Page 84 of Beautiful Betrayal

“I’m sure she does,” Smith replies. “But this will all be over soon.”

Soon, I repeat in my head, stepping free of the car door and allowing Grayson to shut it.Not soon enough, I silently add as another tall man with wavy hair steps to Smith’s side. He’s also wearing all black. Good grief, what do they think is waiting on us in the city? War?

“This is Adrian,” Smith says. “He’s also quite military tonight in all black, and he tells bad jokes, just not as badly as our man Savage. Close, though.”

Grayson and I shake his hand. “How bad are the jokes?” Grayson asks.

“Depends on how bad the situation is,” Adrian replies, and we all laugh. “For now, though,” Adrian adds, “your chopper awaits, which spares you the very bad random tomato joke presently popping around in my head.”

“I think I might need to hear that one,” Grayson replies and then adds, “When we get to the city.”

“Tomato joke on the agenda, sir,” Adrian assures him.

“Grayson,” Grayson tells him. “Call me Grayson.”

Which doesn’t surprise me, and I know considering his exposure to Grayson, it can’t surprise Smith. Grayson is humble. He’s not an egomaniac who believes his money and power make him better than anyone else.

Adrian gives a nod, his eyes warming with surprise. At the same time, Grayson’s hand settles possessively on my lower back, a strong hand. A comforting hand that eases the nervesthat seem to be battling some sort of world war in my belly. The four of us enter the small airport, the only guests present, and an attendant greets us, asking us to wait just a few moments before we’ll be invited to the runway to board. “We need to take this time to prep you both,” Smith says, huddling our little group in the center of pale blue cushioned waiting room chairs.

“Prep us for what?” I ask before Grayson can speak, my world war nerves slicing and dicing my insides all over again.Whatis wrong with me? I’ve been fine all weekend.

“We’ve been informed that the press has turned your street back in the city into a campground this evening,” Smith replies. “Especially your apartment building.”

“Apparently, they anticipated your return,” Adrian replies. “We have men working with security at your building to clear our path.”

Grayson glances down at me, concern etched in his handsome face. “You’re ready for this?”

“I’m ready to have it over with,” I say, my arms instinctively folding in front of me, a protective gesture I can’t seem to avoid. “All of it.”

He studies me with those keen, intelligent eyes before he seems to accept my reply and glances at Smith. “What about the airport? Are they waiting there, too?”

Smith starts talking and I don’t hear a word. I don’t know what happens, but suddenly in my mind’s eye I’m back in the stairwell where Ri attacked me, and I’m running down the stairs, trying to get away from him. My heart begins to race and my palms are clammy. I think I might throw up. “I need to go to the bathroom,” I announce, twisting away from Grayson and I don’t look at him or anyone. I just need to go now.

Hurrying away, I know where I’m going and I dart left and down a hallway, struggling to open the door that should be easily opened. Finally, I’m inside the single-occupancy bathroom, andI grab the counter, forcing myself to suck in air, or trying to. The desire to throw up is muted, but my need to breathe is insistent. I’m hyperventilating, I think. I can’t be sure. I’ve never actually hyperventilated before. My God. Why is this happening? I try to breathe in again and fail.

“Stop,” I order myself and just the act of speaking the word seems to pull air into my lungs. “Stop now.” I inhale harshly and this time, I make it happen: I fully fill my lungs, but I don’t know how I got to this point. I was fine all weekend long. How am I not fine right now? Because I’m not. This is what Grayson feared: me suddenly losing it. I swore I wouldn’t. I almost died but I didn’t. So did he. I squeeze my eyes shut, and I’m back in the stairwell with Ri beside me and Grayson in front of me, willing to take a bullet for me. He could have died. My God, he couldhave died.

There’s a knock on the door and I hear, “Mia?”

I jolt with Grayson’s voice and straighten, willing myself to calm. Death and that man have a bad history. He doesn’t need me melting down on him. Hurrying forward, I reach for the handle and my hand frustratingly trembles. I open the door and Grayson is standing there—right there, in front of me—so close I can feel the heat of his perfect body.

“Hi,” I say, and just that quickly, his hand is at my waist, and he’s stepping into me.

“Hi,” he says, his head low, intimately near mine. “You okay, baby?”

“I’m good,” I say, and it’s not a lie. Now that he is here, with me, touching me, I really am remarkably, incredibly good. My hand finds his face, fingers curling on his jaw. “Let’s go home.”

“Let’s stay a couple of more nights, just you and me, baby. In our own little world.”

I want what he suggests, I want it badly, just me and this man and no one else, but going back to the city isn’t just about me. It’s about him. He has a company under attack because of my stupidmistakes with Ri. “Let’s go home,” I repeat. “And come back next weekend, knowing that we’ve faced our dragons, and we’re the ones that set the fire.”

For a moment, he hesitates, searching my face again, that worry in his eyes etching his brow, but he doesn’t push. He laces the fingers of one of his hands with mine and kisses my knuckles. “Let’s go home.” We walk down the hallway toward the lobby again and a few minutes later we’re belted into the chopper.

We’re going home. That’s what matters.

We’re together. That’s what matters.

And we’re going to claim our happily ever after. I won’t let it be any other way.

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