He reached over and stopped the hand holding the rag. When I looked him in the eye, he said, “We need to talk.”
“Okay.”
He walked around the bar and waited for me. “Let’s go to my office.” He set his hand on my lower back, and I stopped.
“No.”
He sighed heavily. “This is private, Grace.”
“Then we can talk in church.”
He studied my face, looking for a weakness he wouldn’t find. I had buried that shit deep. If there was one thing I learned from my mom, it was never to let a man see how much he affected you. How much they could turn you inside out.
“Fine,” he relented and stepped back so I could walk around him.
He followed me into church, and I sat at the end of the table, opposite to where I knew his chair was. Instead of moving to his chair, he took the one next to me. Then he turned my chair so I was looking at him.
“Declan went to talk to Mary Ann.”
Before the words were out, I knew what he was going to say. I closed my eyes to stave off the tears. I sat there breathing deeply before I finally opened my eyes and asked, “Her mother wasn’t hurt, was she?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Declan thinks she was forced to make the call so you would be at the bar.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you’re Steele’s daughter. Maybe because of your relationship with me.”
I scoffed at his remark. “What relationship? We don’t have a relationship.”
“Grace,” he groaned.
I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back, waiting for him to speak the same words he always said,‘I want you, but I can’t have you.’It was bullshit, and he knew it.
He reached out to touch my hand, and I pushed the chair back. Standing up, I quickly stood behind it, keeping the chair as a barrier between us.
“Don’t,” I warned.
King stood and pulled the chair out of the way. I took a step back for every step he took forward until my back was against the wall. His hand found my throat, and he whispered, “We need to talk.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Grace,” he growled.
“I want to go home.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you were the fucking target, Grace. I need you here. Where you’re safe.”
Only, I wasn’t safe here. Not with him. My heart wasn’t safe; my sanity wasn’t safe. My hands went to his chest of their own free will. I had no control over anything at the moment. His hands went to my cheeks, and he tipped my face up to look at him. “I love you.”
I shoved him hard. “You don’t get to say that to me. Not now.” Didn’t he understand how long I’d been waiting to hear him say those words to me? How every time he came to me in the middle of the night, confided in me, poured his heart out to me and trusted me to bear his load with him, all I wanted in return was him.
“How about I’m sorry? I was an asshole?”
My eyes narrowed, trying to figure him out. He was saying the things I longed to hear, but why? What had changed? And what would stop them from changing back?
