Bargaining for the Billionaire (11 page)

“The ink covers a scar. The tattoo artist did a fantastic job with it, because you can't even see the scar anymore, but you can feel it.” He pried her right arm loose and guided her flattened palm up his chest to the corner of his shoulder. “Here.”

Her fingers skimmed over a small ridge of thickened skin sitting a few inches below where the phoenix's wing curved over his shoulder. She frowned as she followed the scar upwards with her fingertips, feeling for the end and trying to judge its size. “What caused that?”

Grayson didn't respond right away. Rather, he drew a deep breath, held it, then blew it out in a rush of air. His body tensed beneath her fingers. “A belt buckle.”

The tight, uneasiness of his voice made her glance at him. He stood rigid, staring out ahead of him, muscles tense, jaw clenched, heart hammering beneath her fingers. His clear anxiety only increased the sinister feeling curling through her. He was nervous. Grayson had always been cool and in control, very self-confident, so for him to be so anxious had her stomach clenching. Which then made her wonder: What on earth could create a scar like this?

She dropped her hand. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer, but she had to ask. “A belt buckle?”

He gave a little jerk of his head, indicting over his shoulder, but didn't look at her. “Go look around back. There's more.”

She shook her head, afraid to follow his instructions. “What am I going to find, Gray?”

He closed his eyes this time and shook his head. “Just look, because I'm not turning around.”

“You're ashamed.” Something had happened to him. The thought made her chest clench. She'd been sure once that she hated him, but she loathed the thought of him being hurt.

“I'm sick to my stomach, actually, and if you don't go look soon, I'm going to lose my nerve and put my shirt back on.”

She swallowed hard then moved behind him. The sight of his back made her gasp. Thin, silvery lines cut across his skin in a haphazard fashion. Some were double lines, as if something thick had cut deep, leaving a permanent mark. Some were short, and some crisscrossed each other. He had a group of them, though, concentrated on the back of his left shoulder, and a few curled around his ribcage. Disgusted by the thought of what could have made them, she reached out, tracing along one scar branch with the tip of her finger.

When he flinched beneath her touch, she jerked her hand back, her heart hammering in her throat. “Do they still hurt?”

He released a breath in a rush of air, as if he'd been holding it, his chest deflating. “No. I'm just not used to people touching them. I don't show them to many people.”

She shook her head, her mind racing, trying to process. “Surely during sex…”

Despite the heaviness sitting over them, one corner of his mouth hitched upward. “Sweetheart, nothing I said to you during our recent chats was a lie. You're a first for me in quite a while. I tried once to forget you. I really did. Unfortunately, I didn't get too far. But to answer your question, there are ways around that. I'm rather fond of the cowgirl position.”

His obvious reference to sex should have sent her mind straight into his jeans, but her need to comfort him overrode her desire. Her thoughts filled with the scars on Hannah's face. Hannah had been in an accident when she was fourteen, one that had caused the death of her parents. The scars were ugly mementoes of the night she'd lost them. It had always been difficult for Hannah to share her scars as well. Like it or not, people judged, and the telling of the tale always brought up painful memories.

She returned her gaze to his back, tracing the lines with the tip of a finger. What must these scars represent to Grayson? What ugly memory filled his mind now?

“Say something, Maddie. Please. The silence is killing me.”

The vulnerability in his voice made her finally snap to. “What on earth happened to you?”

He didn't answer at first. Instead, he snatched his shirt off the couch beside him. She caught his arm, stopping him before he could put the shirt back on, and moved around in front of him. All thoughts of keeping him at a distance fled as she peered up into his face. He simply stared, heart bare in his eyes.

Her fingers tightened on his arm, squeezing in reassurance. “Please tell me.”

“My father.”

He didn't elaborate, but her mind took the image of those scars and put two and two together. She covered her mouth, but couldn't contain her quiet gasp. “Arthur Bradbury did this to you?”

In the two years she'd worked for Bradbury Books, she'd only met the man once, but Arthur Bradbury had seemed such a kind, sweet-hearted old man. She couldn't imagine him putting marks like this on his son…

Grayson drew another deep breath, then took her hand and turned, tugging her behind him as he moved around the couch. He sat, then stared up at her, still holding her hand.

“Sit. Please.” He patted the spot beside him, then lifted his left arm in invitation. “I can't look at you when I say this, or I'll never get it out.”

He didn't have to say anything. What he wanted was clear in the defenselessness shrouding him. He wanted to hold her while he talked. She stared at the crook of his arm, at the beautiful phoenix adorning his shoulder. Did she dare?

Another glance at his face and the decision made itself. Angry or not, it clearly took a lot for him to admit any of this. She understood only too well how difficult memories could weigh on you and how hard it was to have to share them with someone else.

So, she sat. He wrapped his arm tightly around her shoulders, drawing her against his side, and she allowed herself the luxury of laying her head on his shoulder. His body was warm and his scent inviting. Bliss settled over her when he rested his head on top of hers. His heart beat an erratic rhythm beneath her ear, though, tightening the sickening knot in her stomach. He was definitely nervous. He was also trembling.

She shored up her defenses and hugged him back. She'd shared her ugly past with him, sure he'd be disgusted with her once he knew the truth. Not only had he given her compassion and quiet understanding in return, he'd respected her need for space as well. He'd touched but hadn't pushed. She owed him the same understanding now.

As her hand slid around his waist, he drew in a shaky breath, some of the tension leaving his body. “Thank you.”

“You offered me the same.” Her words were fumbling, likely not what he needed to hear, but they were the only ones she could make herself say. Desperate to keep some sort of distance between them, she couldn't resist adding a tease. It had been so easy between them once. “It doesn't mean I like you, though.”

As hoped, he let out a quiet laugh, the last of the tension leaving his body. “No. You calling my name during an orgasm, however, does.”

A fierce heat rushed into her cheeks. God, she couldn't believe she'd done that. To know now that it was him, and not some stranger, only made her embarrassment worse. How could she deny she wanted him when she'd done exactly that?

She poked his ribs with a fingertip and was rewarded when his body jumped. “Cheeky bastard.”

“Stubborn woman.”

Humor laced his tone, making her smile in spite of herself. Several moments passed in silence, this one more comfortable. Ease settled between them, bringing up more memories. All those nights three years ago. The teasing. The playful e-mails. The heated whispered confessions. Once upon a time, he'd been easy to talk to. He made her comfortable with him. The same feeling rose inside her now.

He drew a deep breath. “Arthur wasn't my real father. He became my legal guardian when I was about fourteen and a half. I left home at thirteen and lived on the streets for about a year. My biological father was a drunk. He was always angry about something. One day, I got tired of being talked down to and I smarted off. He went nuts. His form of punishment was his belt. He always held it by the strap end, and the buckle caught me.”

Images of a boy's body curled on the floor filled her mind. A man's face twisted in rage, wildly swinging an instrument of torture that should never touch a child's skin in anger. She flinched as her mind filled with the sounds. The slap of the leather coming down hard on skin. The metal bits clanging together.

“I'm sorry that happened to you.” These words too weren't nearly enough, but they were all she could force past the lump in her throat. Her heart clenched so hard tears filled her eyes, and her stomach churned. She turned her head, burying her face in his neck.

His arms tightened around her, squeezing her so tight her shoulders hurt, but his body tensed, and instinct told her the action wasn't just for her.

“I met Arthur when I was fourteen. I was begging when I met him. God, that has to be the lowest point in my life. I used to hang outside the businesses downtown because I got bigger offerings. I asked him for five bucks one day, so I could get something to eat. He refused. Instead, he took me home, and he fed me. It was more food than I'd seen in a long time. Roast beef and potatoes and these awesome little baby carrots. Even a piece of chocolate cake for dessert. While we ate, we talked. In the end, he made me an offer. He told me I could stay with him for as long as I liked, but he had rules. If I ever stole anything or did drugs, I was out. And I had to earn my keep. He officially adopted me when I was about fifteen and a half. We got my biological father to sign over his parental rights.”

“I take it he didn't contest.”

Grayson went silent a moment, his body once again tensing beside her.

“No.” His voice came low, etched with a hint of something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Anger perhaps. Or sadness.

He drew a breath and released it. “At eighteen, Arthur took me to work with him. I did all the menial chores nobody likes to do and I was grateful for them. I got his coffee, ran out and got lunch for the meetings. In return, he taught me the business. On his deathbed, he told me he'd left the company to me, and I promised him I'd take it to the top. And I have. We profited two hundred and fifty million last year.”

Despite his last statement, it wasn't pride in his voice, but a sad sort of acceptance. He went silent for a long moment. Finally, he drew another breath and continued.

“That whole charade was for Arthur. I hated what the lies spreading about me implied about his character. He'd given me my life back. I owed it to him to earn the trust of his employees. So, I set out to prove them wrong. I got a job with the company as an editorial assistant. The idea being, of course, that I'd eventually reveal myself. How the hell it worked, I have no idea, but until that newspaper story was printed, I was just another editor. People accepted me for who I said I was.

“That weekend we were supposed to spend together, I'd finally worked up the courage to tell you everything, but someone leaked the story before I could. When you didn't show that weekend, I knew you'd seen it. I honestly wasn't sure I wanted to know what you thought. About me or where I came from.”

The words she knew she needed to say, that he needed to hear, stuck in her throat. “I can't say I'm sorry for not showing up that weekend. I know that's harsh, and it probably makes me a bitch, but it hurt to find out who you were in the newspaper, rather than from you.”

She expected anger, more of the fury he'd lashed out at her in the bathroom of the hotel earlier. But Grayson didn't as much as flinch. Instead, he kissed the top of her head.

“And I'm not sorry for the pretense this time around. I hated lying to you, but I knew it was the only way you'd ever agree to see me. So we're even.”

She had to admit he was right. If she hadn't been cornered, forced into the moment, she'd have run from him. Again. She'd been running for three years now.

Silence hung between them, long and heavy. This was the most honest they'd been with each other in a long time. It was good and awful all rolled together. What happened now?

He turned to her then, wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. “I hate knowing I've hurt you. I hope you know that.”

She could only stare at him, into the deep, chocolate eyes she'd sworn once she knew like her own hands. Something passed between them then, silent and aching. Being honest with each other had shattered the walls between them, and a fine sweet tension rose in its place. It made her tremble with need, with the desire to get lost in his touch all over again.

As if in answer to her thoughts, or perhaps because he thought similar things, his cock swelled beneath her, thickening against her ass. The heat of his bare skin against her arm provided a heady lure. She longed to know the feel of his body pressed against her. Skin on skin. His mouth was so close his soft, warm breaths whispered over her lips, as if daring her to lean in and taste him.

She shook her head, helplessness settling over her. “What do you want, Gray?”

“You. I have always wanted you.” He cupped her cheek, his thumb caressing her skin. The tenderness in his voice made her shiver all over again. “I'm asking you to give me a second chance here. I know I asked you to meet me for dinner on Saturday, but…”

She rolled her eyes. “Demanded. You demanded.”

“I was mad.” He rolled his eyes back at her, one corner of his mouth hitching. “You're so damn stubborn. I knew it would get your attention.”

Oh, he'd gotten her attention all right. He'd gotten the attention of every molecule and fiber in her body.

She arched a brow. “But what?”

He cupped her face in both hands this time, his intense gaze set on hers, staring almost through her. “Spend next weekend with me. Give me a do-over, baby.”

Her heart launched into orbit again. Panic closed around her throat. She slid off his lap, paced to the windows and stared out into the inky night, at the lights dotting the buildings. Every muscle seemed to be shaking. This was it. The entire reason she'd spent the last three years filled with regrets, with a hole in her chest. She'd always told herself if she had that weekend to do over, she'd make a different choice. Maybe it would have ended the same way, but at least she'd know. And here it was. A second chance. Was she really ready to do this?