Could he?
He could, but I was done going round and round about it. I flopped down on the small couch and enjoyed the delicious strawberries. I’d save the Champagne for later on, as a pregame beverage. I’d need something to help me shake the nerves.
I’d left the hotel behind and gone home. If this was my last night, I wasn’t stepping into it basic. I was stepping into it fine as hell. And that meant pulling from my own closet at thehouse I paid for, laughed in, cried in. The one I thought would be mine forever, before life reminded me nothing lasts. I stared at the dark circles, flat hair, and stress written all over me in the bathroom mirror, which pissed me off. I was innocent in all of this. But it looked like I was the one paying for this. He was probably sleeping just fine. Unbothered. Meanwhile, I was standing in my bathroom looking like I’d lost a fight I never asked to be in.
I ran the bath, knowing that soon I’d either get answers from Lesley Grimson or vanish for good.
Either way, I was about to learn what it meant to catch the attention of a man who could kill me with his hands and still send champagne and strawberries. God help me, but I almost wanted to see what happened next. I hadn't had this much excitement in a long time. Something was wrong with me, and I knew it.
Seven o’clock hit, and my nerves were tap dancing. Causing me to coach myself to relax. It wasn’t working, so I popped the champagne and drank it from the bottle. I continued to sip on it until I was dressed and heading out the door with fifteen minutes to spare.
I climbed in my Camaro, Cammy. My favorite car and the one I trusted if I needed to move fast. I shook the nerves off my shoulders and turned on my playlist.Any Man of Mineby Shania Twain was playing. I sang loudly, hoping like hell my night went well.
I stepped into Sasha Roe wearing a red dress that hugged every curve, the back dipping to a bow that rested right on my ass. If he wanted to kill me, the dress would definitely make him think twice. And I’d amped up my perfume; he’d noticed my signature scent that night. I needed a leg to stand on.
This was survival.
“Grimson,” I said to the maître d', but I didn't need to finish. He was already on his way to me. The host removed the velvet rope, and Lesley stopped in his tracks. His tongue slid over his top lip before he tucked it between gold fangs. The sight made me adjust my posture.
“You don’t play fair, do you? You know I could never harm you, looking as delectable as you look right now.” He stepped closer, wrapping his hand around my waist and pulling me into a hug. The simple act sent shockwaves through my body. He inhaled sharply and so did I.
Our scents mixed and my nipples hardened against my will. Neither of us moved for a moment. His hand spread across my lower back, warm and certain, and I let my forehead drop to his chest without meaning to. We just stood there in the middle of Sasha Roe like we were the only two people in the building. Like we had history. Like we had time.
We cleared our throats before stepping back.
“Hhm, this is crazy,” he said, kissing my knuckle and leading me further into Sasha Roe.
The table was in the back of the restaurant, away from most of the patrons. This was the exclusive menu section. For a few minutes, we sat quietly, and it was awkward. My normal impatient attitude wasn’t sure if now was the time to make an appearance. But I’d been in suspense all day.
“Have you thought about what I asked you?”
“Oh, that was you asking?”
“Yeah, that was me asking. And you got the message about tonight, didn’t you?”
“It's a six-month wait list for this place. I couldn’t miss this. Thanks for pulling strings, but why am I here?”
“I want an answer, Pret....”
“I gave you an answer, Lesley.”
He leaned back against the booth, eyes dragging over me like he could measure my pulse with a look. “But I didn't like it. Still don’t. You’ve been hiding in hotels, using fake names. That’s not you. That’s fear. And I don’t like seeing you scared.”
My jaw tightened. “You don’t know me enough to like it. I don't want to be forced into anything, especially not marriage. If you want to kill me, just do it already. Stop with the threats.”
He almost laughed, and it was dark. “Yeah, you fucking crazy. You’d rather die than marry me?”
“I don’t want to be forced into marriage, and I don’t want to die either. I hate that those are my only options.”
“You’d rather die than marry me for real?”
I paused. He'd asked me twice now. Not about the marriage, not about the arrangement — about dying instead of being with him. I filed that away somewhere and looked at him.
“Better that than signing myself into a lie.”
“What lie?”
“The kind you can’t build a life on. We’re strangers, Lesley. That doesn’t change because you said so. I don’t want love built on a lie. So yeah, maybe I’d rather die than settle.”
