Safe at Last (Slow Burn #3)

Her chin trembled slightly, but Wade, ever observant, saw it and reached his hand to cup her chin, holding it between his thumb and fingers.

“Don’t ever think it, Anna-Grace,” he said softly, reminding her once again that he wasn’t harmless, despite her observations to the contrary.

He was a dangerous, tightly controlled man whose vision of the world differed from most others’. The artist in her saw in bright colors—colors that had been dimmed for a long time until finally she’d set them free. But Wade’s world was steeped in gray and shadows. Much like the initial rendering of her Dreams Lost painting.

She shivered at the intensity in his gaze and swallowed nervously, because she wondered if she’d finally lost her mind. Befriending a man like him? Trusting him when she’d sworn never to trust anyone—especially a man—again? A man, who like her, seemed to have no friends, not to mention had the same trust issues she herself suffered. It could well be the second-biggest mistake of her life.

Or? Perhaps . . . just maybe . . . it was her first smart move in twelve years and in Wade she’d found not a lover, husband material or romantic interest, but a kindred spirit who was offering her what she needed the most.

Simple friendship and the opportunity to reimmerse herself in the real world, where trust and friendship weren’t bad four-letter words and were a normal part of everyday life—for most people.

But she could change all that now. He was offering, unconditionally. All she had to do was what she’d already resolved to do. Accept. Make peace. Move on.

Let go.

Free herself from her self-imposed prison of isolation and loneliness, and embrace the future that awaited her with hope and optimism, two emotions she’d once taken for granted but which were now completely alien to her.

She was in control of her own destiny and she could make it damn well whatever she wanted it to be.

Hatred. Grief. Betrayal. Hurt. Despair. Sorrow. Regret?

Those things no longer had any place in her life and she refused to live her life that way a single moment longer.

This showing was her moment to shine. She was stepping into the sun after avoiding its rays and any semblance of warmth for the first time since she was but a young girl with all the enthusiasm and na?veté that only belong to the innocent.

She was living her dream. Finally. And she was poised to share that dream—her talent—with others. People who might reject her. But she was no stranger to rejection, and having been through the worst, she could honestly say that nothing could ever hurt her more than she’d already been hurt.

The only direction for her to go was up. There was no other option when you’ve hit rock bottom. She knew it. Wade knew it. And God only knew why he stuck with her. Why he reevaluated his wants and needs once she’d made it clear that she wouldn’t—couldn’t—return his romantic interest. And why he then compromised and accepted only what she could give him.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him why. But when she looked his way once more, he wore the same determined, piercing gaze, one that had always made her uneasy, because she knew what it was like to have the gift of reading others’ minds—their innermost thoughts. And Wade had an uncanny knack for always knowing precisely what was going on in hers.





FOUR


ZACK pulled into the parking lot of an upscale art gallery on Westheimer Road, on the opposite side of the interstate from the Galleria, an area known for its chic boutiques that catered to the fashion-conscious and wealthier crowd, or at least those who wanted to maintain the fa?ade of wealth.

He wasn’t impressed with the outer trappings of wealth. He could be considered wealthy in his own right. He had a million. Ten of them to be exact, managed and invested by his financial advisor, Wes Coyle, who worked in the Woodlands, a suburb north of Houston that had quickly become a haven for the privileged.

With the guaranteed signing money from his contract when he’d been drafted in the first round of the pros, and then walking away after an injury in his second straight playoff year instead of getting rehab and continuing to quarterback, he’d been guaranteed financial security, even though he lived frugally, choosing to stash the money instead of running through it in just a few years.

His truck was used when he bought it a few years ago and he still drove it. He lived in a modest one-bedroom apartment and preferred jeans and T-shirts to designer clothing. The GQ look didn’t suit him and he felt fraudulent even contemplating the lifestyle of someone considered wealthy.