It is a tiny, microscopic reaction, but after spending the last week studying him, I know exactly what it means. It’s a hit. I found the vulnerability he tries so hard to bury under layers of corporate strategy and intimidation.
"I don't ask for things," Malcolm says quietly. "I secure them."
"I’m not an asset, Malcolm. I’m a person."
"I am aware." He steps around the island, closing the distance between us. He stops just out of reach. "If you were an asset, I would have locked you in a hotel room with a security detail until the engagement party. I would not have set up an office for you. I would not have taken you to the Peninsula to be photographed."
He tilts his head, his dark eyes stripping away my defensive posture.
"I wanted you to stay," he admits, the words sounding like they are being dragged out of his throat. "But I also knew that if I gave you the choice too early, you would run. You were terrified of me."
"I was terrified of the situation," I correct him, dropping my arms. "I was terrified of your family."
"You were terrified of me," he repeats, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "And you had every right to be. I am not a safe man, Audrey."
I look at him. I look at the dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the absolute, terrifying control he exercisesover every aspect of his life just to keep the people he cares about from getting hurt.
He thinks he is the monster in this story. He actually believes it.
I take a step forward, completely erasing the distance between us. I reach up, my hands resting flat against his chest.
"You bought a private investigator off to protect my mother’s pride," I say, my voice steady. "You threatened your own father to keep him away from me. You let me sleep in your bed for three nights without touching me because you thought I was too exhausted to make a rational choice."
Malcolm stares down at me, his breathing shallow.
"You are the safest man I have ever met," I whisper.
He closes his eyes. A heavy, shuddering breath escapes his lungs, the sound completely raw in the quiet kitchen. He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest, and buries his face in the crook of my neck.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders, holding him just as tightly.
We stand there in the dark for a long time. The adrenaline of the day finally bleeds out of my system, leaving behind a deep, grounding exhaustion. I listen to the steady beat of his heart against my chest, the rhythm slowing down as the tension leaves his body.
"Are you hungry?" he murmurs against my skin, his voice muffled.
I let out a soft laugh, pulling back just enough to look at him. "Are you offering me leftover pizza again?"
"I am offering to order something that doesn't come in a cardboard box." He drops his hands to my hips, his thumbsbrushing against the denim of my jeans. "Unless you prefer the sodium."
"I think I can handle real food tonight."
"Good."
He steps back, picking up his phone from the counter. He orders food from a place in the West Loop—something involving actual vegetables—and then points toward the hallway.
"Go take a shower," he says, his tone shifting back to the calm, authoritative CEO. "You have been wearing those clothes since we left the boutique. You look like you survived a war."
"I did survive a war," I remind him, turning toward the hallway. "And for the record, I left the gold dress in the dressing room. I didn't even get to keep the armor."
Malcolm pauses, his thumb hovering over the screen of his phone.
He looks up at me, a slow, dangerous smile touching the corner of his mouth.
"The dress is being delivered tomorrow morning," he says. "I bought it."
I blink. "You bought it? Why? The engagement party is in two weeks. I can't wear a backless gold dress to a formal Vance family event. Preston will have a stroke."
"That is exactly why you are wearing it," Malcolm replies, his smile widening slightly. "I want him to have a stroke."
