Page 223 of The Billion Heirs Boxed Set
“Your father?” she whispers.
I nod, close my eyes so I don’t punch my fist through the wall.
“But how—”
“It doesn’t matter now.” I don’t want to take a second to think about how he did it. Or why. “What matters is that you’re here.”
I can’t hold back from touching her any longer. I reach up, cup her cheek, and tip her face up to mine. “That you’re mine again. You always were, kitten.”
She shakes her head slightly and I tug at her silky hair.
“Say it,” I snarl. A feral need to make her mine all over again, for her to know she belongs to me, takes over.
“It’s not that simple.”
“It is.”
“Chance, I thought you hated me. Used me. That we—” She glances away. “That we had something special. That we would be together forever.”
I groan, and then I kiss her. Her mouth is soft and supple, yet fierce and needy, on mine. As if she needs this contact and connection as much as I do. I break the kiss because I need to say something. She needs to hear it.
“We will have forever. Again.”
11
AVERY
He didn’t write the letter. I believe him. The man I’ve hated for over a decade tells me one thing and I believe him.
I’m an FBI agent, trained to read people. He was surprised. Stunned. Furious. Sweet.
If he wrote that stupid letter, why would he come to me now? I was gone all those years, and even though I’ve returned, he could steer clear. Avoid me. Use his brothers as intermediaries or whatever.
But he hasn’t done that. I’ve seen him more than I’ve seen Austin and Miles. Sure, part of that is because they aren’t suspects.
Or because my mind always goes to Chance.
His hand is on my cheek, his blue eyes on mine. I see everything there. All the feelings we had fifteen years ago.
We may have only had one night together, but I’ve also had fourteen years of a constant reminder. Grady. We made a child that day from our love. Despite waiting a month after I got on the pill, it still happened. After I found out, I spent weeks trying to figure out if I’d missed a pill during that month, or if I’d miscalculated something.
All I came up with was that it just happened.
Sometimes things just happen. Those years after the letter—after we left Bayfield—are a blur to me in many ways. I existed, had my baby, and then I was forced to grow up.
Grady turned out to be the biggest blessing of my life—and also a minute-by-minute reminder of Chance Bridger.
I kept Grady away because I thought Chance didn’t want me. If he didn’t want me, he didn’t want a kid. But now?
I’m so lost. Overwhelmed.
“I… I don’t know what to say.” Instinctively, I lean my cheek into his palm, feel the heat and warmth of him.
“Say you believe me,” he murmurs, leaning down, his nose running along my neck.
Goosebumps break out on my skin. “I… I believe you,” I whisper.
He groans, as if something like anguish and frustration are being ripped from his chest.
