Page 42 of His to Explore
So why had I pushed him away?
Fear is such a funny thing. I hadn’t actually been afraid of Grant tonight, not in the slightest. I know he would die beforehe hurt me, that he would do anything in his power to make me happy.
So why does the idea of loving him scare me so much when the man himself only ever makes me feel safe?
Before I can find an answer to that question, there’s a pounding on my door. I startle, almost spilling my wine, before relaxing when I hear his voice. “Kensie, it’s me. Open the door.”
For a split second, the fear I’d felt earlier flashes in my chest. But it’s drowned out almost instantly by the strongest desire to see him. To hear his voice. To feel his arms wrapped around me. Tonight was a lot, too much to deal with, and I know he’s the only one who has the power to make me feel better.
I check the peephole—because I promised him I always would—before opening the door. As soon as it swings open he’s pushing inside, his hands coming up to cup my face. “Are you okay?” His voice is urgent, worried. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” I gently pry his hands away so I can shut the door behind him. “I’m the one who bailed.”
He runs a hand through his hair, and from the messy look of it, I’m pretty sure he’s been doing that constantly since he left the club. “I shouldn’t have let you leave without me,” he says. “I should have walked you through the lounge myself. You never should have been alone with him.”
“I asked you to let me leave.” I remember shouting at him, telling him that I didn’t want him, and I feel a surge of shame. He’d looked so broken hearing those words. “Grant,” I begin, but he’s not ready to stop castigating himself.
“It doesn’t matter. Your safety comes first.” He takes my wrist in a gentle grasp, bringing it up to the light and studying the skin. “He had his hand on you,” he mutters in a low voice. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I assure him. “Scared me, that’s all.”
His jaw goes tight. “That’s hardly better.” He closes his eyes. “I wish I hit him again. Fuck, I want to go find him and hit him now.”
I tug his arm, bringing him over to the couch. “I’d prefer not to have to bail you out of jail,” I tell him, sitting beside him. “I think whatever you already did is more than enough”
“I can’t believe I didn’t know Fred Cunningham was your ex. I’ve done business with that asshole,” he sneers. “He was in my building two months ago. I can’t believe I sat across from that man in my board room and didn’t beat the shit out of him for hurting you.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You didn’t even know.”
There’s no humor in his face or voice. “I don’t give a shit. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”
Something warm is rising in my chest. It’s the same feeling I had earlier, back when he was holding me in the private room after I’d fallen apart. The same bone deep realization of what he means to me. Fear comes with the warmth, like it did before, but it’s not so overwhelming now.
Is that how this works? Will the fear keep getting less and less until I’m finally able to admit that I have feelings for this man?
He reaches up to run his hand through his hair again and I notice something I didn’t see before—his knuckles are red and bleeding.
“Grant,” I gasp, pulling his hand away. “You’re hurt!”
He scoffs. “I’m fine.”
“But you’re bleeding?—”
“I’m fine,” he says firmly, pulling his hand free. He doesn’t go far—instead he cradles the side of my face, leaning in close and pressing his forehead against mine. “That scared the shit out of me,” he mutters. “Walking into the lounge and seeing you with him.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I shouldn’t have run off like that.” I swallow. “I just…got overwhelmed.”
He pulls back, his smile sad. “I know, baby. And that’s my fault.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he shakes his head, stopping me. “It is, Kensie. I pushed you too far.”
“Tonight was my idea,” I blurt out. “I put in on my list months ago”
“I don’t mean the scene,” he says. “I mean all of it. At the restaurant that night, when I asked you for more, that was me pushing. And all the weeks since all I’ve done is push. I was trying to get deeper and deeper into your life when you were pretty damn clear that’s not what you wanted.”
He sighs, putting distance between us, and I hate it. I want him to come back, want him to pull me up into his lap and put his arms around me. “I pushed you for more before you were ready,” he says, voice low. “And I’m so sorry.”
“Grant, you don’t have to apologize.”
