Page 25 of The Billionaire's Bargain

The words wrap around my heart, squeezing until it's hard to breathe. This is the danger—these moments when he makes me feel like the center of his universe. They make it so easy to forget that our worlds are fundamentally different. That the power imbalance between us is vast and uncrossable.

That this is all over with in thirty days, and this is only day four.

"We should head back." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "The sun's getting strong, and you're starting to pink up."

He rises in one fluid motion, extending his hand to help me up. I'm suddenly conscious of my nakedness, but he's already retrieving my underwear, shaking off the sand before handing it to me. The fact that he can transition so smoothly from intimate confession to practical consideration only confirms what I already know—Alexander Grant is dangerously competent in all things.

As we gather our scattered clothes and begin the climb back to the house, I feel something shifting inside me. The woman who follows him up the winding path is not quite the same one who descended it an hour ago.

I'm falling for him, yes. But I'm also recognizing the danger in that fall.

The question isn't whether Alexander Grant will catch me.

The question is whether there will be anything left of me when he does.

ten

. . .

Alexander

The firelight flickersacross her skin like it's afraid to touch her—which is fucking ridiculous because I can't stop touching her. Alice perches on the edge of my leather couch, her worn uniform replaced with the silk dress I insisted she wear, and she looks like a prayer I never knew I needed to say.

My fingers itch to trace the curve of her neck, but I force myself to wait. Tonight isn't about taking. Not yet.

"Are you warm enough?" I ask, though the fire roars high enough to heat half the mansion.

Alice nods, her fingers twisting in the expensive fabric pooling at her thighs. "It's beautiful here," she says, her voice barely rising above the crackling flames. "I've never seen anything like it."

Of course she hasn't. Just days ago, she was pouring coffee in a grimy downtown café, bags under her eyes and worry lines etched between her brows. Now she's here, on my private island, because I couldn't stand another day without claiming her.

"I wanted you to see it," I tell her, pouring us both another glass of wine. Mine remains untouched. I need clarity tonight. "All of this means nothing if I can't share it."

Her eyes dart to mine.

"Mr. Grant?—"

I don’t know why, but hearing her revert to my surname again causes panic to rise within me. She’s been calling me Alexander all the time, so the lapse worries me that I’m losing her already.

"Alexander," I correct, the word sharp. "When you're wearing my clothes, sitting in my home, you use my first name."

A blush stains her cheeks, and my cock stirs in response. God, her innocence is like a drug.

"Alexander," she tries again, the syllables awkward on her tongue. "I appreciate everything—the plane, the clothes, helping with my mother's medical bills—but…but…" she trails off.

I move closer, the leather sofa creaking beneath my weight. There's a significant gap between us still, but I feel her heat like a brand. At thirty-eight, I've learned patience. At twenty-two, she embodies impatience, even in her stillness.

"Because you're the first real thing I've encountered in decades." I take a sip of wine, finally. "Do you know what it's like to grow up in a mausoleum? Everything preserved, perfect, untouchable?"

Alice shakes her head. "We lived in a two-bedroom apartment. Nothing fancy enough to preserve."

"My father built this empire from nothing. Made his first million before thirty. But empires require caretakers, not children." The memory surfaces like a bruise being pressed. "When I was eight, I broke a vase playing inside. Eighteenth-century Chinese. Worth more than most people's homes."

She leans forward slightly, her eyes no longer darting away from mine. I've hooked her.

"What happened?"

"My father didn't yell. That would have been easier." My voice remains level, but something inside me trembles. I never tell this story. "He sat me down and explained, in excruciating detail, how my carelessness had destroyed something irreplaceable. Then he had the housekeeper collect every toy from my room. Said if I couldn't respect valuable things, I didn't deserve to possess anything of my own."

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