“Mom wasn’t interested in seeing you?” I ask, and he laughs at me. It’s a harsh sound, and it’s echoed with that distant huskiness that reminds me of how close he came to death. Should I really be insulting him here? I know that quips are our thing, but … he almost died, and I felt myself falling apart.
I love him, and he knows it.
He loves me, and I know it.
He’s been saying as much to me since the very first time he whispered, I’ve always hated you, Gidge, just before claiming my virginity with a hard, deep thrust.
“We’re not exactly close,” Cade admits, almost reluctantly, looking me over. His jaw clenches at whatever thoughts are going through that pretty head of his. He swipes that inked hand over his hair and cringes as the tubes in his arm jiggle around. “What are you waiting for, sweetheart? An invitation? Get the fuck over here.”
He reaches out a hand, and I take it, climbing over him but making sure that most of my weight is on my knees and, as I sit back, resting on my calves. I place my hands on my thighs as Grainger runs both of his over my hips.
Fuck.
Fire lances through me, and I end up shifting toward him without even meaning to. There’s a pull between us that’s damn near impossible to resist. It’s always been there, from that first moment he said I looked like a damn vampire, and I felt a rise of emotion that I interpreted as hate.
Looking back at it now … the attraction was instant.
“You dressed up for me,” he breathes, eyes half-lidded, voice a little bit stronger than it seemed when I first walked in. Prideful, too. Excited? Eager? Maybe even a tad wary. “And fuck if it isn’t working. I want that sweet cunt of yours so bad I can taste it.”
I close my eyes for a moment, lifting up a hand and putting it gently against Grainger’s chest, just to feel his heartbeat. He stiffens up, but he doesn’t stop me. We don’t talk much either. Considering that we’re both ornery assholes, it’s probably better this way.
I’d much rather speak to him through body language.
Grainger squeezes my hips so hard that my breath releases in a throaty purr. I shift and try desperately not to put any weight on him. I don’t know what he looks like under that hideous hospital gown. It’s already slipping down his shoulders though, revealing finely sculpted pecs, rounded biceps, swathes of ink.
I force my gaze back to Cade’s face.
He wants this.
He wants it so bad, he can taste it.
“And if I did dress up for you, what then? Maybe I dressed up for myself.”
He scoffs at me, and I smile. But just a little.
“You’ve never been tamable, Gidge. It’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you. You do whatever the fuck you want, everyone else be damned.” He yanks me just a bit closer, and I give him a warning look.
“I won’t be able to sit here forever,” I tell him, my heart racing. If one of the nurses sees me like this, I’m going to get in trouble again—and for all the right reasons, I’m sure. I shouldn’t be sitting on someone who almost died just two days ago. “Just say it. You have to say it, Cade. I can’t read minds.”
“You know what I heard when I thought everything was over?” He slides his left hand up a little higher, holding onto my rib cage. His other hand digs tense fingers into my hair, gripping me with a possessiveness that both excites and irritates me. “When I was certain I was already on my way to hell? I heard your voice.”
Chills skitter over my skin, but I’m also not sure that I believe him.
“Stop feeding me lines,” I warn, but then Grainger grabs my face and closes the distance between our mouths. His filthy lips steal over mine, making me dig my nails into the tops of my leather-clad thighs.
“It’s true. I fucking died on that table,” he hisses against my mouth, his own smeared with a tease of my purple lip color. “What sort of a moron would I be if I kept lying?” Grainger tightens his grip on my hair, keeping me close. “We’ve gotten more than our fair share of second chances. Don’t you think?”
I swallow hard, but he’s right. I know he’s right.
We can’t keep running from this.
Either we agree to give our relationship a proper go, or we say good fucking riddance and be done with it. And I am nowhere near ready to do that. Not after almost losing him. If anything, it’s made this decision a relatively easy one, my intimacy issues be damned.
Grainger smirks at me, releasing my hair, but I can read the overwhelming surety in his face like it’s tattooed on. I don’t believe it for a second though. He’s unsure. He’s only that cocky because he doesn’t know what I’m planning on doing, what my marriage to Beast means, if his brother-in-arms is even willing to share; he’s overcompensating.
