Crossfire (Cross Duet #1)

38. GRAYSON

38

GRAYSON

Funny thing, before this very moment, I considered my wealth to be an asset. I mean, honestly, how many people can say they were left a billion dollars of inheritance at my age? Not something you hear about every day, in my opinion, and it certainly wasn’t every day that a guy had more money than he could ever need in his lifetime.

But at this moment, my wealth worked against me. That private elevator with its nonstop ride had been an enticing selling feature when I bought this place. I liked to be left alone, I hated making small talk, and I was too impatient to wait for an elevator to make a dozen stops before it would arrive on my floor.

But thanks to that sizzling selling feature, the elevator opened one second after Ivy pushed its button. Less than that, really. Any human could not have gotten to one Mississippi before their hostage jumped into said elevator and pushed the closed-door button while locking eyes with her captor.

“Dammit, Ivy,” I growled, sprinting toward her.

Of course she got her bindings off. Of course she sent me on a distraction campaign of getting her a glass of water, and of course I fell for her wide, innocent eyes, forgetting that she was lethally trained in combat skills.

Ivy frantically pushed the button repeatedly until, finally, the doors began to close.

Too bad for her, my foot wedged between them, and too bad for her I shoved them open with both hands.

Too bad for me, she used my momentary stance to my disadvantage and launched her heel into my diaphragm, sending me backward onto my ass, which bounced off my wooden floor with a sharp stab in my tailbone.

If I wasn’t so irritated, I would grin; it wasn’t every day that I met someone this good at fighting back.

Look at her, pushing that button hard and fast. I bet the tip of her finger is getting sore.

She took me by surprise, but I wouldn’t let that happen again. I launched myself up off the floor and once again halted the elevator doors from closing. Perhaps most girls would swat at me as I grabbed them by the waist, but not Ivy.

No, of course not.

Her fist connected with my jaw, a direct hit that sent a shock wave of pain radiating through my skull. The taste of iron appeared in my mouth as blood trickled down my chin, a scarlet reminder of her defiance.

The girl had power—I’d give her that.

She tried to follow it up with a left hook, but I captured both of her wrists as I glowered at her. The atmosphere crackled with tension—a potent blend of adrenaline, sharp rivalry, and to my frustration, unwelcome desire.

What can I say? Her fighting skills were a turn-on.

Her features were a mix of fire and ice, unyielding and brimming with determination while the muffled hum of the elevator’s lights faded, leaving only the rapid succession of breaths.

“Are you done?” My voice was a low growl, more a challenge than a question.

Undeterred, she launched her knee upward, a move I thwarted with a twist of my body, feeling the strain in my muscles as I narrowly avoided her strike.

“Now, are you done?” I asked.

Ivy abruptly shifted her stance and stepped forward, pressing her body close to mine. I tensed my muscles in expectation of the obvious shove to my chest, but Ivy didn’t shove me at all. In a fluid motion that spoke of years of training, she spun her body sharply, leveraging her weight against my grip while simultaneously pulling me off-balance.

At the same time, her leg swept out in a wide arc, targeting my knees with precision.

The realization hit me a moment too late, the penthouse floor rushing to meet me as Ivy twisted her irritatingly tiny wrists from my grip.

Her subsequent attempt to kick me in the ear was a move that, under any other circumstances, might have earned my respect, but in the heat of the moment, I was all instinct and reaction.

My hand shot out, gripping her ankle with iron resolve, pulling her legs out from under her. To my horror, in what appeared to be slow motion, her head plummeted toward the ground in a dangerous fall.

I shot my other hand out and caught her skull before it could meet the unforgiving wood. For a heartbeat, we were frozen, her gaze locked with mine, our chests heaving from the exertion of our fight as we lay just outside the elevator.

Never before had I encountered someone like Ivy—fierce, skilled, a mirror to my own unyielding determination. She was not just an adversary, but a worthy opponent, one who challenged the very foundations of what I thought I knew about strength and resilience.

And as I held her fragile head in my hand, our face only inches apart, the clash of wills between us was electric, palpable in the confined space.