Forbidden Fate (Crowne Point 3)

Died of cancer went unsaid but nevertheless burned in his eyes.

I looked at him, really looked at him. He hadn’t changed since the funeral. He’d discarded his jacket and tie but still wore his shirt and slacks. The top buttons were undone, and the shirt was rolled up to his forearms, but it was hastily done. The left forearm didn’t match the right one, and his pants were wrinkled.

None of this was his business.

And yet.

He gazed down on me with tenderness, his thumb bruising from cheek to jaw. I splintered. I wanted to lay my head on his chest, wrap my arms around him. Instead I couldn’t stop staring at the gold ring on his finger.

I pushed him off.

“I’m fine,” I said. “It was just low blood sugar. I don’t need to be at the hospital. I just need to get out of here.”

Let this horrible day from hell end.

“No one will know you’re here, Story. We have a private wing, and I took you in a private car.”

“I wouldn’t expect them to, Mr. Crowne.” I slowly pulled my head from his hands. “I think you should go.”

“Story—”

I lifted my head. “I’m not Story, I’m not Snitch, I’m your wife’s girl. Tomorrow I won’t be anything to you people.”

Gray’s eyes flashed dark. Furious. Like our first night together. “You want me to leave?”

“Yes. Forget about me.” Let me forget about you. “I’m not yours to worry about.”

His jaw ticked, nostrils flared, as though he had some argument to that. I stared at Gray, telling him with my glare to get the fuck out of the room. He stared back with that possessive glare, fingers digging into his flexed bicep. As if he was going to fight me on this.

“We need to talk about this. Come up with a plan.”

“We aren?

??t doing anything. You’re not involved. I was planning on leaving. That’s still the plan.”

All his joy, his love, vanished into a cold breeze. “That’s my baby, too.”

I threw off the sheets, getting out of the bed with a harsh laugh. “You’d have to acknowledge me for that to be true.”

“Easy. Done.”

I paused, legs hanging over the bed, not liking how easily that was fixed. If that were true, all our problems would be solved.

“I don’t mean while you still have a wife. I’m not going to stay and be your fucking mistress.”

I quickly jumped out of bed and went searching for my clothes, ignoring the fact that he had a view of my bare back and panties.

I grabbed my black dress, sorrow hitting me in a wave. Uncle is dead.

Uncle is dead and I’m fucking pregnant.

I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe—

Grayson stepped to me, crowding my space. “Mistress? I haven’t touched you. I’ve barely even fucking looked at you.”

His words stopped me in my tracks, suddenly hot in my chest, scratchy in my throat like I was…I was…going to fucking cry!? Is this why I was emotional all the time? Because I was pregnant? It was so easy for Grayson Crowne to forget what had happened just hours before.

I blinked, sniffed, looked anywhere but him. “You still haven’t let me go.”