Page 126 of The Tower

“He’s been paid,” Liam says, drawing the conversation back on topic. “What’s he angling for now?”

“Nothing that he’s revealed. But we all know that man can hold a grudge like nobody’s business.”

“You’ve got more than that,” I say, holding out a basket of blueberry muffins, then doing the same for Liam. “Or did you just come to hang with us in the country?”

Leo grins. “I do like her,” he says to Liam. The irony is that he means it. And despite the simmering anger from the shit he pulled with Ruby, I have to grudgingly admit that I like him too.

“Quit drawing this out and tell us what you know,” Liam demands as I sip my coffee.

“Nothing concrete. Whispers and grumbles.” His eyes lock on Liam’s. “And he’s been seen with Maya. Cozy dinners, that whole routine.”

Liam freezes, mug halfway to his mouth. “You’re kidding.”

“Spotted three times last week. Looking very … chummy.”

The pieces click together in my head. Maya, still smarting from Liam’s rejection. Desmond, humiliated by me running out on my forced engagement. Two wounded egos finding common ground in mutual hatred.

“Perfect,” Liam mutters. “Just what we need.”

Leo shrugs one shoulder. “Thought you should know. Beef up security.” His gaze shifts to me. “And both of you need to watch your backs.”

After Leo leaves, Liam vanishes into his office. I try focusing on my list of things to do in order to get Elysium ready to monetize. It’s no use. My mind keeps drifting to Bane, to Maya, to the trouble brewing on our horizon.

Hours later, Liam emerges, face calm, eyes steady. “Security’s been upgraded,” is all he says. “We’ll know if either of them comes within five miles of the property.” I nod, only then realizing how deeply Leo’s warning had frightened me. And, apparently, Liam, too.

Later that night, I lay curled against his naked body. “I never thought I’d feel safe again,” I say, as his fingers stroke my hair. After Father, the drugs, the manipulation …”

I trail off, snuggling closer, his heat anchoring me.

“And now?”

I consider the question, then answer honestly, taking my emotions all the way down to the core. “Now I’m happy. And I feel safe. And,” I add, nerves twisting at my insides, “I feel loved.”

His chest rises on a deep breath. “You are,” he whispers, then shifts so that I can see his face, more raw, more open than I’ve ever seen it. Something naked and unguarded shines in his eyes. Then his hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing my lip. “I love you, Sasha Reed.”

Three words. Small, world-changing words. I’d known somewhere deep down, felt it in a thousand tiny gestures. But hearing it spoken aloud makes it real. Inescapable.

“I love you too,” I whisper, surprised by how easily the words come. “I can’t imagine my life without you now.”

Something shifts in his eyes—a vulnerability I’ve never seen before, raw and unguarded. He draws me up to him, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens. His hand cradles the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as if he needs to anchor me to him.

The familiar heat flares between us, but there’s something different tonight. The urgency remains, but beneath it runs a current of something deeper, more deliberate. When he trails his lips down my throat, it’s with exquisite slowness, as if committing every inch of my skin to memory.

I arch beneath him as his mouth finds the hollow of my collarbone, my fingers tracing the contours of his shoulders, mapping the strong planes of his back. He murmurs my name against my skin, the sound vibrating through me.

His hands are reverent as they explore my body, touching places he’s touched a dozen times before but somehow making each caress feel entirely new. When my fingers graze down his stomach, he captures my wrist, pressing a kiss to my palm that makes me shiver.

He takes his time, his mouth trailing a path from my throat to my breasts, lingering there until I’m gasping his name. When he moves lower, his hands parting my thighs with gentle insistence, I surrender completely to the sensation of his tongue against me, building me toward a peak that seems both inevitable and impossible to reach.

Just when I think I can’t bear any more, he returns to me, his weight a welcome pressure as he settles between my legs. Our eyes lock as he enters me, the connection so intense I can hardly breathe. He holds perfectly still for a moment, forehead pressed to mine, our breath mingling.

“I meant it,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “I love you, Sasha.”

Something breaks open inside me at the words, and I wrap my legs around him, drawing him deeper. “Show me,” I whisper against his lips.

He begins to move, each thrust measured and deep, our bodies finding a rhythm that feels both familiar and entirely new. His hands cradle my face, his gaze never leaving mine as pleasure builds between us. This isn’t the frantic coupling we’ve shared before—this is communion, acknowledgment, truth expressed through touch.

When release finally comes, it washes through me in waves, his name a prayer on my lips. He follows moments later, his face buried in my neck, his arms holding me as if he fears I might disappear.