Page 164 of Dirty Grovel

He grabs my face, his thumbs caressing my jawline from either side. The only thing I can see are his eyes, the molten gold swirling.

There’s nothing else but him.

“I love you,” he says again, his breath tickling my face, his voice rough with emotion. “I loved you that night. The night before. And every night that led us here.”

His thumbs swipe away my tears. All I want to do is fold into his embrace and forget everything else.

Didn’t I have a mile-long list of reasons why I should be disappearing?

Didn’t I have enough reservations to drown me in regret if I pursued a relationship with Oleg?

Didn’t I promise myself that I wouldn’t be pulled back into his gravity simply because he batted those eyes my way?

“Y-you’re… confusing me…” I pull away from him, trying to get out from under his gaze.

Those eyes have the power to make a woman do extremely foolish things. Things like going back to Palm Beach, planning a wedding, and getting married.

“What are you confused about, princess?”

My heart shudders. “There’s too much…” I shake my head. “I need space… to think.”

“While you’re thinking, how about we take the yacht out tomorrow?” he suggests.

And just like that, tomorrow beckons like a siren song.

“Okay,” I agree, before I’ve even weighed the pros and cons.

Cons: the list goes on and on and on, into infinity.

Pros: I have only one, and it’s simple.

I desperately want to.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says with a smile that has the power to change lives and minds.

“See you tomorrow.”

He leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead. His lips linger for a moment before he pulls back, the gold in his eyes dancing for a moment.

“Try not to run away on me again, princess.”

52

SUTTON

It’s the fairy tale I’ve always dreamed of.

Except instead of a horse, the prince shows up in a vintage convertible with the top down.

And the prince in question is of the mafia persuasion.

Swallowing my nerves, I walk towards the car just as Oleg gets out, his hair carefully wind strewn, his shirt open at the chest just enough to reveal the first layer of taut muscle.

“You brought lunch,” he notes, eyeing the picnic basket I’m lugging around.

“Jesse’s the one who did the heavy lifting,” I explain, handing it off to him. “Word to the wise, I’d be careful about the lunch she packed for you. She isn’t exactly your biggest fan at the moment.”

His lips purse into a sly smile. “I take it you didn’t give her my explanation, then?”

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