Grip Trilogy Box Set

“We?” I interject stiffly.

“Yeah, your mother and I,” Grip continues smoothly, but no way he doesn’t consider how un-cool it was to do all of this without me. “Mrs. Parker assures us her son is no threat. Her husband’s sick of cleaning up after him. He’s got his foot so far up Parker’s ass, he won’t piss without it being tracked. Parker will marry this Natasha chick, fly away to Russia, run their business there, and leave us the hell alone.”

The tense line of Grip’s lips relaxes momentarily.

“And Mrs. Parker’s got so much shit on her husband, it’s in his interest to keep Parker in check. We have layers of protection, babe. We’ve been monitoring it for a few weeks. Now we know Parker’s getting out of prison, but also out of our lives for good.”

“Why am I just now hearing about it?” I ask, irritation crowding out concern or even relief. This is all good, but they were meeting without me, discussing something that is completely my business behind my back. “Why was my mother telling you and not me? Talking with you, not me?”

“Because I asked her to.” Grip’s voice brooks no argument, and the arrogant brow he cocks dares me to say something. He must have forgotten who he’s dealing with—I always have something to say.

“You asked her to cut me out of something that so obviously concerns me?”

“I just wanted to know first, Bris.” He pulls in that patient breath, the one that says he’s preparing himself in case I want to fight. “And see what we were dealing with. I was gonna tell you once everything was settled. Now it’s settled.”

“But—”

“I just needed to be sure. I wanted to be the first line of defense.”

“In this situation or . . . ?” I let my raised eyebrows finish the question.

“In everything,” he says decisively. “Do you have any idea how it felt to be locked up knowing you were even considering . . .”

His words thin to nothing, like he can’t bring himself to voice what I had planned to go through with. A deep swallow bobs the Adam’s apple in his throat.

Yes, I was going to fuck Parker to get Grip out of jail, and I would have done it had he and my mother not intervened. It would have gutted my soul, and maybe I would never have forgiven myself, but if I have to choose between my pride, my supposed virtue, and Grip’s freedom, well that’s not a choice at all.

“Don’t think I’ll let you wrap me in cotton, Grip,” I assert. “I can take care of myself.”

A scowl contracts the sharp lines of Grip’s face.

“Fucking Parker for all the world to see? That’s how you would take care of yourself? And you think I’d want you to do something like that to protect me?”

He pulls away to fold his arms across his chest, the muscles straining against the sleeves of his plain white T-shirt. I feel the distance instantly, not just between our bodies, but separating our perspectives. This is a fight we never had. We talked some after he left jail, but we were just so relieved to get rid of Parker, too happy to have dodged the bullet and we didn’t air this. Now it’s in the air, and it’s a cold front that makes me shiver.

“I didn’t have a lot of options.” I lay my palms flat against my bare legs. “I won’t apologize for being willing to do whatever it took to protect you.”

“Then don’t ask me to apologize for doing the same. Look, just be glad it’s handled. It’s over.” He stands and heads toward the stairs. “I’m gonna shower.”

“We aren’t done.” I rush up the steps, close on his heels.

“Bris, later. We don’t want to be late for our own party.”

Your party. I don’t correct him, but we both know this party could go on without me. There are probably several people there who wish Grip would go on without me.

He grabs his T-shirt from the back and yanks it over his head, tossing it into the bathroom hamper. My steps stutter to a halt. My eyes cling to his skin, stretched like dark velvet over the balletic play of muscles in his back. He shucks the bottoms and drops those in the hamper, too, unaware that my mouth has gone dry.

I know I had a point, but the flare of his powerful thighs, the tight curve of his ass from a tapered waist—it scrambles my thoughts. When he turns to the side to start the shower, his dick juts from the flat, ridged topography of chest and abs. I lick my lips, lips that have more than once been doused with the spicy-sweet taste of him in my mouth.

Why is he so damn fine? It’s not fair.

“It’s not fair,” I mumble faintly. That jars me, reminds me I wasn’t done with this argument. “Parker manipulated me, Grip. It wasn’t fair to keep me out of it, and I want to make sure you don’t do this again.”

“Fuck fair.” Grip steps into the shower. “I don’t care if it’s fair—I care if you’re safe. We can fight about this every day if you want. You aren’t leaving me over it, and I’m not leaving you, so what the fuck ever. Agree to disagree. I’m done talking about it, Bris.”

With that, he turns his back to me, reaching for the shower gel.

He’s right. I’m not leaving him over it, but I don’t want to resent him. I want to trust him. I want him to trust me. That’s what we have, and I won’t let him ruin it with his irrational overprotectiveness.