Wounded Birds (The Grayson Series Book 1) by Unknown Read Free Book Online

the cake, he threatened to harm me, no, not harm me. He’s threatened to bury me with the flowers he planted if the police get involved. I take a deep breath and clutch my hands over the painful tightness around my stomach wishing this was all a dream.
    How do TV personalities handle these situations? I never had to worry about watching over my shoulder or fear opening my e-mails or, even worse, answering the phone. I cringe just thinking about.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 4
    The E-mails
     
     
    “Ariana, I want you to be honest with me. Is this the first time this demented fuck, excuse my language, contacted you besides at the restaurant?” He asks, waiting with cautious eyes.
    I shake my head. “No,” I answer, biting my lower lip.
    He rubs his face with both hands, releasing a frustrated growl. He rocks on his heels, and his muscles begin to relax, as his eyes grow warmer.
    “Can you tell me when this started?” He pauses. “Please.” His tone softens.
    “Michael . . . I don’t want you caught up in this mess.” He opens his mouth to interrupt me. I wave a hand to prevent him from speaking. “This is my problem,” I answer, feeling heaviness in my muscle.
    “Ariana, I am very much involved. From the moment you stepped into the restaurant, you became a part of my existence,” he says in a somber tone.
    “I’m speechless . . . again. What you said . . . Michael, thank you.” My eyelids are beginning to feel heavy and all I want to do is close them. I shake my head and blink several times to stay awake. I need to move around, get my blood circulating. I stand up a little unsteady and I start at Michael’s remark.
    “Sit down, Ariana,” he orders. “You shouldn’t be standing. I don’t know what kind of drug he laced in those chocolates. I should be rushing you to the hospital.”
    “No,” I snap, turning my head to face him. I hate hospitals. It’s where I had to identify my parents’ and sister’s body. I ease toward the kitchen and take a firm hold of the counter. God, I’m so light-headed. I glance at him, trying to figure him out why he’s so adamant to help me. I should be grateful instead of snapping at him. “Listen . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound abrupt,” I say, softening my tone. “You’re a wonderful and caring man, the perfect gentleman, but I won’t have you mixed up in this. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”
    “I don’t mean to sound authoritative, but you ate close to a dozen chocolates. I’m concerned, and whether you like it or not I am getting involved,” he explains as he runs a hand nervously through his hair.
    I roll my eyes. “God, Michael, why are you being such a stubborn mule. I’ll figure this out. I’ll speak to the IT department, see if they can trace the two e-mails he sent me.”
    “Two e-mails,” he says, his voice sounding hoarse.
    “Yes,” I respond.
    “When?” He asks, rubbing the back of his neck as he paces across the room.
    “One a few days ago and the most recent one was this afternoon,” I answer, my words slurring. The drug seems to be affecting my speech. I’m sure that big glass of wine I consumed earlier didn’t help. I sway and grip the countertop tighter. I’m so tired.
    “Please tell me you saved them.” His eyes are watchful.
    I nod. “Yes, I dumped them in the miscellaneous folder.”
    “Smart move,” he says with a sigh and paces around the room irritable. He removes his jacket, laying the garment over the arm of the sofa, and Holy Mother of God . . . . Whoa! A true mouthwatering sculpture of masculinity appears before me.
    His black slacks highlight his slender, muscular legs and his firm bottom. I crave for a little taste, maybe a touch. I gasp at my behavior. This is outrageous. Stop it, stop it, stop it.
    I’m startled when Michael’s voice snags my attention.
    “Ariana, are you listening to me?” He snaps irritation