Page 63 of The Tower

I know you’re just using her to turn the knife in Reed’s belly.

And there it is. Those words that can have only one fundamental meaning: that Sasha Reed is a foolish little girl who put too much stock in a five-minute encounter with Grimm sixteen years ago when he’d actually been a human being. A chance encounter that Grimm probably doesn’t even remember.

But I do, and that’s my bad. Because there’s nothing soft or human about Grimm. There’s only calculation.

I rub my face, realizing my cheeks are damp with tears. Idiot.

And the worst part of all?

I still crave him.

Dammit.

I want to go into the other room and log into Elysium, but he’s still in there, and I don’t want to see him. More than that, I don’t want him to know about my secret world.

Instead, I draw a breath, close my eyes, and try to picture my realm. Vale walking over the fields. Ember turning somersaults in the sky. And my prince crossing the bridge over the moat as he makes his way toward me, boldly walking into the castle despite my royal father’s disapproval.

I continue spinning the tale, breaking the castle rules and ignoring my father’s edicts. Soon, my prince is in my chamber, his face shadowed, but today I can see his eyes. As bright and wide as the sky out the window. When he pulls me close, I think that there’s something familiar about him. But his kiss steals my thoughts, and I slide into bliss—and slumber—in the safety of his arms.

The next thing I know, I’m blinking at the sun streaming in through the small window.

I yawn and push myself up, only then noticing Liam on the other side of the room. He’s leaning against the dresser, arms crossed, looking at me.

I pull the sheet up to cover my breasts, a motion that earns a half-smile from my audience.

“Why ruin such a lovely view?”

“I guess I’m just bitchy that way.” I glance around, looking for my leggings and T-shirt. “Do you see my clothes?”

“I sent them out to be washed.”

“Great. Fine. Wonderful.” I rub my head, wincing a bit from the light. I’m not sure if it’s withdrawal from my meds or if I just need caffeine, but right now, coffee sounds really good. I nod toward the little coffee maker. “Could you bring me one?”

His brows rise. “I think you’re more than capable.”

“Very chivalrous.” I hold the sheet to keep myself covered as I start to tug it free of the mattress, figuring I can wear it toga-style.

The bastard chuckles. “Why bother? I’ve already seen everything.”

“Would you just get out of here?” I snap.

His brows rise as he looks around the room. “I believe I’m paying for this space.”

Honestly, I don’t know if I want to laugh or slap him. Probably both.

I do neither. Instead, I stand, then reach for the robe flung across a nearby chair. He grabs it up first. I glare, then walk naked to the coffee maker, pour a cup, then take it with me to the bathroom—all to show him that his stupid games are no big deal at all.

When I come out, my hair is brushed and I’m wearing a towel. He catches my arm, pulls the towel off, and tugs me into his arms.

“Stop it, you perv.” I shove him away, and he lifts his arms as if in surrender—and I honestly can’t tell if he’s amused or irritated. Probably both.

“You rescued me last night.”

He steps closer, “I did.”

I have to tilt my head back to look at him and end up practically swimming in the blue of his eyes. The same blue I’d seen in my prince’s eyes.

“It reminded me of another time you rescued me,” I tell him. “A time when you weren’t an ass.”