The fury that hit him was unexpected. It was fueled mostly by fear. He could feel her slipping away. “Don’t do this, Grace. Don’t let this asshole, whoever he is, destroy what we’ve found together.” She shook her head. He could see tears in her eyes. “I just don’t know that I’m ready to face all this… and to do it this way, with such private, intimate parts of our life laid out for the masses. You can’t even get your hair cut without it making the tabloids.” “Grace, is any of that as important as the fact that I love you…and you love me.” “No…but I just can’t think right now. I need to clear my head. Please.” Anthony did the only thing he could think to do in that moment. He kissed her. Pressing her back against the door, he devoured her mouth. Everything he felt—need, desire, fear, anger—he poured it all into that kiss. Sliding his tongue between her parted lips, he traced every curve, every contour of her mouth, as if memorizing the taste and feel of her. It terrified him that he might have nothing but memories to hold onto. It helped, somewhat, that she clung to him, that her hands came up and clasped his shoulders. Her nails scored him through the layers of his clothes and her breasts pressed wantonly against his chest. The soft moan that escaped her was a balm to him. When he finally broke the kiss, he was breathing raggedly, as was Grace. Resting his forehead against hers, he held for a moment, savoring the softness of her body against him. “It isn’t just you that’s affected by all this, Grace,”
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