"She knows her way around my kitchen," Grayson said in a low, velvety voice that sounded like smooth steel grinding against stone. "Because she belongs with me."
The stranger's polite smile froze instantly. He looked at Grayson's sharp, aristocratic face, his expensive dark coat, and the deadly, quiet intensity in his dark blue eyes. The man took an immediate step backward, clutching his plastic box of organic tomatoes like a shield.
"O-Oh!" the man stammered, his eyes darting between Grayson's broad shoulders and Mailah's amused face. "I... I was just asking about the tomatoes! Really! No offense intended, sir!"
"None taken," Grayson replied coolly, though he did not step back an inch. "As long as you select your produce in another aisle."
The man didn't need to be told twice. He gave a quick, nervous nod, turned on his heel, and practically power-walked toward the bakery section, leaving his box of tomatoes behind on the shelf.
