct—I did know.

He laughed and shook his head slowly as he stared me down.  “You’re gonna make me say it again, even though you know exactly what I want.”  He gave me another thorough perusal, his lingering look in the vicinity of my cleavage making my body heat spike in places that hadn’t seen any action in nearly two months.  The exact same amount of time since I’d seen Gray.  “Hell, you’re even dressed for it,” he added on for clarification.

“Why are you really here?”

“Because I want you to marry me,” he said clearly.

Gray’s tall frame filling Lance’s doorway went a little blurry before my eyes as my vision clouded up.  Suddenly there didn’t seem to be enough air left for me to breathe—in all of North America.

I was going down…and it was probably going to hurt.