Playing with Mr. Grant (The Men #10)

“I let my feelings get away with me, and I spoke out of turn.”

“You have feelings?” I snort.

He doesn’t blink as he studies me. “You have so much fight in you, so much spirit. Yet, you keep yourself here in your safe little box.”

“I—”

“Tell me you don’t crave adventure, Ava. Tell me you don’t feel alive with possibilities when you think about all the things you haven’t seen in the world yet.”

He’s right. I always wanted those things.I craved them.

Until the thought of them gave me nightmares.

“I saw the way you looked when you came back from sightseeing in Manhattan. You wereglowing. And it makes me mad knowing you were left behind. That you could have been seeing the world all these years.”

“I couldn’t,” I croak around the dryness in my throat as he tears my fears wide open. “Not wanting to fly, it’s—”

“—because flying stole your father from you. And made it too hard for your mother to be able to stay… I know how hard grief can be, Ava.”

I grimace as he leans closer.

“And I’m an asshole for even implying anything else. I’m sorry.”

I’ve lost count of how many times he’s said sorry. But each one has been sincere. Each one has made the coiled muscles in my body ease a little more.

Warm breath fans over my skin as he presses a gentle kiss to my forehead.

My heart stalls.

He lowers his face, his eyes boring into mine. “I’m sorry.”

I don’t know how my hands travel to his chest, only that they’re fisting the fabric as I cling to him.

“I don’t forgive you.” My gaze drops to his lips.

“Good. I don’t deserve you to.”

I wet my lips, unable to look away from the glimpse of his perfect teeth as he breathes in slowly.

“I don’t even like you,” I say.

“Not many people do.”

He’s staring at me in a way that has me forgetting to breathe.

“You’re a stuffy suit with an unhealthy addiction to skipping.”

He leans closer until his lips almost brush mine. “What else?”

“I’ve never seen you smile properly. I bet you’re incapable. Emotionally stunted.”

“And?” His breath falls onto my lips, making them part so I can taste him.

“And you sweat a lot when you’re working out. It’s kind of gross.”

I’m lying, it’s totally hot.

“You use glasses,” I continue. “As if you’re too good to drink out of a carton.”