Take Me with You (Take Me #2)(41)

“I love you,” he murmured in a sexy dazed voice.

“I love you, too.”

Then, he started moving. Slow, languid movements were in direct contrast with the way he normally took me. He wanted to take his time. He wanted to feel us skin-to-skin—my breasts against his chest, my fingers in his hair, his dick slipping in and out of my body. Our eyes locked, and I knew then that Grant wasn’t f*cking me. Our bodies might be meeting in time, but this wasn’t just sex for him—or for me.

We were making love. Our hearts were connecting. And if the world ended in that moment, we would be at peace.

The orgasm that rocked through my body made me cry out and clutch on to Grant for support. He came with me, burying his head in my neck. I rocked back onto him one last time and then collapsed as if I’d just run a marathon.

He groaned in pain. “Ari, can’t…I can’t breathe.”

I sat up immediately. “Are you okay?”

In the midst of our sexual encounter, I’d forgotten that Grant was in pain. Oh God, had everything we done made it worse?

“I’m fine, Princess. Go clean up, and we’ll talk.”

I stared down at him, concerned, but he nudged me off of him.

“Go on.”

I dutifully cleaned up in his bathroom. When I returned, Grant had a soft light on in the room, and it was the first time I got a glimpse of his body.

I gasped in horror, and my hand went to my mouth. “Oh my God! What happened?”

He looked bruised from head to toe. His arm was bandaged. How had I not noticed his arm was wrapped up? Jesus, I must have been so desperate that I had let this go on while he was injured.

A phone rang loudly from under the bed. Grant scrunched up his features. “You have got to be f*cking kidding me.”

“What?”

“I thought I’d lost it on the embankment.”

My eyes widened. “What embankment?”

“Can you reach down and get it for me?”

I glared at him. I was so pissed that he wasn’t giving me a straight answer on anything. If he was this injured, then we should never have had sex. He looked like he needed medical attention.

But I dropped to the ground, grasped the phone, and held it out to him.

He stared at it. “Another unknown number.”

It stopped ringing, and then immediately, it started up again from the same number.

“Just answer it, or turn the damn thing off, and tell me what happened!”

“Fine,” he grumbled, choosing to answer the phone rather than address what had happened. “Hello?”

With my arms crossed, I waited for him to get off the line. How could Grant have sustained that kind of damage? How had he had sex with that kind of bruising? I was gradually falling from anger into panic. Was he okay? Did he have internal bleeding? Did he need to go to a doctor? Oh God, how had I let him drive?

Then, the next thing Grant said pulled me out of my troubled thoughts, “Dad?”

“Hey, son.”

The world stood still. I forgot about the motorcycle accident, the feel of making love to Ari, the desire to avoid the conversation about what had happened. I forgot everything. The only thing in that moment was the sound of my old man’s voice on the phone.

“How the f*ck did you get this number?” I demanded.

“Grant, I’ve been trying to reach you.”

I lost it. “Don’t f*cking say my name!”

I stood up off the bed and paced my room. All I wanted to do was slam my fist into the wall, but I was already too banged up as it was. Plus, I didn’t want to scare Ari.

“Grant,” she whispered, fearfully looking at me.

I held up my hand and shook my head. This could not be happening right now.

“Just give me a minute to explain,” my dad said. “I’ve been trying to reach out to you since I…since I got out of prison. Randy told you I got out, right?”

“I don’t need or want any of your explanations. I know bullshit when I hear it. So, let me fill you in. I don’t want you to contact me. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want you talking to Uncle Randy or bringing anyone else into this.”

“I’m not dragging anyone into this. Stop, and listen for a second,” he snapped, dropping immediately back into his military tone of voice.

It was like a light switch when he talked to me. Suddenly, I was ten years old again.

He was standing over me, demanding obedience, always pulling the authority figure over my head. I saw him holding the gun out in front of him. I ran to my mother, but it was too late, and he pulled the trigger. I felt her blood on my hands.

I wiped my hands on my bare legs after reliving it. I’d relived it a thousand times in my nightmares. And here was my nightmare, coming to haunt me once more.

“You don’t deserve a chance for me to listen to you. Did you give her a chance?” I growled.

“Don’t bring her into this.”

That was it. That was the end. As it was, I couldn’t believe I had been on the phone this long with a raving lunatic.

“I can do whatever the f*ck I want! I’m not a kid anymore. I’m not a ten-year-old you can blame for murdering your wife!”

“Is that how you feel?” he asked. His voice was deadly cold and devoid of emotion, showing me truly how much of a complete and total psychopath he was.