29. Magnolia Steel
Chapter 29
Magnolia Steel
The second the door closes behind my client, I pump my fist in the air, a victorious little jolt of movement I can’t contain. I let out a quiet squeal, spinning in a small, giddy circle, wrapping my arms around myself.
I landed the job.
Not just any job. A full-scale design project for a luxury spa.
My dream. The kind of project that puts a designer on the map, that turns whispers into buzz, that takes you from scraping by to being in demand. This is it. The break I’ve been fighting for—the one that makes every late night, every rejection, every moment of doubt worth it.
I suck in a breath, trying to slow my racing heart. My hands tremble as I grab my phone, fingers moving on instinct. It rings twice before his deep voice fills the line.
“Hey, favorite.”
Warmth floods through me at the sound of his voice, wrapping around me like a hug.
God, I missed this. I missed him.
“Hey. Guess what?”
There’s a smile in his voice. “Sounds like you’re about to tell me something worth celebrating.”
I press my free hand to my chest, still riding the high. “I got it, big guy. I landed the client. A full design contract for a luxury spa.”
A beat. Then—“Damn right, you got it.”
His confidence in me is unwavering, solid as bedrock. It anchors me when I doubt myself. “Congratulations, babe. No one deserves this more than you do.”
A rush of emotion rises in my throat. I sink into my chair, twirling as I soak in the pride in his voice. “I’m proud of myself.”
“You should be. You did it.”
I press my lips together, swallowing hard. He believes in me. Even when I don’t always believe in myself. He’ll never know what that means to me.
“I wish you were here.”
“I am here, remember? And I’m taking you out to celebrate tonight.”
A slow smile spreads across my lips. “You are, huh?”
“You, me, good food, a bottle of champagne. What do you say?”
It’s a hell yes, but I tease him instead. “Hmm… what kind of champagne?”
A low chuckle. “The expensive kind.”
I bite my lip, grinning. “Umm… then I say yes.”
“When can you leave?”
I glance around the office, forcing my thoughts to shift out of celebration mode. “Give me a few minutes to straighten up the office.”
“It’s still early. Want to do some shopping before dinner? Maybe buy replacements for what got destroyed last night? I want to make it up to you.”
Home decor shopping––this man is speaking my language. “How could I say no to that?”
“How about I catch a taxi and meet you at your office?”
“Sounds good. See you soon.”
I hang up, still smiling, as I clutch my phone to my chest. Life is falling back into place. For the first time in a long time, everything is right.
Still buzzing from my big win, I force myself to refocus. As much as I want to float out of here on a cloud of victory, I need to tidy up for the day.
I grab my preliminary design board for the spa, gliding my palm over the sleek surface before tucking it into my portfolio. This project is going to be everything.
With my presentation put away, I move to the break area, pouring out the last bit of coffee and washing the pot in the sink. A normal task, something I do every day—but there’s an extra lightness in my chest now.
This is what I’ve been working toward. What I fought for. And now it’s happening.
Setting the clean coffee pot in the dish drainer, I swipe a towel over the counter, my mind already drifting to Alex. He’s on his way. We’re going shopping. Then dinner. Then… more.
A slow heat creeps through me.
This day keeps getting better.
I enter my office… and freeze.
Tyson McRae is standing there.
A squeal slips out before I can stop it. A rush of adrenaline surges through me, sharp and immediate. My breath catches in my throat.
His face is a damn mess—bruised, swollen, his left eye black from where Alex’s fist connected. There’s a splint on his nose, proof that he received medical attention after leaving my apartment last night.
I swallow, my pulse kicking up.
Alex would lose his mind if he knew Tyson was here. He might murder him this time instead of beating the shit out of him.
“Mags––”
“You can’t be here.”
“I’m sure you don’t want to see me right now, but we didn’t get to finish our conversation last night.”
“There’s nothing left to say.”
“I meant what I said last night. I love you, Magnolia.”
“Stop saying that.”
He shakes his head, jaw tightening. “I have to say it because I need you to know.”
Anger simmers beneath my skin, rising with every second he stands there, uninvited.
“Let me explain something to you. When you love someone, you put their happiness first. You want them to have everything they’ve ever dreamed of—even if it costs you everything. Even when I thought Alex had chosen someone else, I still wanted him to be happy. Even as it broke me, I prayed he’d find the life he deserved. Because that’s what genuine love is. Selfless. Unwavering. Even when it tears you apart.”
I give him a minute to absorb.
“Can you say the same? Do you love me enough to let me go? Enough to want me to be with the one I choose—even if that person is Alex?”
His throat bobs, but he doesn’t answer. And that hesitation? It tells me everything.
“Sebring wants things you are not ready to give him.”
Who the fuck made Tyson McRae the authority on what I am—or am not—ready to give someone? “What do you think Alex wants that I’m not prepared to give him?”
“A wife. Kids. The whole fairytale ending. That’s not you, Mags. You don’t want that.”
That was the old me––the me who thought love was something to keep at arm’s length.
“I wouldn’t push you into something you don’t want. But that’s what Sebring will do.”
His words don’t shake me or plant the doubt he’s hoping for. If anything, they solidify what I already know. Because the thing is… he’s got it all wrong.
It’s true what they say… you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.
“I thought I didn’t want marriage. But when you love someone, and you lose them, it changes things.”
“Sebring is still the same person he was before. What he wants hasn’t changed.”
“My heart aches for Alex. I never want to live without him again, and I’m not fool enough to believe that doesn’t lead to marriage.”
A muscle tics in his jaw, the first sign he’s beginning to piece it together—and he doesn’t like where it’s leading. “So you’re saying?—”
I cut him off before he can try to twist my words. “Like I said… things have changed.”
His jaw clenches so tight I’m surprised his teeth don’t shatter.
He shakes his head, as if he can will my words away, rewrite them into something else, something that doesn’t rip his hope to shreds.
But it’s too late. He’s lost. And he knows it.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
I shake my head. “I’m not. Not even a little.”
His bruised and swollen face twists with frustration. “So that’s it? Sebring gets the girl? He wins again?”
“It was never a competition between you and Alex. I am his. I have been from the moment we met.”
Before Tyson can respond, a familiar presence sends a shiver down my spine. The hairs on my arms stand on end, and I swear I sense the shift in the air before I even turn.
Alex.
I jolt, my pulse spiking as I glance toward the doorway. He’s standing there, broad shoulders rigid, dark eyes locked on Tyson with a look so sharp it could slice through steel.
Shit. This is about to go downhill fast.
Alex steps forward, his voice dripping with irritation. “Jesus Christ, McRae. You’re like a fucking pest that won’t go away. “
His swollen lips curve into a smirk. “It’s not in my DNA to give up on something I want. And I want her.”
“Did you not take that ass beating as a hint to leave us the hell alone?”
“You call that an ass beating?”
“Have you seen your face, motherfucker?”
Alex’s body is taut, like a predator just waiting for an excuse to strike.
The image of last night’s fight flashes in my mind—Alex and Tyson colliding like wrecking balls, turning my living room into a war zone. Bruised knuckles, shattered furniture, and enough testosterone to fuel an entire action movie.
Now they’re standing here again, tension thick enough to choke on.
“Please don’t destroy my office.”
Alex doesn’t take his eyes off Tyson. His voice is calm, but the threat beneath it is razor sharp. “Don’t worry, love. We won’t wreck the place.”
I have my doubts. The way his hands flex at his sides tells me he’s one wrong word away from doing exactly that.
Tyson turns his attention to me. “We still need to discuss the hotel.”
Alex steps in front of me, a human shield between me and Tyson. “Forget it. Magnolia won’t be working with you anymore.”
Tyson whirls around, pointing his finger at Alex. “Shut up. You don’t get a fucking say in our business arrangement.”
Alex steps out of the way. “It’s your business, babe. Handle it.”
I square my shoulders, lifting my chin. “I won’t be moving forward on the project with you. You’ve shown me who you are. I refuse to do business with someone I can’t trust.”
“You have to. We have a binding agreement. You’re obligated.”
I shake my head. “Actually, I’m not.”
I would say that he looks confused, but it’s hard to tell with his face looking like he zigged when he should’ve zagged. “We have a contract, and there’s a clause in that agreement––one you’ve violated.”
“That’s bullshit.”
I arch a brow, turning toward my desk. “You should’ve read the fine print.”
I pluck a folder from my drawer, flipping it open, my fingers gliding over the pages until I find the clause I’m looking for.
Clearing my throat, I read aloud. “The designer reserves the right to terminate this agreement should the client engage in conduct that is illegal, unethical, or otherwise detrimental to the designer’s professional reputation and/or personal values.”
I slam the contract on my desk in front of him. “You signed it. Now I’m exercising my legal right to end the agreement.”
His jaw tightens. “You think that’ll hold up?”
“I don’t think, Tyson. I know. You’re welcome to fight it, but you won’t win. I took special care to cover all my bases with you. My gut told me I couldn’t trust you and I was right.”
Alex chuckles, full of satisfaction. “Damn, McRae. You got outplayed by the fine print.”
The fight in his eyes fades, weakening, until there’s nothing left but quiet defeat. “All right then. I guess this is it.”
“It is. Goodbye, Tyson.”
Without another word, he turns and leaves. The second the door swings shut, I can breathe again. But before I can process what just happened?—
Alex is on me.
No hesitation. No patience.
Just raw, unfiltered need.
His hands grip my waist, yanking me flush against him, his body a furnace of heat and coiled power. His ragged breath is heavy with restraint that’s hanging by a single frayed thread.
“Damn, babe.” His hold on me tightens, his fingertips pressing into my skin. “That was fucking hot.”
A breathless laugh escapes me, but it vanishes the second his lips ghost over mine. His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, devouring.
“Was it?”
“You were such a boss.” His fingers skim up my spine, dragging fire in their wake. “Sexiest damn thing I’ve ever seen, the way you handled him.”
I don’t even have time to react before his mouth crashes onto mine. There’s nothing soft about it. Nothing patient.
Teeth, tongues, lips—everything is fevered, frantic.
His hands are everywhere—one tangling in my hair, angling my head for deeper, hotter kisses, the other sliding down to my ass, gripping hard as he pulls me closer. I feel every inch of him, every solid muscle, every sharp edge that makes Alex Sebring the man who owns me.
His hands slip lower, gripping the backs of my thighs, and before I can react, he lifts me onto the desk.
My breath hitches, a sharp gasp swallowed by his mouth as he steps between my legs, pressing into me, showing me how much he needs this.
“Alex––” I say, but it’s more of a plea.
“I loved watching you put McRae in his place.”
His lips brush my jaw, trailing lower, his teeth grazing my pulse, sending a shudder rippling through me.
I’m already gone.
Fire pools low in my stomach, coiling tighter, threatening to consume me.
I drag my nails down his back and dig my heels into the backs of his thighs, urging him closer. “Show me how much it turned you on.”
A low, dark curse slips from his lips, then he moves.
He shoves my skirt up, bunching the fabric around my hips with rough hands. His fingertips trail a path up my thighs, teasing, claiming. A firm grip on my hips drags me closer to the edge of the desk. His fingers hook under my lace panties, sliding them down, leaving me bare, trembling, aching for him.
A low, guttural growl rumbles from his chest—raw, hungry—and then he’s gone, only for a heartbeat. Pants shoved down, he settles between my thighs like he’s never letting me go again.
One hand clamps down on my hip, anchoring me. The other guides himself to where I need him most.
With one hard thrust, he’s inside me, filling me to the hilt. A gasping cry rips from my throat, my head snapping back as he stretches me, wrecks me, claims every broken, desperate part of me.
His hold on my waist tightens, unrelenting, keeping me pinned to the desk as he moves. Slow at first—teasing, tormenting—drawing out until I’m gasping, until I’m shaking. Then faster. Harder. Deeper. Until there’s nothing left but the stars bursting behind my eyelids.
The rhythm turns rougher, more desperate, more unhinged, his control shredding with each thrust, each broken moan. The desk creaks beneath us, rocking with every movement.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” he says, mouth over my ear, his voice barely human.
I whimper, clinging to him as he drives into me, over and over, his pace unrelenting.
I’m close. Too close. He feels it.
His fingers find my jaw, forcing me to look at him.
“Eyes on me. I want to watch you come.”
And just like that, I shatter.
Pleasure crashes over me in a tidal wave, my entire body convulsing as I cry out his name, fingers digging into his shoulders.
Alex follows with a curse, burying himself deep, his entire body tensing, trembling, before he collapses against me, breathless, spent.
The only sound in the room is our ragged breathing. And for a long moment, neither of us moves. We just exist in this aftermath, tangled, burning, wrecked.
I close my eyes, letting the pressure of him ground me, the steady thump of his heart beneath my palms anchoring me to this moment.
He lifts his head, pressing a kiss to my forehead, my temple, my lips.
“You’re incredible.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, big guy.”
His chest rumbles with laughter before he nips at my bottom lip, stealing another slow, lingering kiss.
His grip on my waist lingers, firm and possessive.
A slow breath leaves me, my body still humming, still molded to the hard surface of my desk—the place where I just let him take me, where I gave in to the need that burns everything else away.
His fingers brush over my back, his lips brushing against my temple. “You were made for this.”
A shiver rolls through me, not just from his words, but from the quiet certainty in them.
I let my nails drag down his back, anchoring myself to the weight of him. “You enjoy fucking me on my desk, Sebring?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I love fucking you on your desk, Steel.”
I grin, squeezing the muscles in his shoulders. “Good. I like it too.”
His thumb brushes over my lips. “You’re mine.”
The words settle deep, reverberating through every inch of me.
I don’t respond. I don’t need to. Because we both already know it’s true.