Page 62 of Grant’s Heat

I nearly bugged my eyes out of my skull, having never been fond of that stupid middle name. “How did you know that?” I gasped.

He grinned mischievously. “I have my ways.”

“What’s your middle name?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I dug a finger into his ribs, and he squirmed away. “Tell me.”

“No way,” he laughed.

“I’ll just ask Elijah. Or Sebastian. Okay, fine, not Sebastian. But Elijah will tell me. He loves harassing you.” I pulled my phone out of my back pocket to fire off a text to the other man Grant considered his best friend. I noticed I had a message from Abbigail, but I left it unread.

Grant threw his head back with a genuine laugh. It was probably the first time in two weeks, maybe longer, that I’d heard a real laugh come from him. “That he does. The bastard will sell me out any chance he gets, too. But be prepared…” Grant warned.

“What?” I asked. “Be prepared for what?”

“Making a deal with Banks always has a price. Always.”

“Hmmm. Duly noted.” I nodded thoughtfully but grinned all the while. I couldn’t help but test out a few name combinations.

“Marshal?” I wrinkled my nose. “Anthony?”

“You’re never going to guess it. Not in a million years. It’s a family name, so unless Elijah spills the beans, you’ll never just pick it out of thin air.”

“So just tell me. If it’s a family name, it must have some meaning?”

He laughed again. “Yeah, it means my mother was probably high when she picked it out and thought she’d sound regal like the princess she always wanted to be. Instead of a pauper.” His good nature had totally faltered by the time he finished speaking.

I put my hand on his thigh and rubbed back and forth. “I’m sorry.”

He stopped my motion with his much larger hand on top of mine. “Don’t be. It’s not any fault of yours.”

“I know, but I should’ve dropped it while you were in a good mood.”

“Well, we need to have a serious conversation anyway.”

“Not sure I like the sound of this…” I let my voice drift off while I stared at him warily.

Grant sat forward on the sofa cushion and then turned to face me. He took both my hands in his and held them for a few moments, looking down to where we were joined. The whole scene gave me a terrible sense of déjà vu, and I tried to yank out of his grasp, but he just held me tighter.

Exactly like he did then, too.

“Let. Go,” I said through clenched teeth.

“We need to talk about this, Rio.”

“I feel claustrophobic when you hold on to me like that.” I grabbed at my throat like I was being strangled by imaginary hands. “I want to stand up.” I sprang up immediately when he released my hands and paced back and forth from the kitchen through the living room to the front door and back. I completed the circuit twice before he shot to his feet and intercepted me on my way past.

“For fuck’s sake, you’re making me batty with the pacing.”

“Then I’ll leave. Whatever you need to say, you can text me. Or send an email.”

“I have an idea. How about a walk? Outside? The neighborhood has some nice walking trails. I know it’s late, but they’re all well-lit and maintained. Do you have a jacket in your car? You can borrow a sweatshirt of mine if not.”

The idea didn’t suck. And at least I wouldn’t feel so cooped up inside this condo. “Yeah, I have a jacket in my trunk. I’m parked right on the driveway. I’ll grab it on the way out.”

Grant led the way, handing me a bottle of water once I zipped up my hoodie. The night was brisk but pleasant. I’d probably end up taking the jacket off once we were walking awhile.