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He relaxes a little, but not completely, and something hurts in my chest. Like his resistance to even a grammatical slip-up implying we have a future is another rejection of me.
Which is silly. I know it’s silly. Tonight is all there is.
But my chest hurts anyway.
I struggle against his arms. “Hey, where’s the rum?” I ask, trying for lightness and mostly succeeding.
Grim doesn’t release me right away, and I hear him draw a breath like he’s going to say something. I freeze, half in hope and half in dread, the hurt in my chest like fingers searching for my scraped-up heart.
But he doesn’t speak in the end. Instead, he lets me go and stretches out an arm for the rum. After he hands it to me, he takes one of my free hands in his and meets my gaze.
“I want to help, Lani.” His voice is quiet now, but firm and his protective anger burns the edges of his words. “I can make you safer.”
I have the fleeting image of Grim as my personal security guard, trailing me at events and ushering me into cars. Pulling me into his arms every chance he gets. Tumbling into my bed every night.
“You can?” I whisper, not daring to name, even to myself, what I hope right now.
Grim nods, and it’s the nod of a man who’s never walked away from a challenge. The nod of a man who’s vowed never to forget what right and wrong feel like. “I can draft a proposal to overhaul the palace security training, and I can send over our own protocols so your team sees how my company Grimstone approaches personal security for high-profile clients. I can even recommend some security trainers who work with royalty in other nations and make introductions for you. I think we can make it very seamless and quick, Lani, and in just a few months, you’ll have a team that meets my standards. Which means you’ll be safe. As safe as if I were there guarding you myself.”
Those imaginary fingers in my chest find my heart. “You could do it, you know,” I say, a little too quickly for it to sound like a joke. Because of course it’s not a joke at all. “You could be my guard.”
The minute I say it, I know I’ve pushed too far. I let out a weak laugh and then take a big gulp of rum to hide my embarrassment.
Grim’s face doesn’t change, but it doesn’t need to. I see something tormented in his eyes, and I feel his hand tighten around my own.
He gently pushes the bottle away from my mouth so he can have my full attention. “Lani . . .” he starts, then stops, as if considering how to say what needs to be said without hurting my feelings.
“Grim, you don’t have to—”
“My entire life is here. My firm, our clients, our missions base.”
“You don’t have to explain—”
“I do, dammit,” he says roughly. “I do because, right now you’re thinking that I wouldn’t be willing to follow you, and maybe you’re even thinking that no man would be willing to follow you, but nothing is further from the fucking truth. You are worth following to the end of the oceans themselves, Queen Noelani, and if things were different, I’d spend every hour of every day reminding you of that.”
My heart is being squeezed. Squeezed so hard that all I can do is stare at the beautiful man in front of me and wait for his next words.
Grim gives a harsh exhale. His eyes close as he says, “It’s just that things aren’t different. People depend on me here. They need me. Their lives depend on me. I don’t take that lightly.”
“Nor should you,” I say, and I mean it.
His life is here and it’s important. I only wish that I were important to him, too. I don’t want Grim to know how suddenly and deeply and foolishly I’ve started feeling things for him. I have to clear my throat before I speak because my words would wobble with emotion I don’t want to reveal.
“Well, I look forward to receiving your security proposal,” I say in a rush. “I think I’m hungry. Are you hungry? I’ll go find the room service menu and see if Vashti can coax them to send something up.”
I climb off Grim—bottle still in hand—without looking at his face, because if I look at him, I’ll say something stupid. I’ll say something pointless.
I’ll say something that we both know can’t ever be true.
He lets me escape, although the careful brush of his hands along my thighs as I clamber off the bed reminds me that he’s allowing it—that if he wanted, he could grab me and toss me back on the bed. He could crawl o
ver me and kiss me until food was the very last thing on my mind. He could keep me against his hard, warm body for as long as he wanted, and I would stay.
I would stay.
The sitting room is cool enough to raise goosebumps along my arms and legs as I walk right past the table with the room service menu and over to one of the windows. Through the flurrying snow, I can see the White House glowing against the dark, surrounded by snow-ruffled trees and with the Washington Monument sword-like and proud behind it.
“It’s a gorgeous view,” his voice rumbles from behind me.
