Release Blitz for Anni Fife’s Book- Gray’s Promise

Gray!

He was behind the reception desk, leaning over a computer screen, and discussing something with the receptionist. He glanced up to check who was exiting the elevator. I had no doubt he knew me immediately because his brows snapped together, recognition clear on his face. His eyes tracked me as I approached.

“Good morning, may I help you?”

I tore my gaze from Gray’s to stare at the receptionist. He was slim, dark-eyed, and so perfectly groomed he looked like he’d been airbrushed for a GQ cover. His brow arched, waiting for my response. I ignored him and looked back at Gray, who remained frozen. Like a still-life, one arm resting on the back of the receptionist’s chair, the other bracing himself on the desk. Only now, his face was blank. My stomach tried to launch into my chest. Blank! I didn’t know how else to describe it. Dear God, please let my face be blank too. But I knew it wasn’t.

Gray!

My heart raced. It was a cliché but it was true. I could feel it pumping in my chest. Gray was even more handsome than I remembered. His dark hair was short, but not military short. It was sleekly styled, like his clothing. Practical, but his jeans were definitely designer. He was more built than I remembered, the power in his body clearly defined by the silky black T-shirt hugging his torso. He’d always been confident; now it was something else. Something that lifted the hair all over my body. But my heart didn’t care. It beat wildly. Recognizing him. Wanting him.

But his face was blank.

“Hello-oo! Do you have an appointment?”

“Cool it, Blake, she’s here for Gray.”

It was the hunk who looked like Thor that spoke. But like Gray, I paid him no heed. I was locked in a silent battle of wills with Grayson Walker. And I was losing.

Shit. I should have made an appointment.

I sucked in a long breath. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand…ever so slowly, I breathed out, never breaking eye contact with him. My heartbeat settled. Yes. I could do this; I was a master at control.

Acid trickled up my throat as he pushed away from the desk and straightened to his full height. His fixed gaze never left mine. My hands curled, fingernails digging into my palms. I always remembered his eyes more blue than gray. Gentle and glinting with wicked humor. Not anymore. Now they were slate. Cold and lethal, like the scalpels I used to cut through human tissue.

“How did you know where to find me?”

No greeting? No “lovely to see you, Zoey”?

“Gerald,” I croaked.

I swallowed hard, pushing down the pain. My voice was normally husky and low-pitched. Gray used to say it was sultry. I loved that, especially since the huskiness was a result of baby colic. I was a chronic crier as a baby and developed nodules, which in turn created calluses on my vocal cords. So sultry sounded nice, sexy.

I didn’t sound sultry now.

My skin goosed as I watched his lips set into a hard line. His mouth was one of the thousand things I loved about him. His upper lip a perfect cupid’s bow. His lower one, full and sensual with a marked indent. I used to tease him that he had the mouth of a porn star. And he did. God! The indescribable pleasure—

“…do you want?”

What did he say? As usual, I’d let the past smother the present. “I’m sorry—”

“What are you doing here, Zoey?” he repeated, clearly impatient.

Yes, what was I doing here?

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