“A gift is a bottle of bourbon or a nice pair of gloves. Maybe concert tickets. Not waterfront property worth millions of dollars.” My voice is starting to get prickly and I pause for a beat to recalibrate. “You love that place. It’s your escape.”
“I do love it. But not as much as you love it. I’ve never seen you happier than you were gazing out over the ocean.”
There’s nothing worse than trying to reason with a man who’s decided that his idea is the best thing he’s ever heard, and has his mind set on it.
“I can replicate the house anywhere,” he continues. “But you won’t.”
Because I can’t. “Gray—I can’t afford the property taxes on the beach house, let alone the upkeep.”
He rifles through the envelope and pulls out a single sheet of paper. “It’s been taken care of for the duration of your lifetime.”
I don’t even glance at the paper. “It’s too much.”
“I don’t have anyone special to spend money on. My brothers have more than their great-grandchildren can ever spend. I set up a trust for Gracie, so she’ll always have her own money—money her father doesn’t control.” The mischief in his eyes tells me JD doesn’t know about this little gift. Even in the middle of a testy discussion, it makes me smile.
“But other than that,” Gray says softly, “there’s no one. Let me do this.”
No! “I don’t know. I’m not sure I can.”
We sit quietly for a long while. Each alone with our separate thoughts. I don’t know what his are like, but mine are so jumbled they don’t resemble anything coherent. The only thing I recognize in the morass is my mother. “Don’t be a little fool,” she says, primping her hair, with the smell of cheap jasmine practically gagging me. “Let him take care of you.”
That would be a big no.
“I promised myself when the mission was over,” Gray says, his brow crinkled tightly, “I’d help you make it right with Smith or find some work that suits you better. I convinced myself that I’d introduce you to a few guys, stand-up men and experienced Doms, who would be good to you.” His voice is heavy with sorrow, the grief twisted into every strangled word.
He might not be thrilled about it, but he’s willing to introduce me to experienced Doms. What did you expect, Delila? You are a fool. I swipe a lone tear from the corner of my eye before he notices.
“But I can’t do it,” he concedes with the rawness that accompanies unfettered emotion. “I’m not prepared to let you go, Delilah. I love you.”
The tears are falling too fast to swipe them away unnoticed. Gray gets up and lifts me off the seat, carrying me into the bedroom while I sob into his chest.
He kicks the door shut behind us, and lays me on the bed. My eyes are closed, but I feel the mattress dip beside me.
“I want us to be partners, in everything.” He brushes some hair off my face, his fingertips so gentle it makes me melt. “The club, the work I do with EAD, and in every other aspect of my life—I want you by my side. We make a great team.”
I feel as though I need to say something to acknowledge his unguarded confession, but I can’t find the right words to convey what I’m feeling. I don’t even know what I’m feeling. “This comes as a surprise. A shock, really.” I gaze at him, grazing my fingers over his scruff. “I need some time to sort through it all.”
Gray kisses my nose. “Take as much as you need.” His eyes glaze over, and his Adam’s apple bobs not once, but twice. “There are two other things to throw into the mix for you to consider as you’re deciding.” He rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “I knew Kyle from the Bureau.”
44
Delilah
I draw a slow, jumbo-size breath, and brace myself, because the other shoe is about to drop. I feel it in my bones.
“He was an abuser,” Gray says flatly. The same way he might say grass is green or cotton balls are soft—simple, incontrovertible facts. “The worst kind of sadist. He bragged about how he preyed on you, reeled you in, and groomed you for pain.”
The sear in my chest is pure agony. Gray’s words are a rusty blade piercing the skin and snaking into the muscle until it’s wedged deep.
It’s one thing to know I followed the scraps into the trap like a fool—manipulated and gaslighted for years. A victim of my own stupidity. But it’s quite another to have others know the extent of my idiocy. To have Gray know.
My relationship with Kyle was tortured and conflicted, especially as I got older and wiser. I’ve worked hard to create the perfect façade around it, not just for the benefit of others, but it’s a lie I tell myself too. Not to protect Kyle. He doesn’t deserve my loyalty. I keep the truth hidden to protect me.
Gray knows I was weak and stupid—an operative who couldn’t even save herself from an asshole. He knows everything. He’s always known.
I cover my face with my arm. Jesus Christ. It’s so humiliating.
“I’ve never forgiven myself for not reaching out to warn you the fuck away from him.”
I want to shake Gray. To grab him by the throat and scream shut up!
“I should have killed the sonofabitch when I had the chance. I’m sorry, Delilah. I let you down.”
“I didn’t need a protector then, and I still don’t,” I spit out, with as much dignity as I can muster. “It was a lesson that needed learning.”
My head is throbbing, the loose fragments racing through my mind in damning circles. Then it smacks me in the face. Oh God. No, please. No.
Smith’s father, General Sinclair, was the head of the Joint Chiefs during all that mess with the congressman. He was there when I testified, and at the end of the hearing, he approached me in the hall: “A life well-lived is the best revenge,” he said, handing me Smith’s card. “Tell my son I sent you.”
Was it all a con?
“Did you arrange my job with Smith?”
He turns his head toward me, meeting my eyes. “Nope. I had nothing to do with that.”
I feel myself relax a little. “There’s no need for you to harbor any guilt for what happened between Kyle and me. I take full responsibility for my part in it.”
Gray rolls on top of me, pinning my hands near my head. “Oh no, you fucking don’t,” he growls. “That was not your fault. None of it.”
“I had a brain and two good working feet. I could have walked away. I wasn’t a prisoner.”
He glowers at me, and I turn my cheek to the mattress so I don’t have to look at him. I don’t need him trying to make excuses for me. It only makes me feel worse. “Get off me.”
He doesn’t budge.
“You were an anxious kid who had never been out of her small Mississippi town. You had stars in your eyes about joining the CIA. He was a grown man, trained in high-stakes mind games. He had a federal badge. It wasn’t a fair fight.”
I’ve never allowed myself to make excuses for my choices. That’s a coward’s game. I take responsibility for every decision, especially for the ones involving Kyle. I am not a helpless victim, and I will not allow Gray to make me one.