Chapter 29
Liam
Roxy swallows.
She licks her lips.
Her chest rises and falls.
After what feels like several lifetimes of torture, she turns to the road. “Let’s go.”
I watch her profile for a beat. The slight lift of her chin. The tremor in the vein of her neck. The sharp cheekbones that I want to caress.
The way her fingers don’t stop moving, her thumb rubbing the edge of her palm like she’s sanding herself down to a level of calm.
I want to reach out and reassure her that my declaration doesn’t change anything.
Only that would be a lie.
Everything changed tonight. I went behind her back. Not the smartest move, but as I was sitting in the coffee shop across the street, I realized one thing.
Roxy Moretti Lock will cling to her sense of control, whether it’s good or bad for her. That’s why she walked into the restaurant without me.
Control isn’t stubbornness for her. It’s survival. It’s autonomy. It’s her armor. If I crack it, she’ll bleed.
Stripping her of a choice is a mistake that would cost me her trust. But then, I don’t have it yet.
So I made some calls. I called in favors, and I got that birthday present for her father.
Not because I wanted her gratitude. Not because I needed Victor’s approval. Not to score points with her or him.
To show her I can be on her side. I can be there to find solutions to her problems. I can be there to cheer her on. I can be useful without being a weapon.
Have I chosen the best avenue? Only time will tell.
“What are you waiting for?” she asks, her hands cradling her belly.
The memory of our child’s heartbeat echoes in my head—the grounding reminder that has been sustaining me these past weeks—a furious little staccato I can’t unhear.
And to the rhythm of that memory, I decide to be patient.
Patience is what I have cultivated over the past decade. It turns out it wasn’t for the revenge. The discipline. The waiting. The bite-my-tongue-until-it-bleeds restraint.
It prepared me for this moment.
No more men deciding for her.
Not while I’m here.
Even if it kills me. God help me.
We drive to the heliport in silence. We board the bird in silence. We fly in silence.
The helicopter’s vibration climbs up my spine and sits behind my ribs. The headset crackles. The rotors drown out the city.
Roxy stares out the window, as if the skyline owes her an apology.
By the time I land on the Merged roof, I expect Roxy to get out and run away.
She stays.
It’s not telling me I love you. It’s not yelling at me about the proposal. It’s so much more.
It’s her silent agreement to try. It’s not forgiveness. It’s not even trust. It’s… tolerance. A toe in the water. A chance.
And I’ll take it like it’s oxygen.
Or that’s what I’m projecting, because if this woman doesn’t conquer her fear, I’m fucked.
When we get into the town car I reserved, I ask the driver to pull up the partition and break the silence.
Not pressuring her. Just sharing, so she can learn to trust me.
“When I was sixteen, I ran away from home.”
Roxy looks at me, her eyebrows raised. The corner of her mouth twitches, like she’s deciding whether to mock me or listen.
“Not in a scandalous, teenage-rebellion way. My friend Noah wanted to visit Guatemala, so we went. His dream, my money.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “And my arrogance,” I add because it’s true.
“The friend who passed?” Roxy echoes the unfinished conversation we had in the garage.
Her remembering propels me further. “We somehow ended up volunteering on a project to build houses in impoverished areas. Frankly, I didn’t care about the altruistic nature of the adventure.
“Working with my hands, outside, was so much more rewarding than being fed with a silver spoon and groomed for the boardroom. The sun. The dust. Blisters on my palms. It felt… clean.”
“A taste of freedom,” she whispers, the understanding palpable. Shared. Mutual.
She doesn’t say it like a metaphor. She says it like she recognizes it. Like she’s been starving for it.
I nod. “My parents tolerated the rebellion, and we returned two more times. Best memories of my life, really.”
“You miss him.” She reaches for my hand, and I almost recoil. I want so much more from her than pity, but I let her touch me.
She’s still here. By my side. Reluctant. Confused. Scared. But here. And if it’s only compassion she can offer now, I’ll take it.
I haven’t earned more yet.
“When we were getting ready to go again, my father locked me in. He told me it’s time to show up for my family. Noah went without me. He was kidnapped.” I swallow around the searing lump in my throat, the memory as hurtful as ever.
“Local thugs noticed our presence the previous year and thought we were both rich Americans. But, of course, Noah’s parents couldn’t pay. By the time I forced my father to act, Noah had escaped. And…” Even after a decade, I can’t say the word.
Roxy squeezes my hand.
“I should have been there with him. Or I should have stopped him from going, since I stayed like a coward, catering to my father’s demands.” The confession tastes like metal. Like blood.
“Liam, look at me.”
I snap my head to her, shocked by the steel in her voice.
“What happened wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your father’s fault either, as much as it helps you to blame him. It was a horrible tragedy. You blaming yourself took you on a path of revenge that defined your life.
“But you’ve showed me layers of the man you could be… smart, observant, and fair. Dominant, but also understanding. Don’t taint Noah’s memory with anger.”
Her words hit like a slap and a bandage at the same time.
She might not be ready to say she loves me. God knows she might never let her guard down, but the way she sees me… it’s unsettling, and grounding at the same time.
I thought saying I love you would freak me out. It didn’t. Having this woman seeing me, truly seeing me, is more than enough.
At least for now.
“Careful there, Thunder, or I’ll think you like me.” I lighten the mood.
“I tolerate you,” she quips, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Mostly because you have an impressive dick.”
Of course, she would add that. She hands me mercy and then immediately sets it on fire.
“Glad to be of service.”
She shrugs nonchalantly. But her thumb keeps rubbing slow circles over my knuckle like she forgot to stop.
And we strike some sort of truce. Not yet moving forward, but not heading backward either.
She needs time. I give her time.
It proves to be harder than I could have ever imagined.
I watch Roxy as she hesitates between a bright pink blazer and a navy-blue leather jacket.
The sheets are still warm after she rose, and my cock twitches, the greedy bastard ready to lure her back into bed.
Biting her lips, she slips into the pink garment and then the other before she takes it off.
“Does it always take this long?” I ask.
“What?” She jerks her head, as if she were surprised I’m here.
“Sorry,” I say, lazy and unapologetic. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your creative fashion meltdown.”
She blows out the air through her cheeks. “No one ever watched me getting dressed before.”
That shouldn’t stroke my ego as much as it does. “Do you want me to leave?”
She smiles at me. “Stay.”
It’s not an invitation for forever, but it’s still fucking rewarding.
“Join me,” I counter.
“Don’t tempt me.” While her eyes flicker to the bed, I know she’s distracted.
Today is her first day back at Merged. First time as one of the partners. I have no doubt she will slay, but she seems to waste time obsessing over every detail.
“Go with the pink. It’s more you. Sharp shoulders. Soft color. A threat wrapped in satin.”
She pauses, half frowning, half smiling. “Oh?” She lifts the blazer and holds it to her torso, inspecting the effect in the mirror.
“It’s deceptive. It’ll lull your opponents into believing they are dealing with a delicate flower.” I rake my gaze down her. “And then you’ll gut them in the boardroom.”
She raises one eyebrow. “For a man of few words, you’ve been very verbose lately.”
“Are you complaining?”
“I’m not sure yet.” She slides her arms into the pink blazer, putting it over the black aerobics jumpsuit from the eighties that hugs her curves in a sinful way. I might need to go with her to pour acid in the onlookers’ eyes. Fuck.
Or keep her locked in here. That would be an option.
“Are you just going to lie around all the time?” She sits on the bed to put on her sneakers. “You need a job or something.”
“Are we planning our future?” I tease, knowing I might regret it.
She looks at me over her shoulder, giving me the look… the one that draws a deep line in the sand, preventing this nature of conversation.
I raise my hands in defense, smirking. “Maybe I want to be a kept man.”
She climbs onto the bed and crawls to me, her bottom lip between her teeth. “Finally, words I can stand behind.”
Through the sheets, she grips my cock, and I reach, pulling her to me. “Careful what you wish for. Keeping a sex slave is not as easy as you think.” I bite her earlobe.
“I’m willing to chance it.” She strokes my dick a few times, and I groan.
“Fair warning, Thunder, one more jerk, and you will be late, or potentially absent from your first day.”
She jumps out of the bed. “Party pooper.”
I slap her ass. “You’re the one leaving me here.”
“Well, future husband, better get used to it.”
I watch her swaying hips, grinning. Yeah, a future husband I am. This is the first time she’s made a reference to our engagement since it happened three days ago.
And she took my advice about the blazer.
It’s still far from a victory, but it keeps me smiling the entire morning.
She is wrong about us, but she’s right about one thing. I’m staying in New York, and I need to figure out what I will do here.
The idea of managing Victor’s company doesn’t feel like a path I want to take. Though it might be the only way, at least for the time being.
With the Bentley almost sold, I should look for a new project. Something that keeps my hands busy and my mind quiet. Restoration would help me sort out my thoughts about my future beside my reluctant bride.
I open my laptop and start my search at the site where unappreciative idiots try to sell beauties for spare parts. The page loads slowly, the hum of the city outside Xander’s skylights filling the silence Roxy left behind.
My phone beeps, and I groan when I see the siblings group chat icon.
Lottie
LIAM!!!
Xander
Why are we yelling at him now?
Lottie
He’s engaged!
Xander
WTF?
Lottie
To Roxy Lock. Or Moretti.
Xander
WTF?
You keep repeating yourself, X.
Xander
Did you blackmail her?
That’s your style.
Xander
Fuck you.
Lottie
Shut up, idiots. @Liam, thank you! You bought my freedom.
Xander
At what price?
Priceless.
Xander
Does Roxy agree?
Lottie
I owe you big time.
Xander
Give us details.
Lottie
Mom is beside herself. Answer her calls.
Lottie
Liam?
Xander
He probably turned off his phone.
Lottie
I can’t believe he’s really getting married.
Xander
We don’t know that yet.
Lottie
Jesus, do you think it’s just a delay tactic?
No, it’s not.
Xander
Elaborate.
William Stone left the chat.
I know it’s useless, because one of them will add me again immediately. My phone rings, and I’m about to turn it off, expecting that one of them is calling, when I see it’s a number from Arizona.
“Mr. McNaughton.”
“Mr. Stone, my apologies, but I’m calling to cancel our meeting.”
“Okay?”
“I’m really sorry, but a Mercedes Gullwing just became available. I wish I had the liquidity to afford both, but the Benz is a truly rare find.”
“Of course.”
I hang up and type furiously, hoping this is a coincidence. A quick search confirms the make and year of the car. The pictures are uncanny in their resemblance.
My gut goes tight. That curve. That color. That ridiculous chrome trim that only a collector would keep original.
I send the link to my agent. He’s been helping me with the sales of my cars, and there is nobody more connected.
I pace between the kitchen and the living room like a caged lion. My bare feet hit the wood floor too hard. Too fast.
No fucking way is she selling her cars. I’m going to miss them. Her slip-up in the garage becomes clear.
My phone rings, and I answer so quickly, I almost drop it.
“Since when are you interested in fixed cars?”
“Don’t fucking stall,” I snap at my agent. “Is it Roxy Lock who is selling?”
“Close. Roxy Moretti. Why are you—”
I hang up. My hand is shaking. My chest feels too tight. I don’t bother with a shower.
I put on my clothes and leave so fast, I almost remove the door from its hinges.
Twenty minutes later, I’m in front of the Merged offices, barreling through the lobby like my feet are on fire. The air-conditioning hits my skin like a slap. The marble under my shoes echoes every step.
“Mr. Stone,” a familiar voice huffs behind me.
Not now. I turn. “Joey, how are you?”
“Nice to see you. Did you know Mrs. Moretti is now a bigwig? You should have heard her speech this morning at the staff meeting.” The respect in his eyes acts like a cold shower I didn’t realize I needed.
“Great,” I murmur, and leave him standing there.
Fuck. What am I doing?
She’s probably sourcing cash to pay for her partnership. Giving up on her most valued possessions.
It’s wrong. It doesn’t sit well. But barging in and demanding she keep her heritage would… well, it would prove to her I’m no better than any other men she’s come into contact with.
It would prove she was right to keep her walls up. It would prove that my love is just another kind of ownership.
Fuck.
I stop in front of the elevator bank, my reflection catching in the brushed steel. My jaw is tight. My hands curl into fists.
I can’t let her sell them, but if I stop her, I might lose her.
I turn away and walk out of the building as fast as I entered, my phone already in my hand.
All I have to do is make one call.
And once I do, there’s no undoing it.