Page 18 of Fury
The double meaning isn't lost on me, and heat pools low in my belly. "I will," I promise.
He seems reluctant to leave, his hand lingering on my face a moment longer. Then, with visible effort, he steps back. "Good night, Livie."
"Good night, Greyson."
After he's gone, I stand in the middle of the room, my skin still tingling where he touched me. Outside, I hear the rumble of a motorcycle, his parents leaving. And then silence, broken only by the sounds of Greyson moving around downstairs.
Just the two of us now, in this beautiful house hidden in the woods. Despite the circumstances that brought me here, despite the danger lurking somewhere out there, I can't deny the thrill that runs through me at the thought.
I change into sleep shorts and a tank top, brush my teeth in the luxurious en suite bathroom, and slide between the cool sheets of the king-sized bed. The mattress is firm but comfortable, the pillows soft beneath my head. Exhaustion from the day's events washes over me, but sleep remains elusive as my mind replays everything. The stalker at the gate, the fear in my parents' eyes, the feel of Greyson's lips on mine in the parking lot.
Just as I'm finally drifting off, a sound jerks me fully awake. It's the creak of a floorboard somewhere in the house. My heart rate spikes, and I reach for the gun on the nightstand before remembering it's just Greyson moving around in his own home.
I release a shaky breath, settling back against the pillows. But now I'm wide awake again, hyperaware of every sound, every shadow. After twenty minutes of staring at the ceiling, I make a decision.
Slipping from the bed, I pad barefoot to the door and into the hallway. A golden glow from downstairs guiding my way, I descend the stairs slowly, each step bringing me closer to the man who's occupied my thoughts for longer than I care to admit.
I find him in the living room, sitting on the couch with a glass of amber liquid in his hand, staring into the flames that crackle in the stone fireplace. He looks up as I approach, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of me in my sleep clothes.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asks, his voice rougher than before.
I shake my head, wrapping my arms around myself. "Too many thoughts."
He sets his glass down and pats the space beside him. "Join me?"
I cross the room and sink into the cushions, close enough to feel his warmth but not quite touching. The fire casts dancing shadows across his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and his eyes as they track my movements.
"Every time I close my eyes, I see him at the gate," I admit, pulling my knees to my chest. "Hear his voice saying it's not over."
Greyson's expression hardens. "It will be. Soon."
"You sound very sure of that."
"I am." He takes a sip of his drink before setting it aside. "No one threatens what's mine and walks away scot-free."
The possessiveness in his tone should alarm me, but instead, it sends a thrill down my spine. "Is that what I am? Yours?"
His eyes lock with mine, stealing my breath. "You've been mine since the first time I saw you across that crowded room, Livie. Whether either of us was ready to admit it or not."
The honesty in his voice disarms me completely. "I used to dream about you," I confess, the firelight making me braver than I'd be in daylight. "In LA, when I was lonely or scared. I'd imagine what it would be like if you were there."
His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. "I was there. More than you know."
"What do you mean?"
He hesitates, thumb tracing circles on my palm. "I checked on you. Made sure you were safe."
I stare at him, processing his words. "You came to LA? When?"
"Every few months. I'd make excuses to my VP about business in California." A hint of sheepishness crosses his features. "I'd watch you leave that salon, follow at a distance to make sure you got home okay."
"You were stalking me?" The irony isn't lost on me.
"Protecting you," he corrects, though a small smile plays at his lips. "There's a difference."
I should be angry or at least unsettled. Instead, I find myself oddly touched. "Why didn't you ever say anything? Let me know you were there?"
"You left for a reason," he says simply. "You needed space, needed to figure out who you were away from all this." His free hand gestures vaguely, encompassing the clubs, the town, everything we both grew up with. "I respected that too much to interfere."
