Page 89 of High Reward

“Now I know better.” I step closer to him. “You’re not perfect. You’re stubborn and overprotective, and sometimes you make decisions for me that should be mine to make.” He winces slightly, but I continue. “You’re also kind. Attentive. You notice things, like the fact that I once mentioned loving bookstores. You remember details that matter.”

The music shifts to something softer and slower, mostly made up of piano with strings as a quiet accompaniment, notes floating through the quiet store. Victor sets his champagne glass down on a nearby shelf.

“You listen. Really listen. Do you know how rare that is?”

He doesn’t answer, but his eyes never leave mine. There’s a storm raging in them that I wish he would share with me, but I’m not going to push about that right now. Not when he’s given me such a delightful gift.

“This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me,” I say, gesturing at the bookstore around us. “And you did it in the middle of a crisis. While Phineas is still being held at your warehouse. When someone is stalking me. Not to mention your father showing up unannounced.”

“You deserved a moment of peace.” He takes my champagne and sets it beside his. “We both did.”

I move to the window, looking out at the street where the security team keeps watch. The reality of our situation hasn’t changed. We’re still in danger. Still being hunted. But for these stolen few hours, in this quiet place of books and soft music, none of it seems to matter.

“I never thought I’d have this,” I say quietly.

“Have what?”

“Someone who sees the real me. Not just the submissive. Not just the sandwich shop girl. The person who hides in bookstores and reads romance novels. The girl who wants both adventure and safety.” I turn to face him. “Someone to share it all with. Someone who creates spaces where I can breathe.”

Victor moves toward me, his steps measured. His hand lifts to my face, thumb brushing my cheek. “You deserve all of that, Grace. And you do those things for me as well, even if I don’t always acknowledge it. You have me. And Lili.”

The mention of Lili makes my heart twist. “I keep waiting for it all to fall apart.”

“It won’t.” There’s steel in his voice. “I won’t let it.”

In this moment at least, I believe him. In this sanctuary of books and pretty music, I allow myself to believe in happy endings again.

Victor’s eyes search mine, and for a heartbeat, I see something flicker there. Hesitation? I’m not sure. It’s gone before I can question it, replaced by warmth and that heated look I’ve come to love from him.

“Show me more of your favorites,” he says, gesturing toward the romance section. “I want to see the books that shaped you.”

So I do. I pull out books that changed me, stories that saved me during the darkest times. And Victor listens as if each word matters more than everything waiting for us outside.

After a while, Victor draws me deeper into the store, past several aisles, into a secluded corner where the floor-to-ceiling shelves create a private alcove. His fingers lace with mine, thumb brushing my knuckles in small soothing circles.

The outside world seems even further away from us here, and I relax more as I stare up at him. His eyes hold a question. A request, not a demand. I answer by rising onto my toes and pressing my lips to his.

There is no urgency to his kiss. No claiming dominance. Just a slow exploration as if we have all the time in the world. As if there aren’t people trying to kill us. It’s the best part of this gift.

His hands frame my face, fingers gentle against my skin.

“We don’t have to,” he murmurs against my lips when I try to deepen the kiss.

“I want to. Here. With you. I want to give you the same thing you’ve given me.”

He smiles against my mouth before kissing me again, deeper this time. His hands slide from my face to my shoulders, down my arms. The touch feels reverent, almost cautious.

I reach for the buttons of his shirt, fingers steady despite the flutter in my stomach. The slow dance of my hands down his body, revealing a little of his chiseled chest at a time, is like unwrapping a gift. I want to savor the moment.

He watches me, patiently letting me set the pace.

When I push the shirt from his shoulders and down his arms, he catches it before it hits the floor, and folds it neatly before setting it on a nearby chair. A little reminder of the control he always maintains.

His hand finds the zipper at the back of my dress, and I turn, giving him easier access. The sound of the zipper is loud in our quiet corner. Cool air hits my skin as the fabric parts. His hand flattens against my spine, warm and steady, then he traces a line down toward my panties before shoving the dress off myshoulders and down to the floor. Victor helps me step out of it, then folds it with the same care he showed his shirt.

I stand before him in plain underwear, blue cotton, nothing fancy. But they’re the first ones I’ve worn in days since I’m expecting my period any day now. Still, if I’d known what to expect, I might have picked something with lace.

“Beautiful,” he says, and the way he looks at me makes me believe it.