18
Jenna was searching for ways to market a bed and breakfast when the doorbell rang. Since Greyson was still in the shower, she went to answer it. As she twisted the knob, she heard a growl behind her.
Actually, it wasn’t much of a growl, but a cursing in a low, gravelly tone. She peered behind her to find Greyson on the stairs, glowering.
“Were you about to open that door without me?” he asked. “Does nothing I say matter at all?”
Jenna frowned. It wasn’t as if she meant to disregard what Greyson had asked of her, but some things were so ingrained they became reflexive. Hear a ringing phone. Answer it. Hear a doorbell. Answer it.
He stalked to the door, scooting her around to stand behind him. He glanced out the peephole and sighed.
When he opened the door, she understood why. Frank
