Page 38 of The Billionaire's Beauty

11

Bellamy

I hearhim outside my room around eleven o’clock that night, prowling up and down the hallway. I’ve been reading Pride and Prejudice in bed, but now I glance up, listening. I’m sure he thinks he’s panther-like as he pads around in his bare feet, but the sound is loud in the house’s relative silence now that the storm outside has passed.

The storm inside? Not so much.

I’m still pissed. Pissed. A more evolved person would call him into the room for a mature discussion about the state of their relationship and the need for better communication. Me? I’m staying right where I am. I could’ve rejoined him in his room and ignored him down there just as well, but this is much more satisfying. Let him come to me. He can pace that hallway until he wears out the floor and crashes through to the foyer for all I care.

Silly? Spiteful? You betcha. I’m still not moving.

Don’t get me wrong. I know we’re engaged in a power struggle here. I also know that power struggles waste valuable time and are destructive to relationships. I may be young, but I’m no dummy. It’s just that I absolutely cannot shake the feeling that there’s much more at stake here than me punishing him for being an asshole. Hell, his gruffness is no big surprise. I’ve known about it since day one. And it’s not as though I thought that a few bouts of mind-blowing sex would eradicate that part of his personality forever.

Like I said, I’m no dummy.

It’s just that I feel a little bit like Dorothy when she sees behind the great and powerful Oz’s curtain and realizes that there’s a flesh-and-blood man hidden back there. Griffin is a great and powerful real estate titan. He’s an intimidating boss. And yeah, he’s a jerk a significant percentage of the time. But now I’ve peeked behind his curtain and seen hints of the man I think he keeps trapped back there. I’ve seen that man’s humor. His tenderness. His thoughtfulness. His surprising vulnerability. These glimpses of that hidden man shake me to my core. They touch me. The asshole is a lot like the great and powerful Oz. He’s got power and bluster on his side. Sleights of hand designed to direct my attention away from his hidden man. He keeps frantically adding panels to that curtain faster than I can tear them away. And that’s his job, I suppose. He’s only protecting his status quo. Anyone would.

But I’ve seen that hidden man. I want more of him. Maybe even need him. Matter of fact, my growing feelings for him have generated a surprising protective streak that requires me to do whatever it takes to protect him, even if the protection he needs is from himself. Because I don’t think that Griffin the asshole is happy. Not really. But this other man I keep glimpsing? He could be happy. And I could be happy with him. Under the right circumstances.

What are the right circumstances? No idea. But I’m determined to figure it out.

By the way, I’m fully aware that I’m the embodiment of one of Cosmopolitan magazine’s Relationship Don’ts right now. Don’t go around falling for jerks. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you can change them into princes. Don’t delude yourself into believing that the love of a good woman is all they need.

I know, I know.

Believe me, if I had a sister who turned up with a relationship problem like mine and found herself falling for a Griffin Black type, I’d tell her to R-U-N and never look back—

Huh.

Maybe I am a dummy after all.

Because I’m damn sure not going anywhere, am I?

I can’t. I won’t.

Ridiculous as it sounds, I feel like something huge is at stake here for both of us. Something worth fighting for. That’s why I can’t give in and let him bulldoze me. Not this time.

I find myself holding my breath when his footsteps stop outside my door. And breathing again when he lets himself in without knocking a few seconds later.

I shoot him an unsmiling glance as he shuts the door, noting the color rising over his bare torso and neck and settling in his cheeks with great satisfaction. His expression? Grim. He’s showered and ready for bed, wearing a pair of low-slung cotton pajama bottoms that hover around his notched hips. He brings his wonderful scents of bergamot and cedar with him as he comes closer, throwing my equilibrium further off kilter. He climbs into bed beside me, gives his pillows a couple of whacks and settles in with his arms resting behind his head.

He says nothing.

I say nothing.

He adjusts the covers.

I idly turn the page in my book and try to get into the chapter. Oh, look. Mr. Darcy is also a jerk.

Griffin clears his throat.

Everything inside me waits at full attention.

“I prefer to watch the news before bed,” he says. “Just FYI.”

“Thank you for that information,” I say, flipping another page. “I was just sitting here wondering about your bedtime routine.”

He huffs out one of those long sighs of boredom.

---