Page 85 of The Tower

He smiles, soft and sensual. Then his fingers comb through a long lock of hair that he gently tucks behind my ear. My breath catches as he leans in for a kiss … which ends as a soft peck on my forehead.

Before I can say what the fuck, he’s standing. “I should get some work done,” he says, his voice rough.

“Hold up there, mister,” I say, hurrying to catch up, then grabbing his elbow.

He stops, then lifts an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” I repeat. “What’s wrong? Are you kidding me? I mean, come on. If you’re not going to push this Everything deal, then why not just let me go?”

“Two reasons,” he says, his voice steady and calm. “First, you wouldn’t be safe. Second, you don’t want to.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t want to go,” he repeats. “And not just because you know you’d be in danger out there.”

“Oh?” I cross my arms, both pissed off and curious as hell. “Then why?”

“You know,” he says, moving closer, so there’s barely even molecules between us. I tilt my head up, and his breath whispers over my face as he speaks. “You want me to fuck you. To take you. To claim that right we bargained for every single night.”

My lips are parted, and I’m breathing hard, but I say absolutely nothing.

“You want to experience every decadent, depraved, wonderful, sexually deviant act I can imagine with my exceptionally creative mind.”

His smile is slow as he cups my cheek with his palm. “But you don’t want to want it.”

“The hell I don’t.”

“Which is why you don’t get it until I’m sure you mean it. In other words, Princess,” he concludes, “you don’t get it until you beg me.”

Twenty-Seven

Delta Of Venus

I wake to a steady thrum, only to realize it’s the pounding of my own head.

Withdrawal.

I grimace, then sit up slowly, hoping coffee and ibuprofen will help. Sunlight streams in through my east-facing window, so bright that I realize I slept straight through the night. More than that, I’m wearing the same thing I wore yesterday, and the copy of Anaïs Nin’s Delta of Venus I’d pulled from one of Grimm’s many bookshelves is open on my pillow.

Apparently, I’d fallen asleep reading.

With narrowed eyes, I close the blinds, then breathe a bit easier when the dimmer lighting helps my head. Coffee will help even more, and I step out of the room for the kitchen in search of caffeine and Grimm.

I don’t find Grimm, but I do find his note by the coffee maker letting me know that he’s gone to a meeting.

I’m fine with that. Considering this new edict about begging for what I want I’m not quite prepared to see him. Not because he got it wrong and pissed me off, but because he got it right.

I want him—no doubt about that.

But damned if I’m going to beg.

I sip my coffee as I wander the apartment. I’ve explored it already, but I haven’t thoroughly snooped yet. And this seems like the perfect opportunity to learn more about the man who has become protector, lover, maybe even friend. I hope so, because my father is surely on the warpath now, and Liam Grimm holds my life and my freedom in his hands.

That should terrify me—after all, my whole life has been controlled by someone hateful—but it doesn’t, and I’m not entirely sure why. And that open question is part of the reason I’m now poking around his apartment, hoping I’ll find some answers to the enigma that is Liam Grimm.

First, I peer into all the cabinetry in the kitchen, but I learn nothing except that he doesn’t live here full-time. There are too many boxed foods—the kind with long expiration dates—and too many frozen dinners.

I try to look in his office, but it’s locked, so my curiosity and I move on to my room. So far, I’ve only logged onto the computer, slept in the bed, and worn some of the sweats and T-shirts I found in the top drawer of the dresser. Now, I open the rest of the drawers and explore the closet, finding both mostly empty. There are a few sweaters in one drawer and a couple of size six outfits hanging in the closet. Too business-casual for my taste, but maybe Maya likes them.