Page 104 of Defended By Love

“I’m giving you the same advice my great-grandfather got in the war: live every day like it’s your last.” He walks over to one of the more modern paintings and gazes as the sight of soldiers cowering and dying amid artillery shelling. He reaches up to stroke the painting. “Make sure you make today a good day, Miss Cox.”

Even though he just gave me the super villain version of ‘live, laugh, love’, I’ve never been more terrified in my life. I would be markedly less terrified if he told me he was going to pluck out my eyeballs for an after-cigar snack.

“Very well,” I say, recognizing a dismissal when I hear one. “This isn’t over, though.”

Reinhold nods, settling back into his chair. “Not yet,” he affirms.

With as much composure as I can maintain, I walk out onto his balcony and jump. In the background, I can hear his surprised cry and his footsteps racing out towards the balcony.

“Go, go, go!” I hiss as Grant catches me in his arms.

We’re already gone by the time Reinhold gets to the balcony, but we’re not so far that his echoing, impressed laugh doesn’t reach us. It booms out in the crisp, ocean air, punctuated only by the sound of a slow clap.

See, Reinhold doesn’t have a monopoly on dramatic flair just because he has a scary scar and his office was decorated by Demonic Depot.

“What now?” Grant asks, holding me flush against his body.

“Home,” I answer. “We have some loose ends to tie up.”

Chapter 44

What do you do with a day, when you’ve already done it all?

My answer: nothing.

At least not really.

If this day truly does end, there’s a host of things I’ll do. I’ll do a repeat of all my favourite moments—giving opera tickets to the doorman, trying to befriend Marigold, planning a killer belated birthday bash for Beth that has all her ideas combined, and trouncing Grant’s friends at game night.

I’ll also do all the things I haven’t yet done. I’ll cook with Shelly in the kitchen and show Rhiannon that someone cares. I’ll quit my job and cite all the times I did Dominic’s work for him.

But for today, on what might be the last hurrah of a very long day, I just want to spend it with the man I love.

Because that’s what matters.

It doesn’t matter what I do with my time. It matters who I spend it with. My legacy won’t be tied to hours worked or claps of approval on the back. It will be measured in laugh lines and kisses.

And so, with a light heart, Grant and I take some leftovers from breakfast, and he flies us to a pinprick of an island off the coast that consists almost entirely of a hill. He sets us down at the peak and we spend the day recounting our journey.

From my perspective, lovers to enemies, to allies, to lovers.

From his, lovers through and through. Albeit, with short bursts of intense distrust on my end.

We laugh about karaoke duets and snacks gone wrong. We cry about broken perceptions and broken bodies. We celebrate our triumphs and our falling in love. We talk about the future, should we be so lucky.

Then, as the sun fades into a mosaic of impossibly warm colours, we stop talking all together. Instead, I sit with my head on his shoulders, and we just are. Despite the fact that we’ve only technically known each other for a day, Grant knows every knot and gnarl of my imperfect soul. Words aren’t needed for us to speak.

When the sunset fades completely, giving way to only the most determined stars who peek past the city haze, our lips find each other’s, and we finally get to take our time exploring our physical connection.

He kisses every part of my body. At least, until his kisses become both a request and a promise. His fingers take on the task that his mouth started in discovering every part of me. They move inside me while he presses a long kiss to the center of my chest, right over my heart, before moving on to suck at my breasts.

Inside me, he thrusts and curls. Outside, he sucks and nibbles. Together, it all brings me to the panting edge of elation before I know it.

And then he stops.

“What time is it?” he asks, in a terrible demonstration of reading the room.

“Excuse me?”

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