him.
“He . . . he admitted that he did this. That he has at least one high-ranking judge, probably more, in his pocket. This case isn’t going anywhere unless he says so.”
“Again I ask, what does he want?”
There’s no curiosity behind the question. He already knows and just wants to hear me say it.
“He wants what he’s always wanted.” I force myself to look at him. “He wants me.”
“He wants you to marry him?” Grip asks dispassionately.
“No, he says he’d never marry me now that I’ve ‘soiled myself publicly with you.’”
“Well, at least there’s that.” The tight line of Grip’s mouth loosens just a little. “So then what?”
“He wants to take me to the Amalfi Coast today.”
All pretense that he doesn’t care, that he knows everything, disappears. Urgency charges the stale air in the small visiting room.
“Today?” he demands. “What’s his plan?”
“We’ll have . . .” The word sits so foul, queued up and rotting on my tongue. I press my lips together against emotion and tears so I can go on. “Sex, we’ll have sex on the upper deck of his yacht.”
I push the words up my throat, as heavy as a boulder up a hill. “And the reporter who leaked the Vegas pictures will leak pictures of us . . . together.”
“Fuck!” He bangs the table, the sound echoing like a clanging cymbal. It rattles my teeth. “You won’t.”
I keep my head lowered. I figure it isn’t a good time to remind him he isn’t the boss of me. We have so little time before I have to go, and I don’t want to spend it arguing about something that, in my mind, is done. Is happening.
“Look at me, Bristol.”
I clutch my conviction and raise my eyes to his.
“You are not doing this. Not for me.” He does take my hand then, both of them between his, and squeezes. “We’ll find another way.”
“No, we won’t. You don’t know him.”
These dull concrete walls are closing in on me, and the thought of Grip in here even another day traps my breath in my chest. Panic crushes me from the inside out.
“There isn’t another way.” I lift his hands to my lips, kissing his knuckles, his thumb, turning his hand and leaving a dry sob in the palm of his hand. “He’s made sure of that. If there was a way, Rhyson would have found it by now.”
“I won’t let you do this.”
“You can’t stop me.” I pull my hands clear of his, my resolve weakening the longer I touch him. The thought of anyone else touching me the way these hands did, with love and reverence, turns my stomach. “I told you. I warned you that I’m not like other girls.”
My laugh leaves traces of poison on my lips.
“I don’t have those limits.” One tear at a time scalds my cheeks. “I’d do anything for you. It sounds romantic until it crosses your lines, huh? Until it goes too far.”
I look at him, my smile ironic.
“Are you afraid, that like Parker, you won’t want me either, after I’ve ‘soiled’ myself with him?”
“I’m afraid it would destroy something in you that I can’t ever get back,” he says earnestly.
I haven’t admitted it even to myself, but so am I.
“If that happens,” I say, dropping my eyes to my lap. “Whatever’s left is yours.”
“Don’t, Bris.” He crosses around the table, sits on the corner, and pulls me to stand between his legs, his hands running up my arms. “I’d stay before I’d let you do that.”
“That’s ridiculous. Oh my God. Don’t even . . .”
I drop my head to his shoulder, horrified he’d even entertain sacrificing his career or years of his life for something he didn’t do. That he would do that to spare me this indignity.
“I would never let you do that for me,” I say, my breath hiccupping in my chest.
“I won’t have to, but now you know how I feel.” He bends his brows over the torture in his eyes. “You think you’re the only one who loves without limits?”
“That makes no sense, Grip.”
“Like it made sense for me to wait around for years while you figured out you loved me.” His mouth pulls into a warped smile. “But who did that? This guy.”
A breathy laugh breaks through my tears.
“I love you,” I whisper, stepping back and giving up the warm safety of his arms. “There’s nothing . . . nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
The vestiges of his smile fall away. He runs his thumb over