Page 80 of Playboy Billionaire

“Ready for that glass of wine?”

“Yes, please.”

“I think I’ll join you. Why do I get the feeling I’m going to need it?”

“I don’t mean to be so mysterious. I feel like I’m being cruel, it’s just a hard conversation for me.”

“I understand, at least I think I do. Make yourself at home, have a seat here at the kitchen island. I’ve got most of our dinner pulled together, just have a few finishing touches.”

The glass clinked as he set her wine on the granite in front of her. Leaning over he rested his hands on the counter.

“What’s going on Penelope?”

She took a big gulp of wine then coughed as it went down the wrong way.

“I’m sorry,” she managed to choke out.

There was something in her eyes tonight that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She was off balance, but it was more than that…fear? Embarrassment? Sadness?

“Why don’t we eat first then have thishardconversation after dinner. Sound good to you?” Her cheeks turned pink and she nodded. He jammed his hands in his front pockets to keep from touching her.

Returning to the salad he was throwing together, he added croutons and tossed it with a lemon vinaigrette dressing. As he carried it to the dining room table, he questioned why he’d even bothered with candles and soft jazz music. It felt off…didn’t fit the scene.Oh well.

“Come on over and have a seat at the table. I’ll grab the bottle of wine then we can eat.”

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she sat. His desire for her hadn’t dissipated with time—in fact, it grew stronger every time he was with her. He not only wanted her, he felt fucking freaked out that he might actually need her.

She played with the food on her plate, and as far as Griffin could tell, she’d only managed to consume a few bites. But at least she’d finished her salad.

“We’ll just leave everything here, I’ll clear the table later,” Griffin said. “Let’s move outside to the deck.”

“Okay.”

The ocean breeze stirred her hair and she brushed it back. She looked so vulnerable and scared that all Griffin wanted to do was pull her into his arms. She rubbed her temples then took a deep breath, began talking, and the bottled-up words spilled out.

Griffin sat back and listened to her pour her heart out. The more he heard, the more his body tensed. He was all over the place. Protectiveness, shame for being a man, sadness, helplessness, but the overriding feeling was incompetency.

He was in way over his head. He wasn’t a psychologist. He didn’t have a clue how to comfort her…what to say. He was momentarily blindsided. He couldn’t care less about her history, but how was it that she was so afraid to trust him? How was it that all this had been going on and he hadn’t even had a clue? Was he really that self-absorbed?

She got through it all without crying and maintained an impressively dignified countenance. When she was all talked out, she wrapped her arms around herself and looked at him, her eyes flickering with doubt.

“Say something,” she said, quietly.

“I don’t know what to say. It really sucks. You’ve been through so much. I’m really sorry all of that happened to you.”

Her eyes narrowed, sensing something was off. “I didn’t tell you to burden you, I just felt like you deserved an explanation. It’s all such a mess.”

He blew out a breath. “That’s an understatement.”

“Thanks,” she said, grimacing. She began nervously toying with her hair, her gaze now lowered. “Griffin, I can tell that you’ve pulled back. Are you upset with me?”

“No, why would I be? None of this is your fault.”

“I’m sure you think I’m some kind of moral degenerate or something.”

“You were young and innocent. It wasn’t your fault. Look, I have no place to stand on the moral high ground.”

“And yet, it’s hard not to judge, isn’t it? When you haven’t walked it yourself.”

---