Page 12 of Unbound Boxset

Grant leaned over, seemingly intrigued by her life story. “What happened?”

She took another sip of her martini. “I slipped him a mickey one night.”

He choked, then grabbed his napkin. “You what?”

Ariel gave a wicked grin. “Put something in his drink so he got sick. Just a little. I showed up for work and took over his position on the pitch that day. Walked right into the conference room and did the presentation like I owned the place. They loved me.”

“You got his job?”

“Hell, no, the creep lied and threw me to the wolves, so they fired me. But after that I had the experience I needed. I lied on my resume and got another job at my current firm. First level assistant. But that’s all I needed—a foot in the door. I made my own luck.”

Grant shook his head in admiration. “Heck of a story. What do your parents think?”

She fought past the sadness and refused its entrance. “They were happy I was okay, but they’re not interested in the life I built here. They’re more concerned about when I’ll get married and have children. I think that will help them believe I’m normal. So far, I’ve been one long line of disappointments. They couldn’t have any other children so they were hoping I’d settle in Iowa, help Dad run the farm and have a few kids.”

He squeezed her fingers and startled her out of her reverie. When she looked up, his gaze was dark and haunted, full of raw need and ghosts of his own past. She caught her breath at his own nakedness, and felt her heart pause, just a moment, then resume its beat.

“You know who you are.” His voice filled with urgency, as if warning her what he said was of utmost importance. “You have a gift not many people have, and if they do, they refuse to listen. You took risks and you never compromised your soul for another human being. You, Ariel Devlin, are a hell of a woman.”

His words shook her to the core. Ariel struggled to keep her emotions from brimming over the cup which always held a tight lid. This man saw who she was. He watched her struggle in class through postures, had thrust into her body and made her come over and over, but was able to see a part of her she always hid—the shame she felt for never giving her parents what they wanted, for being who she needed to be. Deep down, she had always apologized for those emotions.

Grant Madison made her feel powerful. She wondered if she would ever think of herself as that poor, ashamed girl again.

Her fingers trembled over the stem of her glass as she carefully set it down. She used her napkin to pat her lips, then pushed her chair politely away from the table.

“Come upstairs,” she said. “Now.”

Grant didn’t hesitate. He threw a wad of cash on the linen tablecloth and followed her out.