I push the door open and freeze.
Grant Hale stands in the middle of the room.
Completely naked.
For a second, my brain refuses to process what I’m seeing. Then it all registers at once. The water dripping from his dark hair. The broad shoulders. The tattoos covering both arms in intricate black designs. His chest, solid and defined. The dark trail of hair down his stomach that leads to?—
Oh God.
Heat floods my face, and I snap my eyes up to his face, but it’s too late. I saw everything. Every inch of him. And my body’s reaction is completely inappropriate, given that I’m bleeding and in pain and just caught my boyfriend cheating.
“I’m so sorry,” I stammer, spinning around to face the door. “I didn’t mean to—I fell, and there was a tunnel, and I didn’t know where I was going, and?—”
“Relax.” His voice is calm. Amused, even. “Give me a moment.”
I keep my eyes fixed on a painting of mountains on the far wall.Don’t look. Don’t turn around. Ignore the fact that you just saw your boyfriend’s father completely naked and your brain is now storing that image in permanent memory.
I hear the rustle of fabric. A drawer opening and closing.
“I’m decent now.”
I turn slowly. He’s wearing a black robe, loosely tied at the waist. His chest is still partially visible, tattoos stark against his skin. He’s watching me with those silver-gray eyes, and there’s no embarrassment in his expression.
“What happened?” He moves closer, and I notice his gaze dropping to my hands, my torn jeans, the blood. “And how did you end up in my private wing?”
The question breaks something inside me. All the rage and humiliation and fear I’ve been holding in crashes over me at once, and suddenly I’m crying. Really crying. Ugly, gasping sobs that I can’t control.
“I caught Logan,” I manage between breaths. “With Chelsea. They were?—”
Grant’s jaw tightens.
“It’s not the first time.” The words pour out now, unstoppable. “He’s cheated on me four times before. Five now. But I stayed because I thought—I thought he was going to propose here, and I just?—”
I’m playing this up. I know I am. Crying harder than necessary, making myself as pathetic as possible because I need Grant on my side, need him to see me as the victim.
“You’re hurt,” he says, and anger bleeds into his tone. Not at me. At Logan. “Sit. We’re not having this conversation while you’re bleeding.”
6
GRANT
I didn’t expectmy son’s girlfriend to walk in on me buck naked, and instead of being embarrassed about it, I’m standing here wondering if she liked what she saw.
The way her eyes traveled down my body. Slow. Taking everything in before she caught herself and spun around. That sharp little intake of breath could have been shock or could have been something else entirely.
Fuck. I shouldn’t be thinking about that.
But here we are.
“Sit down,” I tell her again, gentler this time. She’s swaying slightly, probably from shock and blood loss. “You’re going to pass out if you keep standing.”
She moves to the sofa and collapses onto it like her legs gave out. Up close, the damage is worse than I thought. Her palms are scraped raw, embedded with dirt and small rocks.
I cross to the cabinet built into the bookshelf and pull out the first aid kit I keep stocked. Donovan gives me shit about it, says I’m paranoid. But moments like this prove me right.
I grab a bottle of whiskey too. She’s going to need it.
“Drink this.” I hand her the glass, and she takes it with shaking hands.
