Page 28 of Cinderella Hired for His Revenge

Grant chuckled, the sound harsh and hollow.

“Don’t deny it. I made the cartel weak. I created the situation that gave another group the nerve to kill the man who ordered my father’s death. And I was glad when he died. I might wear the right clothes, drive the right cars, but underneath it all, you still see me as nothing more than common street trash.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” she retorted. She set her wineglass down harder than she’d intended, the clink of glass on marble echoing in the kitchen. “Do you want to know what I’m thinking? The last time I saw my father in prison, he was vicious and nasty and cruel. I visited him every week for months like a good daughter, and the bastard never let up on all the ways I’d failed him.” She circled the island, anger charging through her veins. “I walked away to him shouting at me to come back, to stop being a doormat, and all I could think was how I hoped he would die in prison.” She stopped a few feet away from him, furious at the cartels that had stolen so much from Grant, at her father, at Grant himself for thinking the worst of her and, of course, at herself. Always that self-loathing lurking in the background of everything she did.

“So no, I don’t think you’re a monster, Grant, for wanting to avenge your father’s death and make it safe for you and your mother to return to your country while stopping a drug cartel from hurting more people. Or for being happy that your father’s killer is dead. I think you’re a perfectly normal, rational human being who actually did something with his life, and it’s about damn time you gave yourself some credit for everything you’ve achieved instead of doing what I imagine you’ve been doing for the last nine years and wondering if you’re just as bad as the cartel, because you’re not.”

Grant set his wineglass down on the island and turned to her, his gaze impenetrable.

“Is that how you really feel, Miss Moss?”

It took a moment for his use of her preferred name to register. When it did, it cooled some of her anger and thrust her into a state of confusion.

“Yes.”

He closed the distance between them until only a sliver of light separated their bodies. The heat of her anger morphed into sensual awareness that tightened her muscles into tense coils. She hated how quickly her breathing roughened, how easily he could probably perceive the effect he had on her. But there was no stopping it. He had always made her feel like this, ever since he’d smiled down at her in the gardens and made her heartbeat quicken into a thundering gallop.

“Good to know.”

His lips closed over hers with a searing possessiveness that made her gasp. As soon as her lips parted, his tongue darted inside her mouth and laid claim to her body once more. She didn’t waste any time in wondering whether this was a good idea or not, in questioning what was happening. Not when all she wanted was to feel him, just once more.

She flung her arms around his neck and returned the kiss with all the pent-up desire and emotion she’d suppressed the past nine years. Grant groaned her name. His hands closed around her waist, and he lifted her onto the counter. He nudged her legs apart and stepped between them. She moaned as his hips pressed into hers, the hardness of his erection setting her body on fire as she squirmed against him.

“Grant,” she whispered into his mouth. “Grant, please...”

Her hands moved up to his face, her fingers settling on the curve of his jaw, the sharp cut of his cheekbones, reacquainting herself with the familiar and exploring everything she had missed as he plundered her mouth with devastating skill.

One of his hands moved to her back, his fingertips searing her skin through the thin material of her shirt. The other cupped her face as he urged her closer. Tears pricked her eyes. Even with the frantic passion building between them, the old intimacy that had drawn her to Grant, that union of souls and knowing that no one else could possibly know her and love her as he had, still burned as brightly as it had all those years ago.

Dimly, she heard a door close, followed by someone calling out Grant’s name. She yanked back at the same time Grant did. They both stared at each other, chests heaving, eyes wild as they stared at each other with a mixture of lust and shock.

“Mr. Santos?”

Jessica.

Alexandra scooted off the counter, moved around Grant and ducked into the pantry seconds before she heard the telltale click of high heels on hardwood as Jessica entered the kitchen.

“Good evening.”

Grant’s greeting went unanswered for a moment. Alexandra scooted deeper into the pantry, her heart pounding. So much for acting like a professional. She’d just made out with her boss on his kitchen counter the night before a week that could make or break her business. And now she was hiding.

Running away, like you always do.You haven’t changed.

“Good evening.” A faint rustling reached Alexandra’s ears. “The items you requested. I’ll do an inventory before bed and meet with Miss Jones, Miss Moss and the catering team first thing in the morning.”

“Thank you, Jessica.”

Another pause. Alexandra glanced over her shoulder, her eyes alighting on the doorway that led to the back staircase. She moved toward the door with cautious steps.

“You’re welcome, sir. Have a good night.”

Was that smugness in Jessica’s tone? Surely not. As much as Alexandra had enjoyed her tour with Jessica at the library and the Met on Friday, the woman didn’t seem capable of deviating from her clipped monotone.

Jessica’s clicking heels faded as she moved out of the kitchen. Alexandra hustled to the door and hurried up the back stairs. She didn’t want to know if Grant came after her or not. His unburdening of himself in the kitchen, her unprofessional confrontation and their searingly hot make out session on the kitchen island had not been part of her evening plans.

She made it to her room and closed the door, sagging against it as she closed her eyes. It was completely foolish to give in so quickly to the desire Grant had inspired in her. Even more foolish to show him once again how much he still affected her. He trusted her to provide flowers for his events, but like he’d said at the bookstore, he didn’t trusther, would never be able to trust her. She still doubted and questioned her motives, her abilities, her decisions. How could she possibly ask him to do more than she could do for herself?

And she would never be able to fully forgive herself for the past. Aside from the lust straining both their fortitudes, there was nothing between them except a painful history that could never be repaired.

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