Page 177 of Hard to Resist

“Verity? Are you okay?”

My heart melts into a puddle of goop. Trust that to be the first thing he says to me.

“Where are you?”

“Where am I? Hudson Yards.”

“Send me the exact location.”

“Sure, one sec.” There’s a pause before my phone vibrates with a text. “Why?”

“I need to see you.”

“Wait, where are you?”

“Midtown. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Hang on, it’s pouring. I’ll come to you.”

“No. Don’t move.”

“Verity—”

“Wait for me, Cullen. Please.”

There’s a beat, and I worry he’s going to fight me on this. He always cares about putting me first, but there is no way I can just sit here. I’ve made up my mind, and there’s zero chance I’ll go back on it. I have to see him. The need burning in me is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before.

“Always,” his voice is steady. “I’ll always wait for you.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

VERITY

Rain drips from my lashes. The downpour has gotten a million times worse.

Most people are waiting off to the side, hiding under any awning or scaffolding they can find. Smart people are huddled under their umbrellas. I’m clutching my tote bag to my chest to protect it as much as I can while I sprint down the street.

I hop over the large puddles pooling at the crosswalks—grateful I chose to wear my sneakers today—and lick the water running down my lips. My hair must be absolutely soaked by now; I can feel the heavy weight of the ponytail swinging against the rain.

“Verity!”

The sound of my name cuts through the loud patter of rain and zooming of cars on wet asphalt. I slow my steps, whipping my head around to locate the man who called out to me.

Cullen is jogging up the street, ripping his suit jacket off without breaking his stride. I continue sprinting until we meet in the middle.

“What are you doing? I said I’d come to you.”

“What am—” He cuts himself off as he throws his suit jacket over my head. “You’re completely soaked.”

He wraps his arm behind my back and draws me close to him as he jogs us back down the street and into the lobby of afancy office building. He pulls back, those hazel eyes filled with concern. Cullen repositions his jacket over my shoulders before moving to undo his tie. He uses the fabric to dab at my damp face, muttering to himself.

“Are you okay? This is why I said I’d come to you. What if you catch pneumonia?”

“It was important.”

“Nothing is more important than your health, angel.”

“You are. You’re more important than anything else.”

---