Page 95 of The Tower

As we continue weaving in and out among the guests, a waiter appears with a silver tray of appetizers so tiny and artfully arranged they look more like jewelry than food. Liam takes one and offers it to me—a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by the socialites tracking our every move.

“You know, darling,” purrs a voice that drips old money and malice, “everyone’s talking about your little … escapade.” Marguerite Wellington, heir to a hotel fortune and my father’s occasional business partner, scrutinizes me through a jewel-encrusted lorgnette that must date back generations. “Running from your own engagement party? Very dramatic. Very … Reed.”

She adjusts the strap of her gown. “Your father called me personally, you know. Frantic with worry.” Her smile is shark-like. “Now I see his concern was … misplaced.”

“Marguerite,” Liam cuts in, his voice glacier-cold. “I wasn’t aware Alexander had lowered the barrier to entry quite so dramatically for tonight’s event.”

Her face tightens, but before she can respond, a commotion near the spiral staircase that connects the top floor of the tower to this outdoor space draws our attention. A young socialite has arrived, her entrance punctuated by a shower of rose petals that float down over the crowd. The extravagance isn’t what’s impressive—it’s the casual assumption that everyone else should pause their evening to acknowledge her arrival.

Liam turns to me. “Give her a few more years and she’ll learn that money doesn’t buy attention.”

“Doesn’t it?” I ask, trying to ignore how his breath on my skin sends shivers down my spine.

“No,” he says simply. “Power does. And power isn’t always measured in dollars.”

We move through the crowd, his body shielding me from curious onlookers who either sneak peeks at me or boldly stare, as if waiting for me to break down.

“Ignore them,” Grimm says, as if he can hear my tangled thoughts. Maybe he can. God knows I’ve come to feel closer to this man in the last few days than anyone else in my life other than Ruby. Ironic and strange and scary. But somehow warm and wonderful too.

“Are you okay?” He pulls me to a stop, his eyes skimming over me as if searching for bruises.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m just this week’s gossip. It will pass.”

“And the roof? Being up here?”

“Also fine,” I say, warmed by the genuine concern in his voice. “Really. I didn’t even cringe when Alex stepped so close to the edge.”

I don’t know if it’s because the meds are mostly out of my system or because of the man standing beside me, but the expanse of sky and city that stretches out around us isn’t terrifying tonight. On the contrary, it seems almost soothing. Like a visual metaphor telling me that anything is possible.

I’d first noticed the change during the helicopter ride to Grimm Tower. Despite the height and the stomach-dropping sensation of takeoff, I’d remained calm. Centered. The panic I’d expected never materialized—just a flutter of anxiety that Grimm’s hand on mine had easily quieted. There’s something about him, I realize. A way he has of making me feel safe. Protected. As if nothing can truly harm me while he’s near.

The thought is both comforting and terrifying. What happens when this is over? Will Grimm still be here, or will he disappear once he’s gotten what he wanted?

I have to fight to keep smiling, because the idea of him walking away makes my chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with agoraphobia.

As we continue to navigate the crowd, I hear snippets of the gossip that’s spreading through the event like wildfire.

“That’s Victor Reed’s daughter. Isn’t she⁠—”

“— heard she was⁠—”

“—against her will⁠—”

Grimm and I share a smug look—the plan to get me noticed is clearly working, and by the time we leave, well over a hundred witnesses will have seen me functioning on this platform in the sky, just as sane and stable as everyone else.

As far as I’m concerned, that’s a reason to celebrate, and I take a flute of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter.

“—look at the way Liam Grimm keeps her close. I heard they eloped after⁠—”

Our eyes meet, and I can’t help but grin. Then I sigh as he shifts his hand at my back so that now his fingertip strokes my skin, a sensual reminder of what I can have whenever I want.

Even now, my body craves his—the weight of him, the heat, the way he moved inside me. How he watched me come apart with those ice-blue eyes that somehow burned straight through me.

He leans close, his mouth at my ear. “All you have to do is beg.”

“You,” I say, “are a very cruel man.” I turn to grin at him, struck breathless once again by the fact that a man as gorgeous as Liam Grimm is allowed to exist in this world, because surely he shames all the mortals.

With a sigh of deep pleasure, I let my eyes roam over the sharp lines of his tuxedo, struck by the way the formal attire somehow makes him look more dangerous rather than tamed in a drawing room way. His masculine beauty is almost painful—all angles and intensity. Nothing about this man is soft, except perhaps the curve of his lower lip. The same lip I’ve bitten in the heat of passion, and the memory of the way he’d growled, low and sensual and claiming—makes me want to drop to my knees right now.