Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86105 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Grizz waits.
And I realize that the only thing more terrifying than telling him is the possibility that he already knows.
“I…” My voice cracks on the first word, and I clear my throat, furious at myself. “Under any other circumstance, I would have already accepted.”
His gaze doesn’t leave mine. “And what’s the circumstance?” he asks. “What’s the reason,” he corrects. I guess he needs me to say it plainly.
My throat won’t cooperate. My body won’t do the tidy, articulate thing it usually does when words are weapons or shields. All I have is this pounding in my chest and the ache of wanting and the sudden, clarity of what it would mean to walk away.
Grizz’s voice is even softer. “Daisy.”
I push my chair back. Not dramatically—just enough to let me easily slide free. I stand, move around the table, and he tracks me with his eyes, still not moving, still letting me choose.
I stop beside him, and for a beat I look at his face—this man who made dinner for me, who is now sitting here asking me the one question I’ve been avoiding because I’m afraid of my own answer.
His hands rest on the edge of the table, strong and still. “What’s the reason?” he says again.
My heart stutters as I lean down and kiss him. Grizz responds for a moment, and I think it’s all forgotten, but then he pulls back.
It’s only a few inches, barely anything, but the loss of his mouth—of that heat, that certainty—feels like a door slamming in my chest.
For one horrible second, I can’t breathe. My brain does what it always does when it senses danger. It starts spinning stories at high speed.
You moved too fast, Daisy. You made it weird. You made it serious. You just handed him a truth you can’t take back and now he’s going to step away and look at you like you’re—
“Daisy,” he says, my name, rough in his throat.
I freeze, my hands still on his shoulders, fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. I try to read his face and all I see is stunned focus, like he’s taking in the entire universe at once and trying not to break under the weight of it.
“I—” I start, stupidly, reflexively, like I can explain my way out of a kiss. Maybe I can distract him enough so I don’t have to admit that I didn’t take the job because I didn’t want to leave him. That I made a decision about my career, because of him.
But he doesn’t need me to say it out loud. He knows the truth. Grizz’s gaze softens, and then his hand comes up and cradles my face.
Not stopping me. Holding me. Then he kisses me and this one is a claim.
His mouth is hotter, hungrier, and the sound I make is embarrassing—this small, involuntary inhale that turns into a soft noise against his lips. He stands, pushing up from the chair with one decisive movement, and I stumble back a half step as he rises into me, all height and strength and intention.
His hand drifts from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair, tilting my head just right. The other hand braces at my waist, and then he’s pulling me closer, closer, until there’s no space left and my whole body is lit up with him—his heat, his solidity, the hard line of his chest against mine. He’s finally letting himself touch something fragile without flinching.
I kiss him back, desperately, because the fear in me is still there, buzzing. I need reassurance in the only language that feels real right now. I need to feel him choose me again.
And he does it with his mouth, his hands, the way he inhales like I’m his oxygen.
“Bedroom,” he murmurs against my lips.
I nod, but I don’t get another second to respond because his arms scoop around me—one under my thighs, one around my back—and suddenly I’m not standing anymore.
My breath leaves in a startled laugh that turns into a gasp when he lifts me easily, like this is what he was built for and he’s owning it. My arms go around his neck, clinging, and he walks, carrying me down the hall with his steady, purposeful stride.
The world tilts. The lights blur. The dining room disappears behind us.
“Grizz,” I whisper, half warning, half plea.
He makes a sound low in his throat that feels like agreement and don’t you stop me.
His lips find mine again as he walks, the kiss deeper now, messier. My head knocks lightly against his shoulder and I don’t care. My whole body is vibrating with the thrill of being taken somewhere—of not having to decide what comes next.
His bedroom door is already open. The room is dim, the sheets dark, rumpled. The bed remembers us.