Page 40 of The Tower (Billionaire Brothers Grimm #1)

Thirty

Antihero

“ I really don’t like your girlfriend.”

Liam turned away from the coffee maker to face Sasha.

She stood in the kitchen doorway, bare feet, leggings clinging to those endless legs, an oversized T-shirt slipping off one shoulder.

Her fabulous hair hanging loose around her face.

His chest tightened just looking at her.

And why not? She was temptation incarnate—and he was a man rapidly running out of reasons not to give in.

“You’re not the only one,” he said. “At the moment, I’m not liking her much myself. And for the record, she’s not my girlfriend.”

The trouble with Maya, of course, was that she gathered information like currency. And she had a predator’s instincts — holding that currency tight until just the right moment when its value was assured.

And while he didn’t know of any specific secrets of his she might be privy to, he was certain she had some tucked away in her arsenal. She was too good for there not to be.

He should know. He’d trained her.

Hopefully, out of respect for what they’d once had—and for the retribution he could so easily dole out—she wouldn’t toss any of that currency Sasha’s way. There were secrets he ought to tell her, yes. But he needed to be the one to open the door.

“Are we still going to Alex’s party?”

He passed her a coffee, then nodded. “We should leave in about three hours. I have hair and make-up for you coming soon, by the way. Once we’re at the party, we’ll make a few rounds to see and be seen, then we can leave.

“And come back here?”

He shook his head. “No. I’ve arranged another hotel. Your father is undoubtedly paying handsomely for information on your whereabouts. And while I’d like to believe Maya and the salon folks will stay silent, I’m not risking your safety.”

She nodded. “Right. Okay.” She flashed a small smile. “I guess I’ll go shower.”

He watched her walk away. He liked seeing her at ease in his home. And he damn sure enjoyed the way her exceptional ass looked in those leggings.

He gripped the edge of the kitchen island, cursing himself for wanting her the way he did. For having to fight back the urge to follow her into the shower. To take her right there in the heated spray.

Damn it all. It had been so much easier during those long years when he’d hated her. First, because he was a Grimm, trained from birth to hate anything and everything that touched Victor Reed.

Then, because of her complicity with her father. The way she’d so publicly spread the lie about Elias Grimm murdering her mother. She was, he’d thought, as vile as her father, willing to use lies and gossip as steppingstones to climb over everyone who got in her way.

Not long after that, he’d discovered Elysium, and he’d begun to watch her more carefully in the real world.

The way she flinched when her father touched her arm in public.

The mask she wore when speaking to potential investors.

How, in unguarded moments at society events, her eyes would drift to the windows, to the city beyond, with a longing so raw it was almost obscene.

With each peek into that private world, he’d witnessed her most intimate needs and most desperate desires. Every day, he’d craved her more and more, almost to the point of obsession. The craving so deep he’d slid into that world himself.

He’d taken her in every way he could think of. Teases and torment. Pleasure and pain. Night after night, he’d expected her to pull back, to tell him that he’d gone too far, but she never had. He’d yet to reach her limits, at least in the virtual world.

She’d given him her everything in Elysium, but it hadn’t been enough.

He hadn’t— he couldn’t —have her in the real world.

And so he’d cut her down. Told her what he thought of Victor Reed’s perfect little princess.

Watched that smile falter and die. All because he was a selfish bastard who’d wanted a woman he could only touch in a world woven in pixels and code.

And now?

Now, he had the real woman. He could talk to her, kiss her, stroke her, fuck her. Any damn thing he wanted.

Sasha Reed—in the flesh, in his arms, and in his bed.

It should be enough. But it wasn’t.

She might be in his home and in his bed, but she wasn’t his.

She would be, though. Liam Grimm was not a man who walked away from what he wanted. And he wanted Sasha Reed.

Without letting himself think about what he was doing, he walked straight down the hall to the yellow room, entered, then stood outside the bathroom, listening to the soothing rhythm of the spattering water and Sasha’s soft voice as she sang in the shower.

He could picture her there. Her magnificent hair pinned up. Water sluicing over her naked body, her nipples tight, her body slick with soap.

His cock twitched, and he stroked himself through his trousers, surrendering to the fantasy. The sound of the shower became a soundtrack for his imagination—Sasha with her head tilted back, eyes closed, lips slightly parted as the water caressed her skin in ways his hands wished to do.

He could do it. He could open the door. Strip down to nothing, then climb in that shower with her.

She’d gasp, a false protest, but when he pressed her back against the steam-warm tiles, she’d surrender to him completely.

Her mouth, desperate for him. Her arms clinging to him as he lifted her, then entered her.

Her legs going tight around his waist as he thrust himself into her, deeper and harder and faster as he fucked her tight, sweet cunt.

He unzipped, then slipped his hand inside his slacks so he could rub one off as he imagined teasing her, going deliciously slow as she whimpered and cried and begged in his ear.

He squeezed harder, stroked faster, his breath becoming ragged as the fantasy deepened. The way her skin flushed pink under the hot water. Those sweet little whimpers turning desperate as she silently begged for more.

The way she arched into him, her nails digging into his back as he took her against the wall. As she surrendered to him, giving him her body, her desire, her everything.

The fantasy ripped through him, sending a fresh pulse of desire straight to his groin.

He was so goddamn hard. Never had he wanted anyone like this—with this visceral, all-consuming hunger that went beyond revenge, beyond their bargain, beyond the peeks into her depths of passion he’d seen only in Elysium.

Beyond anything he could rationalize away.

His strokes grew erratic as tension coiled inside him. He was close—so damn close—every muscle taut, his breathing harsh in the quiet room. It would be so easy to finish like this, his mind full of her, his hand a poor substitute for what he really wanted.

But that wasn’t the game. That wasn’t the point.

With a curse that was almost a groan, he forced his hand to still.

His cock throbbed painfully against his palm, demanding release, but he denied himself with the same ruthless control he applied to everything else in his life.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the bathroom door, his entire body trembling with unfulfilled need.

The challenge was for both of them after all. And there would be no going over that edge until she begged. For either of them.

And she would beg. He’d make sure of it.

He’d push her to the brink again and again until those perfect lips formed the word “please.” Until those clear eyes clouded with desperate need. Until she forgot that this was a transaction, a bargain, revenge.

Until she forgot everything except his name—and how to get down on her knees, lift that beautiful face, and beg.

He leaned against the door, smiling as he remembered the look on her face when he’d issued that edict. Shock. Anger. Surprise.

But it was the flicker of arousal that would be burned into his memory forever.

Soon, he knew, she’d beg.

Back in the kitchen, he poured himself a whiskey he didn’t particularly want.

The domestic comforts of the loft had become a dangerous illusion—the meals they shared, the movies they watched together, her body nestled against his on the sofa, her scent lingering on his sheets even though he refused to touch her.

For years, he’d thought she was just like her father and would have happily destroyed her. Now … well, now he would protect her with his life.

He’d gone from wanting to destroy her to doing whatever it took to protect her, this woman he’d once believed was little more than a porcelain doll of Victor Reed’s creation.

He’d been so fucking wrong.

He tossed the whiskey back, downing it in one swallow, as he recalled the movie from the other night. Secretary .

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew exactly what message she’d been sending, leaning back against him like that, her body radiating warmth and invitation.

It had taken every ounce of his control to walk away, to maintain the fiction that this was still about power and leverage rather than the truth gnawing at his insides—he wanted her.

Not just her body, not just her testimony against her father, but her.

Her laugh. Her stubborn determination. The way she kept finding strength despite everything life had thrown at her.

He moved to the window, looking out at the city lights spread below like a carpet of stars.

Years of surveillance. Of watching her through cameras, through data streams, through the digital world she’d created in Elysium.

He’d told himself it was strategic. Necessary.

Just gathering intelligence on his enemy’s daughter.

What a fucking lie.

He’d watched her because he couldn’t look away. Because something in her called to something in him—a recognition of shared trauma, perhaps, or simply the magnetic pull of a woman who refused to be broken despite being surrounded by men determined to shape her to their will.

Men like him.

The self-loathing was familiar, almost comforting in its bitterness. He was no better than Victor Reed. Different methods, different goals, but the same fundamental belief: that Sasha was a means to an end rather than an end in herself.

Except that wasn’t true anymore, was it?

Oh, he’d still happily destroy Victor Reed with Sasha wielding the sharpest darts—assuming the prick ever showed his face again—but somewhere between pulling her from that gala and watching her rebuild herself in the safety of this apartment, she’d become essential.

Not a weapon, but a woman he desperately wanted to claim.

He should let her walk away once Victor Reed was behind bars. Let her see how many options exist beyond the cage her father had built.

But how could he? Even if it meant putting her in a cage of his own making, how could he ever let her go?

He couldn’t.

He was a selfish son-of-a-bitch. And Sasha Reed was his, whether she fully knew that yet or not.

He wasn’t the hero in this story.

He was just the lesser of two evils.