Page 35 of The Elusive Billionaire
And against all odds, her own actions warning me otherwise, I believe her. It shifts something in my chest—bricks reorganizing themselves to create a little shelf with her name on it, and I don’t know what to make of that.
Sex like ours doesn’t happen often. Well, it’s never happened with anyone else in my experience, but I had assumed that was because she’s so aware of her sexuality. It never occurred to me that our infatuation with each other might be caused by something…deeper.
My head hurts, a migraine looming just behind my eyes.
I can’t ignore the way I connected to her, and if I’m honest with myself, it’s not just the physical connection. Our bickering and banter fed into it too.
Jesus, I love the way we challenge each other. Does that make me a sick fuck?
But then there was the sweet, gentle side she gave me as Firefly. Does anyone ever get to meet that version of her?
I wanted them both desperately. Did my obsession with not becoming my father cloud my head so much that I couldn’t see all sides of this complicated woman?
Is it because I was exhuming demons buried deep while laying them at Firefly’s feet or because Savvy was there to meet me head-on when I felt so raw after those conversations, I didn’t think I could give anyone more?
Does it make any difference at all that they’re the same person? Both of them were there for me in different ways, even if I didn’t know it until I’d already been cut open by the betrayal.
At the center of all my anger is…her. Both versions of her. I was angry with myself for being like my father, emotionally stringing along one woman while having a physical connection with another.
I more than hated myself for that, but I also couldn’t give either of them up.
Then I found out they were both Savvy and allowed my pain to override every other emotion and logical train of thought.
And then I ran.
The bathroom door creaks open slowly, as if she’s hoping I’m asleep. It’s too dark to tell how long she was in there, but my guess would be over an hour.
She pads quietly across the room, then pauses at the foot of the bed. There’s a seismic shift in my chest as she stares at me as intently as I’m studying her. She inclines her head, as though she’s peering through the darkness, searching for answers to questions she won’t ask.
I refuse to acknowledge the disappointment that rolls through me when she continues to her side of the bed before I can call her to me.
Once she’s settled, my shoulders melt away from my ears.
My stomach twists when she releases a shuddering breath that goes on for so long, I’m afraid she’ll pass out.
“It was different with you, Grey.”
I can’t breathe. She’s whispering so quietly, I don’t believe she even wants me to hear her. One breath from me would block out her voice, so I stay silent.
“When you’ve had control stripped from you in every way, it’s nearly impossible to give it up once you finally have it again. But with you?” She sighs, and it feels like it weighs more than she does. “I don’t know. I felt free for the first time since I was sixteen.”
Sixteen again. It’s the second time she’s mentioned that age. What happened to her at sixteen?
The muscles that had relaxed as she made her way to me from the bathroom coil and tighten again, waiting for the right moment to strike.
Fucking sixteen?The way she talks about control digs at a distant memory, picking at it, until a vision of my sister portioning her food stabs me in the eyeballs.
It’s not unlike the way Savvy has been playing with her food since she’s been here.
“I was never going to be the type of woman you could settle down with. My past is…tainted. But I’ll remember our time together for the rest of my life. You…gave me hope when I had none. You’re a good man, Greyson Reyes, and I’ll always regret hurting you, but I’ll never apologize for being the friend you needed or how I went about being that person for you.”
The bed trembles, just the slightest movement that makes me think she might be crying, and I silently curse. I may think I want to hate her, but feeling her cry is worse than death—it’s torture.
Frustrated with myself, with her, with our situation, but mostly because I can’t make a decision where Savvy Monroe isconcerned, I angrily toss my pillow wall to the floor, slide to her side, wrap an arm around her middle, and forcefully drag her body into mine as she gasps and hastily wipes at her face.
She was crying. Silently fucking crying. How often does she fight her demons alone, in the dark, with no one there to hold her?
“W—what are you doing? I thought you were asleep.”
