Page 29 of The Tower

“You’re stronger than I thought you’d be. Considering everything he’s done to you, I thought you’d be broken.”

“Maybe I am, but you can’t see it because you’re even more broken.”

“Maybe,” he says without irony.

I swallow, more unnerved than I should be. “Answer the question. Why are you helping me?”

“Because, Princess, you’re the perfect weapon to bring him down.”

“Oh.” The bluntness is almost refreshing after years of my father’s subtle manipulations. “And you want to destroy my father because …”

“That’s not your concern.”

I frown, but he’s right. And frankly, if he wants to take my father down … well, faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!

“So, I’m a means to an end,” I say.

“As I am to you.” Grimm’s smile is sharp. He spreads his arm to encompass the room, the entire tower. “Didn’t I bring you to a sanctuary? I think that gives us mutual ground upon which to move forward, don’t you?”

I nod, even though we both know I have no choice.

“Excellent.” He’s perched on the edge of the ottoman, but now he gets up, goes to the bar, and returns with fresh drinks. He passes one to me, then holds his out as if for a toast. “To our arrangement,” he says, raking a wolfish gaze over me. “May it be both productive and … entertaining.”

I square my shoulders, anticipating an order to strip, his words from earlier ringing through my head. I want to fuck you. I want to taint you.

Any moment now he’ll demand payment, and my horrible, hated, secret truth is that I want him to.

Which is why when he finally escorts me to a small bedroom, then runs his fingertips gently over my neck and down my bare arm, my breath hitches and my body fires in a way that is both unfamiliar and strangely—terrifyingly—welcome.

Then he taps my chin with his fingertip, politely says goodnight, and walks away, leaving me standing like a fool in the doorway, not sure if I want to laugh or cry.

Eight

Awakenings

After squashing down a mountain of mortification, I tell myself to get it together. Then I close the door behind me with a sigh and wonder what the hell is wrong with me. I don’t want Liam Grimm. He’s hot as sin, but he’s a Grimm, and just because I’m here doesn’t mean I trust him.

“Idiot,” I mutter, even as I mentally call myself half a dozen more interesting names.

The next thing I do is glance around. The guest bedroom is both elegant and drab—neutral tones, expensive linens, and not a single personal touch. Like everything else in Liam Grimm’s world, it’s carefully curated to reveal nothing he doesn’t want revealed.

I open my handbag, intending to pull out my meds and my phone.

Neither are there.

Instead, there’s a note in a bold, masculine hand: You don’t need them. And Ruby can wait for tomorrow.

It’s so ridiculous I actually laugh. Then I remember that I’m pissed off. Not so much about the meds—all things considered, I’m leaning toward believing everything Grimm’s told me. But taking the phone …

That bites. Because it’s been a hell of a long day, and I really want to call Ruby.

And if wishes were horses then I’d have been way the hell and gone from Manhattan years ago …

I grimace, then distract myself by exploring the room. After a day like today, I should be passing out face down on the bed, but I’m too wired to sleep. Instead, my mind races with questions … and with the memory of Grimm’s soft caress.

I shove that memory right back down where it belongs, then start opening doors. The closet is empty and pristine, with padded hangers just waiting to perform their duty. The bathroom is so bright it makes my head hurt. Fortunately, I can dim the light, and still enjoy the way it sparkles and smells vaguely of lilacs. The countertop displays an array of toiletries, like the kind you’d find in a world-class hotel—only times ten.

There’s a fluffy white robe hanging behind the door, and I eagerly strip out of my fairy-princess meets captive-bride outfit—resisting the urge to stomp on it, as if grinding the thing into dust would finally make me real.