If anyone had told me that the man who has stormed into my life like a midnight storm—with all his heat, passion, good looks and billionaire broodiness—would one day be walking behind me holding four grocery bags in each arm like he was a normal American man, I would’ve snorted soda through my nose.
But here he was. Alex freaking Grayson wearing suit fitted like it was custom-made by the gods and hair ruffled just enough to make a woman’s fingers itch. And he was carrying those heavy bags like some rich Hercules on a mission to impress his mortal crush.
I tried not to stare at the bulge of his biceps as he dropped the bags on the kitchen counter when we entered the house and I led him to the kitchen but Lord help me, the man was sculpted.
“You sure those weren’t heavy?” I asked while ey
