I ignore another call from mom and let it go to voicemail. I'm sitting by the window, arms folded, staring out across the city. It's a magnificent view from his palatial condo, a sleeker and more modern display of wealth than the rustic mansion I grew up in, tucked outside the city proper.

Here, it's easy to see everything. The blinking lights stretching from Manhattan to Jersey. New York's famous landmarks gleaming in their majesty, world symbols of trade and liberty, neighbors in their towering heights.

I've always appreciated good scenery, but when I'm alone in his place, I can't. It can't take the edge off. My eyes keep returning to my reflection in the window.

I barely recognize myself. There's a tired ring around my eyes from crying. New grooves in my face thanks to the incessant fear and confusion.

Disgusted, I look away, sighing as I bring my phone to my ear. I tap the button to hear her message, wanting to get this over with.

“Rebekah, where are you? We're worried sick about you, honey. Your father, too...” I hold it away as she drones on about how sorry he is. So is Ethan, supposedly, profusely apologizing to dad up and down for his 'untoward behavior.' “Listen, if you can't come home, please tell me you're all right. I have to pack for Dubai. I'd still love it if you'd step away from that silly little job and join me. A nice vacation will do wonders for your stress.”

I briefly consider chucking my phone off the balcony. Too bad I need it since I'm effectively a pampered nomad now, living with a man who also leaves me guessing, but hasn't yet dealt me the same painful blow as the others I used to care about.

I'M FINE, I text back. Then I silence it, refusing further questions, stuffing the little black box into my pocket.

I'm just in time to see a vision walk through the door that's a thousand times more pleasant than anything on my screen.

He's home, and he's sickeningly gorgeous. He hangs up his suit jacket as soon as he steps in, dropping his laptop case gently on the floor. I watch him turn, pulling on his tie, his muscular arms rippling past his rolled up sleeves.

“Hello, moscato,” he says, heading toward me with an eyebrow quirked, sexier than it should be in my present state. “Sorry I'm late. Merger business.”

I let him wrap his big arms around my waist before I open my mouth and risk ruining it. “You were with my father, weren't you?”

His smile disappears. “I was. Tried to get answers. He wasn't very forthcoming, I'm afraid.”

“Yeah, he does that.” I look away, resisting his lips. It's a mystery how I still have this intense energy pulsing between my legs every time we make physical contact.

I woke up wet this morning, still warm from his arms. He held me all night, remaining the perfect gentleman. Also perfectly wonderful at turning me on, kindling a fire that shouldn't exist beneath the wet blanket of my pain.

What's wrong with me? My world is in shambles. It's gone to hell, leaving me more directionless than ever, yet here I am, smiling like a fool. In his arms, none of it matters, and it should.

But he's my rock. My huge, broad shouldered, unlikely hero.

“I appreciate you for trying,” I say, allowing him a quick peck.

He reminds me Grant Shaw doesn't do quick. His lips go down on mine and he grabs the back of my head, pulling me into our kiss.

Maybe I just needed his strength to cling to this evening. I find it in his lips, his tongue, his teeth. They come in waves, powerful and warm, teasing new temptation from my sore, tired flesh.

“You taste just as good as the first night I had your sweet virgin ass, before everything got complicated,” he says, pushing his fingers up my neck, lacing them in my hair.

“Seems like a lifetime ago,” I muse, amazed with everything that's happened in just a matter of weeks.

It hasn't been good. I'm in a dark place when I have to rely on a man who's still, in many ways, a stranger. But he's one I want to know.

He's saved me. Owned up when he went wrong. Shown me enough of the brilliant heart beating inside his gorgeous chest to leave me wanting more.

“You'll know it again, moscato. We both will, before long. Give me time. I'll fix this.”

My hand reaches for his tie. I pull, steadying myself against this mountain of a man as he kisses me again. His beard brushes my cheek when he pulls away, and then a second time when he dives down low to tease my throat.

My hands goes to his head, fingers trembling. I run them through his short hair, dragging my nails against his scalp, melting against my better judgment as he cups my breast, tweaking a nipple through my blouse.

This needs to come off. About as badly as I need him in bed, sweeping away the rest of my worries with his feral heat.

Pressing my fingers through his, I give him the look that lets him know it's on. “Can dinner wait?”

“I'll die hungry and happy if you keep me feasting on those eyes. Let's go, love.” He picks me up, throws me over his shoulder, and carries me upstairs.

Less than a minute later, we're crashing down on his big bed. His hands go places, working my clothes off, stopping to tease me with the perfect touch in all the right places. My skirt, my blouse, my bra falls away in a storm of cloth.

I sit at the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but my panties, watching as he drops his arms to his sides. “Now, do me,” he says, sticking out his chest.

Standing, I work each button off gingerly in my fingers. Releasing his body is like taking the cover off a sculpture. The beautiful inks scrawled across his muscles feed the hunger in my eyes, especially the bastard axe stenciled over his muscle. But nothing makes me burn quite like how he looks at me, warmth and fury captured in his eyes, a delicate contrast as tantalizing as it is mysterious.

“Suck,” he growls, putting his hands on my shoulders. “I've heard your worries, and they're my problem now. You don't worry about anything else tonight, except how hard I'm going to make you come, right after you show me how much of my cock you can fit down your mouth.”

He inhales sharply when I jerk down his zipper. His pierced cock flops out in my hand, the world's most welcoming distraction. I fist him at the base and work my hand up and down, warming the flesh around his metal studs with a kiss.

The growl building in his throat is music, and I'm the conductor as long as I'm in charge of this tease. It makes me smile, even with my mouth full of him. When I've lost so much, falling down a black pit that seems like it might never end, he shows me how much I can still control.

My tongue flicks, brushes, and strokes his flesh. He's earth and salt, raw masculine power in my mouth. Grant fists my hair, tilting my head up while I suck, all the better to stare into my eyes.

If my pussy ached before – and it did – it's an incessant throb now. I think my heart migrated between my legs, pulsing so loud, so hard, I hear it in every nerve.

“Fuck, moscato – there, yes!” His back arches.

I push my tongue into the sensitive little spot below his swollen head, swallowing more pre-come as he oozes, jerks, and grunts his pleasure. I'm ready for him to blow, but I'm even more ready to be pinned down, gripped by the hair, and fucked like there's no tomorrow because it's entirely possible there isn't.

Not for me. The Bekah Corbin I thought I knew died the night I gave myself to him, before all hell broke loose.

My lips glide furiously, pushing down on his cock again and again, desperate for him to give it up. Is it wrong to repay him with sex for what he's done?

I don't know. I don't care. It can't be a quid pro quo when I want him this much.

All I want is to taste his seed, a piece of his safety and his strength I'll fuse in my soul.

“Bekah, shit,” he says, lifting me off him by the hair. “No more. You get it when I'm good and ready.”

“Understood. Whatever you'd like, sir.” I say the word, watching his skin bristle.

He picks me up, throws me down again on all fours, and grabs the back of my panties with one hand. They fly down my legs. We're too deep in the zone, too drunk on need, to even stop so I can wind them around my ankles and kick them to the floor.

I hear his trousers falling in a heap. His belt buckle clicks. Grant grabs me by the wrists, hoists me up, and then his bare cock glides against my ass, one easy push away from making me feel every thick inch of his pierced, relentless glory.

“You focus on fucking me tonight, moscato. Just me, pleasure, and nothing else. Understand, sweetness?”

“Yes. Yes, please,” I whisper. Perhaps too softly for his liking.

His hand crashes down on my ass cheek, so abrupt and sudden it makes me squeal. A delicious pain flashes through me, fading into a soft fire melting in my blood.

Holy shit. Can pain even be delicious?

I think I need more to find out.

“Too slow, Rebekah,” he growls. My full name on his lips sends a new sensation up my spine, intimate and fierce. “It's high past time you learned to fuck like a woman. Not my little intern. We left that behind in Maine. Only thing I've wanted since I took your cherry is to see how red your ass can get when I paint it with my hand. I think you're ready to show me.”

Oh, hell. I think you're right, I think to myself, fingers curling against my palms.

He pulls at my hair. His other hand cups my ass, the very same cheek he smacked. It's a powerful, personal pose that makes me gush.

“Please, sir,” I whine. “Please. I'm yours. Tonight, and maybe so many more.”

“Maybe?” His next slap comes harder than the first. I know he's smiling while I writhe and twitch, whining when he strikes me again.

His palm comes down four more times, making my heartbeat a roar in my own red, hot ears. My swollen pussy needs this so much, I'm not sure it'll ever want anything else. “I'm dying, sir. Fuck me. Please.”

He doesn't say anything. I hear him moving around the bed, to the nightstand, where he's probably stashed his condoms.

He turns around with a small foil package in his hand when I look him in the eyes and say the magic words. “Don't bother. I'm on the pill.”

I need this man bare. So bad it hurts.

I roll my hips, throwing a little wiggle into my ass, which is still sticking up, prone and ready anytime. He drops the condom and blinks, his bright blue eyes glowing like gas flames.

“You're lucky. I might've fucked my way straight through the rubber with how bad I've been waiting to have your sweet cunt pulling the come direct from my balls.” He resumes his position, giving my panties a quick jerk to completely free them from me.

Grant allows me a second – but only a second – to catch my breath before the pierced tip of his cock touches my labia. One thrust later, he's in, burying himself to the hilt.

We cry out in unison. Me, with my shrill whine, falling face first into the mattress as he goes deeper, stopping when his balls hit my clit. Him, with his guttural half-curse, the world's roughest fuck falling from his lips when he anchors his length to the edge of my womb.

It seems like forever before he moves. When he does, I'm gone.

Completely screwed in the best ways, and all in less than ten sweet strokes of his hips. I'm coming, unhinged and undone, before he's even started.

My pussy clenches his cock like gold. Its pressure invites him to fuck me harder when I start pinching him, an invitation he's glad to accept.

“Oh, Grant. Oh, Sir. Oh, fuck!” I trip on my words, ecstasy lashing every muscle, shaking my knees, bringing my hips back to his like frantic magnets.

A bomb hits its fuse in my head and explodes. For the better part of the next hour, I don't know what's come over me, but the same voodoo spell works its carnal magic on him, the same.

We let our bodies talk. We fuck like it's the first time and the last, laying into each other with love and hate, adoration and uncertainty. When he feels I'm holding back, his hands are on me, pulling me into him, a snarl breaking from his throat when he spanks and fucks me to another release.

I'm flying.

High and airborne on his deep, angry cock, soaking myself wetter than I knew was possible each time his metal studs find their way to new places in my vagina. They must be secret shortcuts to heaven itself.

His fingers tighten on my ass. I'm halfway through another orgasm when he joins me, growling as his cock balloons.

I didn't know this kind of heat existed. Fire shoots out of him in thick, flooding ropes. He holds himself down on my ass so hard I'm rocking deep in the mattress.

His come sets me off all over again. My greedy pussy gives it up, sucking in his seed, burying my brain in sheer, merciless sensuality.

And he isn't done yet. Oh, no.

He's still hard. It's as unnatural as it is miraculous. Grant turns me over when he pulls out, looks me dead in the eye, and silences my panting lips with a commanding kiss. Then he says the magic words.

“Grab my shoulders, and don't let go.” He lifts me up, carries me across the room, and plunges back into me as soon as I'm against the wall.

Behind him, his master balcony captures a perfect view of the city. It's all I see as he takes me to heaven and back, New York's finest gold and silver, alternating with his vivid blue eyes.

They drill deep when we find our rhythm. It's more potent, more honest, more breathtaking than the city will ever be.

It's him I lose myself in when I come again, twisting my face to the ceiling and screaming through it. It's him when I come down, exhausted, but still not ready to collapse until he's pumped his seed into me again.

It's him, Grant Shaw, and only him.

Savior. Pursuer. Stalker. Protector.

Wonderful in body, mind, and soul. Even the parts I don't yet understand, and the pieces in conflict.

War is written on his face when it creases in sweet release. Pleasure overwhelms him. I wrap my legs around him as tight as I can, grasping his cock like a vice when he brings us both over.

“What the fuck, moscato?” he whispers, before he plunges into me, and brute pleasure chokes off his words. “What the fuck?”

He's lost it, and so have I. We come together. Balls pumping, pussy sucking, every muscle in our bodies pulsing, rolling, shaking as we find our release. What was supposed to be a fire snuffed out the morning after has become a raging, incomprehensible inferno.

We're tangled.

We're bound.

We're falling deeper, deeper, and deeper. I can't even see where this pit ends. I definitely can't say the words stamped on its floor in flaming gold: I love you.

It's too soon for that, and I'm too scared.

I'm not sure I know what love even is after the selfish, strange upbringing I've had.

But if he keeps taking me like this, if he's able to deliver on the promises I see in his eyes, and feel in his soul every time he beds me with this awesome body, anything is possible.

* * *

The next few weeks are a blur.

I live a new life, the first I've been free from my father's shadow since college. We head to the office together every day, and I usually catch a ride home when he's working late.

People around the office have begun talking.

I hear their half-whispered rumors, their finger pointing, their jokes about how the boss must be 'losing his mind to chase his business partner's pussy.' I ignore them. Sometimes, I shoot them icy stares.

Thankfully, Nina remains a good supervisor, and never gives me any crap. I haven't so much as heard a shred of gossip over her shoulder when she's with the others. She either respects me for real, or hides her disdain a lot better than the rest.

It doesn't matter. None of it does.

Coming home to someone who gives a damn about me is what really counts.

Sharing my bed with a man who wants to save me, to set me free, instead of just pulling me into his orbit means the world.

Then there's those lips hiding behind his dark beard. My heartbeat quickens a little more every time we lock lips. Whatever mistakes I've made and doubts I've had, they're obliterated in his kiss, possessive as it is truthful.

His kiss tells me I'm more than someone else's accessory or just their means to an end, everything I'd been in my parent's house. I'm a desire. A need.

And he reminds me one afternoon, when Nina tells me Mr. Shaw wants to see me in his office.

I walk through the door, blinking when I don't see him behind his desk. My eyes move across the room, and I see him standing in front of the huge window overlooking the cubicles, his hands tucked neatly behind him.

“What's up?” I ask, trotting over, maneuvering my hands around his torso. It's like grabbing a hundred year old cedar. His masculine scent fused with expensive cologne just as divine.

“I called you in to let you in on a little secret, moscato. I've been standing here like an idiot, watching you for the better part of the last hour.”

“Watching me? What?” I'm smiling. Maybe I'm also a little concerned. I don't know what kind of game this is, but the look on his face tells me it's serious.

“If I could show you what I see, you'd understand. You wouldn't think I'm crazy. Obsessed, maybe, but far from insane. You're sexier than you have any business being when you're hard at work, head down, oblivious to what happens in here. You're beautiful, and you're mine.” He turns, taking my hands, pulling me to him.

“So, this is what you do between real work?” I quirk my eyebrow. Coming from anyone else, it would be strange and unsettling, but because it's him – my man – a wicked heat pools between my thighs.

“Since day one,” he says, a smile pulling at his lips. “It's wrong, this fixation I get in front of the window, but so is everything else we do. It was torture, just a few weeks ago, when I thought we'd never do what we first did in Maine again. Since then, you've become my sweet madness, moscato. Doesn't matter how many nights we crash down in the same bed, how many times I press you against the shower wall and fuck you through the steam. You're still my daydream here. Even when I have you every night. I can't wait for us to get home. I can't wait now, and there's so much work ahead. Calls and contracts I can't ignore. I need you, beautiful, and I don't want to wait.”

I'm screaming inside when his lips attack mine. It's so sudden, so sharp, the grip of his hands on my body so intense, the world starts spinning. When I open my eyes, he's led us over to the edge of his desk, blinding me in fiery kisses. I don't notice where I am until my skirt touches wood.

“Grant,” I whisper, flattening my hands on his chest and giving him a soft push. “Whoa. We can't. Not here.”

“We can, and we will. I'll hold my hand over your mouth if you're worried about the noise.” His hands are unstoppable, moving up my skirt, clenching my ass through my panties. “Palms down on the desk, Bekah. Down,” he whispers, teasing me with another brush of his lips across mine.

I don't have time to contemplate the ethics of fucking my almost-boyfriend-boss in our office. What little resistance I had from the start fades when he pulls on my panties, taking them to my knees as he drops to his, kissing his way up my thigh.

“You're shaking,” he says, laying his beard against one thigh.

“Um, yeah. Nerves. It's crazy, doing this in public.” I bite my lip, wondering if anyone can see our silhouettes compromised through the door's frosted glass. Grant's touch is warm, but his nerves are cool as ice, calm and controlled.

“There's a locked door between us and them. That's plenty. I have another meeting at four o'clock. Spread your legs, woman, or I won't be able to lick long enough to make you pass out.”

Oh, God. If there's such a thing as a password to my body, he's just spoken it. My legs open for his gorgeous, bearded face.

I'm face down, next to his paperweight, trying not to moan as his tongue goes to work. The man is as good as his word, like always, except here that may be a curse.

It's hell holding in my screams, especially when he licks through my folds, shoves two fingers inside me, and makes me fuck them while his tongue lashes my clit. I think I last five minutes. A new record breaker with his mouth carrying me to my inner sanctum.

He's growling when I go over the edge. The raw, throaty groan adds one more sensation to the wild melee his mouth and hands bring. I try to gag myself, sucking my bottom lip into my mouth hard, but I'm sure a few loud moans slip out while orgasm tsunamis through my body.

Coming! Here in his office. Here on his face. Here in sweet surrender.

I'm letting him use me on demand, and I'm loving it. This isn't just a lewd chore or an obligation. It's a gift to the man who's done so much for me, the man I'm falling harder to my knees for every day, if I'm honest.

“Moscato.” He speaks my pet name like a command. I open my eyes. He's just as gorgeous naked as he is in his suit. Turning my body, he pushes me into a sitting position on his desk.

He guides my legs over his shoulders very gently. Then his forehead hits mine, and we kiss as he undoes his zipper, bringing out his pierced wonder.

I gasp when he pushes inside me. It's the first of many breathless slips to leave my mouth as his thrusts come like a storm, filling my body like rain conquering earth, his thunder booming a little louder in his throat when he strokes to the hilt.

“Fuck, Bekah. So tight. So warm. So goddamned perfect.” He says the last word with total conviction.

I still can't believe it. Can't comprehend how a screwed up, technically homeless girl who's only rich on someone else's dime seems so wonderful. I don't understand how his bright eyes are always full of patience, admiration, maybe a love I'm still afraid to probe, but they are.

They just are.

That thing he said about how it would be if I could see myself in his eyes? Maybe he's right. Maybe this wouldn't seem like the craziest thing in the world, biting his hand as he brings it over my mouth, all I can do to stifle the shrill scream ripping out of me as his cock slams in and my already frenzied heartbeat doubles.

But because I can't, because I'm infected with too much pessimism at heart, there's a split second before pleasure obliterates my darkest thoughts where I wonder how long this amazing wildfire will last.

How long before life's sobering hand puts us back in our places? How long before dad and Ethan catch up to us, and use whatever strings they're bound to have to bring me back in line? How long before Grant gets sick of my crap, and walks out, leaving me mourning the greatest romance – yes, dear God, romance – of my life.

I don't know.

When I'm pinching his ass like a vice with my legs, losing one of my heels, I don't have a clue, nor do I care. For now, the present is enough. Every beautiful moment we have to ourselves.

And we have one more as he smothers my lips and takes my tongue, slamming his hips into me one more time as he lets go. I ride out every thick, screaming rope of his come. His cock roots itself deep, throbbing and twitching in time to his grunts, so intense I feel his pulse in every domineering kiss and flex of muscle.

I love you, I love you, I love you. It's on my mind like a mantra, and it's almost as hard to hold in as the ecstasy blooming on my lips.

Whether we're meant to last weeks or years, I have to say it soon.

I have to tell him, even if it makes what's happening ten times crazier. Because if I don't, I'll never forgive myself.

* * *

Fridays never meant much before. Now, they're a happy time.

I show up to the hot new Italian restaurant we've picked for our date. I'm almost late, spending more time than I really should picking out my dress, something I never cared about before. I choose a smooth white cream colored cocktail dress with matching heels. Too virginal white not to be fitting for my handsome date. Possibly a hint too much like a wedding gown not to inspire thoughts about our future.

It's a chic, well lit place. I'm greeted warmly at the door by the valet and the maitre d', both dressed in exquisite vests. The million dollar view of downtown Manhattan shines through the windows as soon as I'm at the table.

Grant is right on time, five minutes later. “For me, moscato? Sweet Jesus.” Excitement crackles in his sky blue eyes, taking in my outfit. He has a gift for making me blush, no matter how much time we spend together.

“I'm glad you approve,” I say, pulling my foot from my heel to rub his calve under the table as soon as he's seated. Yes, we do those things. The secretive puppy love affection I've been denied my whole life because there wasn't anyone worth doing this with until now.

“Approve?” He cocks his head, lowering the menu in his hands. “I want to skip dinner, take you in the back, and drag you out of that thing with my teeth.”

He takes my hand. I slap his knuckles playfully, laughing, knowing full well he's crazy enough to try.

“We came here for a night out! Be good, and I'll be very good to you later, sir. Promise.” I say the last two words under my breath.

He sits up straight. If I brought my foot to his lap, I'm almost certain I'd find him rock hard, and ready to go.

Fortunately, our waiter comes by to fetch our drink order and start our apps, saving my modest plan to do dinner, and then sex, like a normal couple.

Jesus, a couple. That's what we're rapidly becoming, isn't it?

The idea knocks around my head while we make small talk, sipping our wine, and tucking into the escargot and fancy cheese plate between us. I want to freshen up and also make sure the happy buzz in my head doesn't make me float away. So, I excuse myself before our entrees come out, heading for the ladies' room.

I'm washing up when I hear the door open. The figure who steps inside slams the door shut, throws something metal into the handle, and closes in fast.

There isn't even time to scream. Ethan surrounds me, backing us into the corner, a sick fury written on his face. “You're a hard one to track down these days, cheri, but I have my ways. Thank God, yes? Your father's worried sick about you, and so am I.”

A low whimper escapes my mouth as he shoves his arms around both sides of my face, against the wall, boxing me in. “Don't do this,” I say, wondering why I'm wasting my words.

There's no reasoning with this psycho.

“Do what?” he snarls, grabbing my face with one hand, forcing me to look at him. “Apologize? Because I've tried to for what happened over dinner about fifty fucking times, Rebekah. I tried my utmost to set things right with you and Jeremiah. Would've said it to your face a hundred times over, except no one knows where you went. What's happened?”

His voice is a low, monstrous sigh. I tilt my head as far as I can, refusing to answer, refusing to even look at him.

“You're with him tonight, aren't you? The man who's supposed to be your boss? The man you lied to me about?” His tongue flicks over his lips. His clammy hand trembles on my face, just above the temple. “What does Shaw have that I don't? Tell me!”

A soul, I think to myself, letting the hate flow when I'm able to look him in the eyes, “Manners,” I try, worried what will happen if I enrage him more.

Looking over his shoulder, it looks like there's a crowbar lodged in the door. It keeps anyone else from entering, but it could easily be used against me another way if he decides to get violent. Please don't let him be that crazy.

“Manners?” he snaps, throwing it back at me. “Perhaps you suit each other, then, cheri. You, all too willing to run from the people who love you, into the arms of a stranger who's using you like a common whore. You know there's no future, yes?”

“No future with you? Yeah, obviously.” My voice shakes, but I won't go down quietly. I'll let him hurt me before I ever buckle to this sinister, disturbed freak again.

His lips twist. “I mean with him, fool. You can't be blind and dumb, Rebekah. Your father won't simply nod his approval when he finds out. I won't let Shaw use you. He doesn't appreciate you like a real man should. He's got you confused, corrupted with his lies, twined around his finger like the other meaningless whores he's kicked to the curb.”

“Let me go, Ethan. Last warning. I'm going to scream bloody murder if you don't. I'll go to the police and –“

I realize my mistake as soon as he slams me into the wall, shoving his hand over my mouth. “You'll come home with me tonight, cheri. I'm taking you back to your parents. They'll get the help you need, set you straight, sue your idiot boss into the ground for thinking he could get away with kidnapping you.”

You're the kidnapper, you fucking lunatic! It's the last thought I have before my bones shake.

It happens so fast. One minute, I'm digging my heels into the ceramic floor as hard as I can, twisting with all my might, trying to knock him off balance, or at least get his hand off my mouth so I'm able to call for help.

The next, there's a whirlwind bowling us both over. Grant.

I've never seen him so furious, so determined, his face creased in a brutal mess of hate. He pins down Monsieur Creep-o with his weight, straddling his chest, slamming his fist into the asshole's brittle face again and again.

“Grant, no! We have to call the cops.” I'm on him, shaking him by the shoulders, trying to get through before he murders the Fabius CEO in front of me.

It's a small miracle the commotion hasn't brought anyone else here yet.

When Grant pulls his fist away, it's covered in blood. Ethan wobbles, scurries back against the wall for support as I tug my man away. We walk backwards toward the sinks. Standing straight again, Ethan cradles what looks like a broken nose.

My phone is out. I'm about to dial 9-1-1 when a manager storms in, an older, balding man. His eyes bug out when he sees the drama. “Christ, everybody okay in here?”

I hold my breath. If the law gets involved, this doesn't look good. Sure, I can tell them what Ethan tried to do to me, but it won't wipe the blood off Grant's knuckles. We've just given a madman a perfect excuse to do his worst legally.

“On my way out,” Ethan rasps, blood slurring his speech. “Took a fall. They helped me up.”

It's an obvious lie. But we're quiet as he slinks past us. He takes his sweet time, waiting until the manager ducks back into the restaurant to lean in, and whisper. “Wait when papa finds out, cheri. I'll be sure he shows you the hard truth about Shaw, too.”

“Come one step closer, and I'll fucking kill you,” Grant says.

For once in his miserable life, Ethan listens. He keeps his distance as he staggers away, and by the time we remember to bring Grant's hand to the sink to wash the blood away, he's gone.

I've officially lost my appetite, but we need to sit down again and decompress from this insanity. I watch Grant dry his hands before I follow him out.

“You heard what he said, didn't you?” I ask, later, when we're seated again, trying and failing to enjoy Manhattan's tinsel lights. “He's going to tell my father about us. God, what then?”

“I tell him you're mine, and I'm not giving you up. If he doesn't like it, I'll remind him it's none of his damned business.” Grant pauses, stabbing into his steak frites, swallowing a mouthful of wine. How he's able to drink after our savage encounter, I don't know. “He doesn't scare me, Bekah. Even what he's threatened to do with my company...”

“What threat?” My fork falls, clattering against the plate. “He's after you? Jesus, why didn't you tell me? Is that what Ethan meant when he said that thing about the hard truth?”

He doesn't look at me. “It doesn't matter. I'm dealing with it, moscato. I'll need my experts in law and finance. Nothing you can do.”

“Like hell there isn't!” I'm shouting, and a dirty look from an old woman several tables over reminds me to lower the volume. “I'll tell him I'm going to the police anyway. The cops, the FBI, whoever I need to talk to about this weird business he's in with Ethan. Blood doesn't matter. Not after the way he treated me.”

I stop, stuffing a bite of glazed venison into my mouth, chewing so hard it hurts my teeth. I'm able to pick at my food better than I thought when it's in front of me. Must be the stress.

“Let me handle this my own way. Please, moscato,” he says, leaning back, folding his hands. The soft blue energy seems a lot lower in his eyes, like he used it all up defending me. “I know how to deal with this. I'll make sure neither of them bother us again. Notice I didn't say you. Us.”

I don't have the heart to put up a fight, even if I'm itching to help. If he hadn't shown up in the bathroom when he did, who knows what Ethan might've done. I still feel like a fool for not rushing out after him, holding him on the street while we brought in the cops to deal with his warped hostility disguised as compassion.

“Fine, we'll try it your way. But what do we do in the meantime? If Ethan comes back?”

“I meant what I said,” Grant says, ice in his voice. “I will kill him if he ever lays a hand on you again. If he's wise, he'll back the fuck off, and let me deal with your old man instead.”

I already know he isn't. He's too insane. But it doesn't stop me from smiling at the force Grant wields in every word, the power he's devoted to me.

As horrible as the run-in was, I won't let it ruin our night. We finish dinner, one more round of drinks, and then head home to start our weekend.

He leads me by the hand up his big black staircase, straight to the new home I've made in his bed.

I melt into his kisses, and they become so much more.

I'm worried, of course, but it's dampened by desire. Nothing will ruin this, damn it. We're too good for each other.

Far too good to be brought down by anything.

* * *

A seasonal flu bug hits hard about a week later, giving me something new to worry about. It's worst in the mornings, leaving me feeling like I've been run over after a marathon.

There hasn't been any more ugliness from dad or Ethan, at least, an uneasy truce I doubt will last. Even mom's weekly please come home calls have stopped.

Probably because she's given up and decided to stop worrying about me while she's in Dubai.

I try to keep going. But by mid-week, I have to take a real sick day, lounging at the condo under a blanket while I watch the city go on about its day without me through walls of glass.

I'm contemplating an online appointment with the doctor over my phone, but before I do anything, I decide to self-diagnose. Browsing the lists of symptoms online leaves me scrunching my nose, wondering what new punishment I'm in for.

None of them seem to fit until I casually tap my way into the parenting part of the site.

Oh. Oh, shit.

This can't be happening, but if it is, I need to know.

“Hello, is this Bruce?” I ask, as soon as I hear someone pick up on the line Grant gave me for his personal driver and concierge.

“At your service, madam.”

“Listen, I'm feeling a little under the weather and I have a weird request.” I pause, rolling my tongue, searching for the right words. “But before I ask, I have to know something...are you guys under any confidentiality rules? Or will you blab everything to your boss?”