Page 22 of Between Passion and Revenge, Part One (The Griot Chronicles #1)

My fingers flex into his shirt, and I feel the damnedest urge to pull him to me, to search his mouth and his body, even though we’re here in this sterile hospital room.

“What do you need to know, Shae?” His words are delicate, as if he doesn’t want to break whatever is happening here between us.

“What do you need to know about me,” he says, his expression severe.

I gape at him and try to pull my hand back. He resists, weaving his fingers through mine.

“Who is she? The girl you’re always with. She was at the club last night,” I ask, and I wish I hadn’t. I look down at my lap, but when he rubs his thumb on the side of my hand, I allow myself to look at him.

“That’s Bambi. She’s just a family friend.”

I hum in response. “Does she know she’s ‘just a family friend’?”

He chuckles. “Yes, that’s been very clear for quite a while now.”

I hum again but choke when he rubs his knuckles down the side of my face.

“I get to ask a question now,” he says, and I prepare myself. “Why’d you run away from me?”

I don’t have to ask him to clarify. I know he’s asking about The Incident. I tug my hand again, but he continues to hold tight, this time placing our clasped palms in my lap.

To buy some time, I ask, “Which time?”

His smile slides into a smirk, and his green eyes turn stormy, sucking me in.

“The time when I had you pressed against the side of an elevator, and you were attacking me with your mouth.”

My jaw drops, and my brows slam down. “Me? Attacking you?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Yes, you. Remember now?”

I pull my hand away and he lets me this time, but keeps his hand on my thigh, as if he can’t resist touching me. I fold my arms, nestling them beneath my breasts.

When his eyes drop to my ample chest, I realize two things: One, I’m for sure not wearing a bra—not that I went out with one on—and two, my nipples are hard points, and not from the cold.

“I wouldn’t have fucked you, Shae,” he says, and I think I’m actually, literally choking.

I make a strange sound in my throat, from mortification, maybe? He sees The Incident as me attacking him and now he’s saying he doesn’t want to fuck me?

“Who said anything about sex?” I mumble.

“Shae.”

I stare at the pristine floor as if it could swallow me whole.

“Shae, look at me.”

I resist. But when he puts his fingers on my jaw, turning my face toward his, I let him.

I let him because if there’s anything I am, it’s a ball of confusion when it comes to Storm Sandoval.

“The reason why I wouldn’t have fucked you is because I want you, and I respect you, Shae.

The first time I slide into you, it won’t be trapped somewhere in the Econ building.

When we finally fuck, it’ll be everything you deserve and desire.

” There’s not a trace of deceit on his face.

Instead, he’s open with me. I believe every word he says.

Each word hits me like a dodgeball to the face. The monitor starts to flash a warning that my heart rate has increased, and soon it will begin alarming if it continues its upward trend.

I inhale, holding my breath to slow my pulse, before blowing it out.

More silence, and his hand falls away. I keenly miss the feeling of his skin on mine, but it gives me space to think.

To breathe.

“What makes you think we’re going to be sleeping together? We don’t even know each other.” I’m proud of how I don’t stumble over the words.

And there it is. That cocky smile I both love and loathe.

“You think you can stop a wave from crashing against the shore, Sweetness?”

I…what can I say to that? I shake my head dumbly, biting my lip.

“Exactly,” he says. He looks at me for a moment longer before standing. Leaning over me, he brings his face close to my ear and says, “Rest up. I’ll see you soon.”

Then he kisses my cheek. It’s soft and sweet.

Almost…reverent.

He pulls back to leave, but despite my sensible side screaming at me to let him go, I wind my fingers around his.

He pauses, lowering back to the bed without releasing me.

“Yes, Sweetness?”

His voice is a rasp I feel in my spine, in my soul, but before I can do anything, Daddy’s familiar knock cracks against the door and he swings it open at the same time.

I pull my hand back, but Storm doesn’t release me.

I stare at where we’re joined.

“Oh, it’s you again!” Mama rushes forward and engulfs Storm in a tight hug. Fat tears spill down her cheeks. “Thank you for saving my baby girl.”

Daddy comes up behind Mama and slaps a hand on Storm’s shoulder. “Thank you, son. Now…you said your name is Storm. Do you have a last name?”

“Reginald,” Mama hisses.

“What, Opal? I can’t ask questions?”

“ Reginald— ”

“Daddy!” Mama and I speak at the same time.

Storm’s jaw twitches before unleashing a brilliant smile. “Sandoval. Storm Sandoval, sir.”

Storm extends his hand, but silence descends upon the room for several stale breaths as Daddy ignores Storm’s outstretched palm.

“Well, Storm Sandoval. Tell me why you’re sniffing around my daughter.”

I could throw up all over the floor.

“Anyway!” Mama says brightly. “Thank you for getting my baby here. Praise God you were in the right place at the right time.”

“It was my honor to help,” Storm replies, his voice clear. His fingers squeeze mine in a brief twitch, and I pray my hand isn’t sweaty.

Ezra and Yenn are absent, and when I inquire about their whereabouts, Mama tells me they’ve gone to the cardiac unit where Yenn’s father is.

“I see,” I say, and the four of us fall silent. But of course, Mama is the one to break the quiet.

“So,” she begins, and her gaze flicks to where our palms meet. Looking back at Storm, she says, “Dinner. Sunday. Five p.m. We’d love to thank you with a home-cooked meal.”

Then she smiles in that way that I’ve learned means there will be no negotiation.

Opal Rivers can be a force when she decides to be.

“Mama, I’m sure Storm?—”

“I’d love nothing more,” Storm cuts in. Another quick squeeze of my fingers.

Mama’s smile could rival the sun.

“Excellent!” she chirps. Grabbing my dad’s hand, she pulls them toward the exit. “Well, we’ll leave you two young people to it.”

She says the rest of this on what feels like one breath, and Daddy’s face morphs as he frowns.

“Opal—”

“Not now, Reggie,” she whispers, still loud enough for me to hear. The door closes behind them and they’re gone as quickly as they came.

The room falls silent again.

“You don’t have to come to dinner,” I offer, pulling on my hand again. He finally lets me free.

But when he just stares at me, his eyes flitting around my face, he smiles again, slow and dangerous.

Pushing a strand of hair behind my ear, he leans close, so close, too close….

…and kisses my cheek.

“I’ll see you on Sunday, Sweetness,” are his parting words.