Dirty Rich Betrayal - Love Me Forever - Mia & Grayson

He rolls us to our sides, facing each other. “I just wish you didn’t have to feel fear. I want you to just be home and safe.”

“Maybe it’s over.”

“Yes,” he says. “Maybe it’s over, but we, Mia, are not and never will we be again. And we’re getting married on New Year’s Eve.” Just that easily, he brings us back to where this night once sparkled and shined. His mouth closes down on mine and it’s then that I know he doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to live in the danger and the trouble. He wants to live right here with me, with us, and so do I. His lips caress mine, a feather-light touch I feel in every part of me. Even when we were apart, I felt him deep in my very soul. His fingers trail over my arm, goosebumps lifting in their wake. Right now, there is no Dungeon or house explosion. There’s no murder or mayhem.

There is just us.

Me.

Him.

Loving each other forever.

We undress each other and end up under the blanket, naked and facing each other, and there is a fierce emotional energy between us. And tenderness, so much tenderness. We make love in our bed, in our bedroom, and in our apartment. And when it’s over, I fall asleep on his chest and in his arms, and despite all that is going on around us, more relaxed than I have been in years.

I wake to Grayson snuggling me from behind and nuzzling my neck. “It’s time to get up, baby.”

I snuggle my backside against him and hold onto his arm where it’s draped around me. “Do I have to?”

“Believe me, baby, I want to keep you right here, but Delaney—”

I groan and roll over to face him. “I have to get up.” But I don’t. I run my fingers through his wonderfully thick dark hair. “How are you?”

“Baby, you’re home. I’m perfect.”

I know that’s not true. I know why he was holding that gun last night despite a monster of a man named Axe working our security. He is still spinning out of control, but he doesn’t give me time to press the topic or even open it up at all. He rolls out of bed—tall, dark, rippling with muscle, and perfectly naked—and takes me with him to the shower. I forget about my questions and worries for at least a little longer, because how can I not when he’s sinfully demanding in the shower, under a hot stream of water? A little while later, we stand at the double sinks together, engaging in our morning routine, sneaking peeks at each other and sharing smiles. Somehow after Ri attacked us, it’s all the more surreal, so very surreal.

With fifteen minutes to spare before we leave, and as used to be our routine, we end up in the kitchen sipping coffee—me in a navy-blue suit dress and him in a gray suit with a navy-blue tie that I picked for him. We flip on the news in the kitchen, scan for anything important, and find nothing. Satisfied for now, we turn it back off and relish our morning home together. Despite the “relish in each other” part of this morning, I feel the clawing of heavier topics demanding to be heard. I’m worried about Grayson. I can’t get that image of him holding that gun out of my mind. I’m about to press him to talk about how he’s really feeling when his cellphone rings. I sigh and lean against the island while he leans against the counter with the sink behind him and me in front of him. He murmurs, “It’s Blake,” before answering the call.

My nerves are instantly bouncing around and punching me in the chest and belly. I need this to be over. We need this Ri situation to be over, all of us. Somehow I manage to summon my best courtroom calm, and I even sip my coffee.

“Let me put you on speaker,” Grayson says and then, “Mia and Blake. You’re both on the line.”

“Morning, Mia,” Blake greets.

“Is it?” I challenge and set my mug on the counter, quickly correcting myself. “I mean, good morning. And thank you for everything you did last night.”

Grayson responds to my obvious edginess by closing the space between us, his legs shackling my legs, one hand at my waist. His eyes are warm—the message in their depths promising me that whatever is right or wrong, we’ll face it together.

“It is,” Blake assures me. “Really flipping good. And just so you know. Flipping doesn’t do that sentence justice, but my wife is on my ass over the F-word. It’s really f-ing good. I was up all night monitoring the Dungeon, on the dark web and otherwise. They’ve pulled out. They have their money. They’re satisfied. The FBI and CIA have them on their radar and are working to take down their operation. Apparently, they have been for a while now. Here’s where the really f-ing good comes into play. The FBI is offering you and your team immunity if you allow them to use your company to take them down.”