Chapter Eighty-Seven

Safiya

G rayson drove us to an expensive restaurant.

He gave the hostess the last name Ryker. He ordered the food, and he ordered himself a drink when I had never seen him drink alcohol except for some champagne when I earned my degree.

But we did not talk.

He watched me.

He kept his distance.

But he did not attempt to feed me, kiss me, or hold my hand.

The pretty hostess who had seated us, a young blonde woman who had looked attentively at Grayson, passed our table.

"Excuse me." Grayson stood.

Following the hostess was a striking couple, and I immediately knew why Grayson had gotten up.

"Alpha." Even in a busy restaurant, Grayson's quiet voice resonated.

"Ghost," Mr. Adam Trefor stated without any intonation before barely glancing at me with the slightest lift of his chin. Then his gaze quickly cut across the restaurant before landing on the stunningly beautiful woman at his side.

With blonde hair so pale, it looked like spun gold, the woman with alarmingly green eyes looked at Grayson with shock before she quickly hid it and leaned her cheek toward him. "Grayson. I was not expecting to see you this evening."

Ignoring Mr. Trefor's sudden glare and kissing her offered cheek as if it were something they did, Grayson briefly placed his hand on her shoulder the way he had with me countless times. "I'm sure you didn't expect to see me at all."

She held his gaze for a heartbeat as if they could communicate without words, then she looked at me and offered a reserved smile. "Hello. I'm Maila."

Unsure which name I was supposed to use, I hesitated.

Grayson's hand moved to my shoulder. "Maila, this is Safiya."

A current of discontent battered against my flittering nerves. "Nice to meet you."

Polite, but as aloof as the man she stood next to, her faint smile held. "Likewise."

Adam Trefor looked down and quietly addressed the petite woman who was now tucked possessively under his arm. "The hostess is waiting."

She looked up at him, and her eyes spoke like a sky full of stars. "Of course." She barely glanced back at us. "Enjoy your evening."

Adam Trefor whisked her away, and the men did not speak to each other again.

Grayson sat back down, and I stared at my suddenly unappealing meal.

Picking up his drink, Grayson swirled the ice in the glass, then took a sip.

I knew this because I saw it out of the corner of my eye, but I did not look at him.

The discontent growing at an alarming rate, my leg started to bounce, and I wanted to leave. Not just leave but—

A large hand landed on my knee and applied pressure. "Do we need to talk now?"

I had studied English literature.

For eight years, I had scoured the language, its words, the meanings behind them, but mostly their nuances. I devoured any information I could on those nuances because I had learned that a blue-gray-eyed American SEAL spoke in them. He used words, but he breathed nuance. Language was not merely a tool for him, it was his arsenal. The words he chose were designed. The tones he used were intent. He never simply spoke, chatted, or conversed. That was not how this man used his language.

The first months, the first few years, even, I had not been able to multiply his limited conversation into an equation of subtleties and distinctions.

But now I could, and I knew what talk meant to both a ghost with protocols and the dominant man who had commanded me to swim to him in the ocean this morning. More specifically, I knew what need to talk signified. It was not an exchange or conversation. It was code for me to casually scatter soul-born emotions and lay them at his feet without regard to my dignity, vulnerability, or privacy.

Talk meant I was supposed to give.

No, I was expected to. While he silently stole my every word and juried them without rule or comment.

After today, this afternoon, what I knew was under his perfectly pressed shirt, something far too close to insecurity spilled all over the linen tablecloth, expensive place settings, and the picture-perfect over-touched food.

Carefully placing my napkin on the table, desperate to hold on to even a modicum of grace, I mimicked his earlier words. "Excuse me." Before his grip on my knee could tighten, I turned in my seat and stood.

Then I was walking across the restaurant.

The dress that I had thought was beautiful was now suffocating.

The sandals he had masterfully, seductively laced around my ankles were now tethering, and my treasonous mind was replaying the moment his lips had touched the beautiful blonde's cheek. Simultaneously, every step was a hypersensitive stroke of both soreness and desire, reminding me of exactly what he had taken mere hours ago—not that I had forgotten it for even one minute.

Nor had I forgotten what he had not done.

I had heard him. I had heard his reasonings. But I could not stop these feelings.

Pushing into the restroom, I was met with the very woman I was jealous of.

Washing her hands, her green-eyed gaze sought mine in the reflection from the mirror. "Safiya."

I froze.

Concern drew a line between her eyebrows, and she somehow managed to look more regal. "Are you all right?"

"I am fine, thank you." Shame, embarrassment, anger, jealousy—it all colored my face in telltale heat. "Excuse me." I rushed into a stall. Please, please leave. Please do not speak to—

"Grayson can be overwhelming."

Closing my eyes, I leaned my head against the closed door and said nothing.

"I knew him when he was active duty." Her voice came closer. "If you can believe it, he was more intense then."

I did not believe it. I had known him then, too, or close to it. He had not been more intense. He had been absolute lethality. And I wanted to dislike her, but her next words made it more difficult.

"Would you like me to call someone for you?" She paused. "Or tell you where the hidden rear exit is?"

I lifted my head. "There is a hidden exit?"

"Yes. Across the hall from the restroom, there is a door marked Staff ."

My heart skittered in protest, but then raced. "Is it?" Temptation grew. "For staff?"

"Yes and no. It leads to a hallway. At the end is an exit that will take you to the rear of the property along the waterfront."

Did I trust her? "How do you know?"

"Let's just say, I make it my job to know these things."

These things. I felt even more intimidated as ineptitude from my sheltered existence sank into the churning insecurity in my stomach. Unsure how to reply, I said nothing. Not that it mattered.

She needed no prodding. "I feel as if I should warn you, though. If you decide to use the exit, I'm ninety-nine percent certain Grayson will follow, probably before you even make it outside."

My forehead fell back to the cool metal of the door, and my eyes closed again. "Only ninety-nine percent?"

"There's always that one percent."

Did I dare ask? "Of?"

"Adam deciding to interfere and actually stop him."

I heard what she was not saying. "Actually?"

She paused again as if she were choosing her words carefully. "How much do you know about Grayson?"

I said nothing because in that moment, it felt as if I knew nothing.

"All right, I understand," she continued. "Well, I am not concerned that Adam has the ability to stop him. They are evenly matched in strength and cunning. But…."

"Grayson is also Ghost," I supplied.

"Yes. And Adam is also Alpha."

I knew what I meant, but I did not understand her nuance. "I do not know what you mean."

"Adam was their Team Leader. He is honorable—to a fault."

Now I understood. "And Grayson is Ghost." I was repeating the sentiment, but there was no other way to say it.

"Yes."

My hope dwindling, I still thought about the exit. "Do you think I would make it?"

"I think Grayson has probably already paid the bill and is waiting outside the restroom."

I sighed. "And Mr. Trefor?"

Her laugh was as reserved as her smile. "My husband will be sitting at our table with his hand near his concealed gun, watching the restroom hallway, scanning the restaurant, and internally calculating ways to kill Grayson if he touches my shoulder again. Externally, he will be Alpha."

I was not surprised she was Adam's wife. "You should go."

"Would you like me to walk out with you?"

I unlocked the door and looked at the woman I was ashamed to be jealous of. "I am sorry, and no, thank you."

Her head tilted ever so slightly, and she studied me how both Grayson and her husband studied people. "Why are you sorry?"

Embarrassment flushed my cheeks, and I averted my gaze.

"I see." Her voice softened. "Grayson is a difficult man to love, and it's even more difficult to be the object of his love. I do not envy you."

My head whipped up.

She continued as if she had not said what she had. "But this particular breed of men are all difficult, both inherently and uniquely."

"Inherently?"

"They're SEALs. They never would have earned their Tridents if they were not mercilessly lethal, aggressive, dominant, and calculating."

I could not disagree. Grayson was all of those things. But something else was still bothering me. "You were surprised when you saw him." I did not know if it was chance that we had run into them tonight, but I also did not know Grayson to do anything that was not purposeful.

"I was. I have not seen him in a long time. As far as I am aware, no one has. Eight years ago, he told Adam he was retiring, then disappeared." Her next question was so casual, I would have never suspected it was a tactic for garnering information had I not met Grayson. "How long have you two known each other?"

The bathroom door pushed open, and Grayson strode in. "Alpha's waiting for you, Maila."

Without hesitation, she nodded. "Of course." She picked up her small purse from the counter and caught my gaze as she turned toward the door. "Good night, Safiya."

My heart in my throat, I could only nod.

The door closed, and his masculine, crisp scent that was already hovering surrounded me in full as his knuckle landed under my chin.

He tipped my head up, and his cool blue-gray gaze met mine. "Did she tell you about the rear exit?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to use it?"

He was beautiful and maddening and provoking, and I did not want to carry this jealousy any more than I wanted to shoulder his darkness. But there was no separating this man from who he was, so here I was, in a women's restroom with a lethal SEAL who had harbored a harem of women for eight years, then broke my barrier without mercy or remorse, and I was insecure.

"Yes." I did want to use that exit. I wanted to leave.

But I wanted to leave with him.