Page 131 of The Rival's Obsession
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. “That’s coming up.”
She just smiles, strutting off toward the bedroom like she owns the world, scooping up her little black dress from where it’s been discarded for hours on my floor.
Grant brings the half-empty bowl of fruit to the counter and sets it down. He leans into it, exhaling like the weight of the world just let go of his spine.
But I don’t let him get any further.
I shut off the water.
Then I’m turning, grabbing his hips and tugging him between me and the counter. His body fits there like it was always meant to.
One of his hands lands on the counter beside me; the other hesitates before cupping my jaw. My hands slide up his sides, fingers grazing bare skin.
“Don’t you dare,” I say, low and firm.
He blinks. “Dare what?”
“Start running away from me.”
His eyes widen just a touch, but he doesn’t look away.
“You can’t run from this anymore, Grant.” I keep my voice soft, steady. My brown eyes ping between the stormy gray-blue of his. “Not from me. Not from us.”
He looks down, shoulders slumping ever so slightly, but his hands move—gently curling around my waist. His thumbs rub my skin like he needs the contact to stay tethered.
“I don’t want to run away,” he murmurs.
And when he lifts his gaze again, I see the truth there. He means it. But something still haunts him. Hangs there behind his eyes like a ghost he’s not ready to name.
I cradle his jaw in both hands and kiss him.
My tongue sweeps into his mouth, and he gives me a sound—soft and desperate, a moan like surrender. I press him tighter against me, drinking in the warmth, the give, the sweetness of his lips and the promise they hold.
I fucking love kissing Grant Harrow more than I remembered.
More than I let myself remember.
I lived off that one kiss for five years like it was oxygen—and now that I have him again, I’m starving.
Behind us, the door clicks shut. Quiet. Eve is gone.
Leaving us alone.
Just the two of us and the history that shadows everything we are.
I rest my forehead against his.
“We don’t have to figure everything out tonight, baby,” I whisper. “I just want you to stay with me.”
He nods once and swallows deep.
I take his hand, twining our fingers together, savoring how natural it feels. His palm against mine. The warmth. The rightness.
He follows me without a word as I guide us toward the bedroom.
I close the door behind us. The lights are still low. The orange glow from the electric fireplace dances across the walls, painting us in flickers of gold and shadow.
We kiss again.
