Chapter twenty-seven
Rylee
It’s definitely the wine.
T he cool gel soothes my skin as I apply my nighttime serum, my fingers moving in slow circles. I should go straight to bed and avoid him entirely. It’s bad enough I’ve been thinking about him downstairs—naked in the shower, water running over him. My bath took way longer than it should have because of it.
I sigh, putting the lid back on the jar, and take one last look in the mirror. Satisfied enough, I turn off the lights and step out of the bathroom. It’ll just be a quick trip to the kitchen. Grab water. Go back upstairs. Easy.
My slippers shuffle softly against the floor as I head toward the stairs. My feet land on the steps hesitantly, then I notice the faint glow from the living room—the TV’s on. So much for avoiding him. I grip the railing and pause, weighing my options. Maybe I should wait. But again, there’s no way to avoid him, not when we’re sharing a penthouse.
As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see him in the living room. He’s sitting on the long U-shaped sofa, Ruby curled up beside him. The TV plays softly in the background, but he’s not paying attention to it. Instead, he’s reading, his head bowed slightly, curls falling over his shoulders. He’s wearing reading glasses.
The man is sexy. That’s nothing new. But this? This is a different kind of sexy. Effortless. Relaxed. Dangerous.
I stand there like an idiot, watching him like some kind of creep. As if he can feel me staring at him, his eyes lift from the page, locking onto mine.
My breath catches. Deer. Headlights. Me.
“Hey,” he says casually, like he didn’t catch me ogling him.
“Hi,” I say, not looking away. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I just needed some water.”
He chuckles, setting the book down slightly. “You’re not disturbing me. This is your home now.”
This is your home now . The words land heavier than they should, making something stir low in my stomach. I nod, offering him a small smile before stepping into the kitchen. I grab a bottle of water, twisting the cap nervously as I linger by the counter.
“Thanks for the vanilla soaps and candles.” I steal a look at him. He didn’t know which bedroom I’d pick, but the bathroom was stocked with them.
How did he even know that’s my favorite scent? Unless— “It was you, wasn’t it?” I ask, shuffling my feet against the floor. “You sent me the candles last time, too.”
“Yeah.” His eyes flick up before returning to his book. “Bertrand might have mentioned something about you needing them.” He says it like it’s no big deal, but it’s thoughtful—too thoughtful—and it’s making my heart flip in a way it shouldn’t.
“What are you reading?” I nod toward the book on his lap.
“It’s a romance novel.”
“Romance?” Not what I expected. Finance, philosophy, or whatever rich people read. Romance? Not so much.
“Yeah.” His lips curve slightly. “It’s one of Mia’s new releases.”
Oh. I’ve been meaning to read it, but honestly? I’m not much of a reader. The first book is still sitting on my nightstand, half-finished.
“Have you read it?”
“I haven’t even finished the first one,” I admit, sheepishly.
He gives me an easy smile, but doesn’t respond immediately
“I know. I’m a terrible friend.” I move to sit on the couch.
“You’re not a terrible friend. Not everyone’s a reader,” he says easily. “She also has the audiobook, if you want to try that.”
I blink. “I didn’t think about that. I’ll try it.”
Ruby stirs, hopping off the sofa and padding over to me. She climbs onto my lap, settling against my side like I’m her new favorite person.
“Looks like she likes you more than me,” he teases.
“That’s not true.” I scratch behind her ears. “You’re her daddy.”
The second the word leaves my mouth, his eyes lift from the book to meet mine, a little wider under his glasses. Ugh, those glasses are so fucking sexy. They lock onto mine for a beat before looking down at the book.
Does someone have a daddy kink?
“Your daddy’s a little jealous,” I push just a little.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His glasses slip slightly down the bridge of his nose as his dark eyes lock with mine. “I can be a jealous man when it comes to what’s mine.” It doesn’t sound like he’s only talking about Ruby.
Heat blooms across my face, and I look away quickly. “You don’t mind if I watch TV?” I grab the remote.
He sets his book aside and puts his glasses on the coffee table. “You pick the movie.” He stands. “I’ll grab the snacks.”
Wait—what?
“You’re going to watch the movie with me?” I blink at him.
He pauses mid-step, his eyebrows lifting just enough to make me feel ridiculous for asking. His lips curve into a barely there smirk. Isn’t it obvious?
I scoff, narrowing my eyes at him. “I didn’t think you’d actually join me.”
“Why not?”
“I thought you’d rather read.”
“Well, it would be rude to let you watch the movie alone,” he replies, already heading toward the kitchen, Ruby trailing after him.
I can hear the fridge opening, followed by the clinking of glass and the pop of a bottle. But I refuse to look his way; instead, I grab the remote and scroll mindlessly through the movies.
I didn’t plan on having a movie night with him.
He comes back carrying a wooden board topped with slices of bread, wedges of cheese, and clusters of grapes. A bottle of red wine and two glasses are tucked under his arm.
“Seriously?” I stare at the setup like it’s straight out of a Pinterest board. “You made a whole cheese board?”
“Should I have made a half board?” He smirks, setting everything down.
“él se cree gracioso (He thinks he’s funny),” I mutter.
His smirk deepens like he caught every word. He didn’t, right?
“When you said snacks, I thought you meant chips, popcorn… you know, normal movie-night snacks.”
“This is normal. At least, for me.”
“Of course, it is.” I watch as he arranges the glasses and starts cutting wedges of cheese like we’re at some chic Parisian bistro.
“Besides, you liked it last time.”
“Well, that was different.” I don’t want to think about last time. But when I look up, his eyes are already on mine, lingering like he’s thinking about it, too. The air feels heavier for a moment before I clear my throat. “This is still a bit extra for movie night, don’t you think?”
“I’m French. What did you expect?”
I shake my head, fighting back a grin as he pours the wine into the glasses. Ruby sniffs at the cheese board beside him.
He gently nudges her away. “Not for you, ma petite,” he murmurs to her before handing me a glass.
“Thanks.” My fingers wrap around the stem. “What kind of movie are you in the mood for?” I scroll through the options on the screen.
“You pick,” he says, cutting a small piece of cheese and pairing it with a grape. He pops it into his mouth like it’s second nature, the action unassuming but—annoyingly sexy.
I force my eyes to stay on the screen instead of glancing at him. The romantic movie I’ve chosen is supposed to be a distraction, but it’s failing miserably.
I catch his movement from the corner of my eye as he reaches over to the table, grabbing another grape. Instead of pairing it with cheese right away, he brings it to his mouth, his teeth sinking into the skin as he peels it off. Then he pairs it with cheese and holds it out to me.
I stare at the grape in his hands and back to meet his eyes, unsure what to do or say.
“I know you don’t like the texture.”
“You remember?” I whisper, as if saying it any louder might make it more real.
“I remember everything.” His eyes hold mine, bringing back memories I’ve been trying so hard to forget.
We spent the whole day together, from morning until late into the night. By the time we found ourselves at the park under the streetlights, it felt like the world had gone quiet, leaving just the two of us.
We laughed at nothing and everything, my stomach aching from how much I’d smiled. I danced under the streetlights while he watched, his eyes never leaving me. The past couple of weeks had been perfect in ways I didn’t expect. But now, I had only two days left before I returned to New York, and something about the thought made my chest tightened.
When it was time to leave, he suggested we go to his mansion instead of taking me back to my cottage at Mia’s grandmother’s vineyard.
I knew it was a bad idea. I saw the way he looked at me, how his gaze lingered just a second too long on my lips.
I wanted to kiss him. I wanted so much more than just a kiss.
But there were so many reasons why I shouldn’t. Mia was at the top of the list.
The little voice in my head told me not to go. Bad idea, Rylee .
As always, I didn’t listen. I didn’t want the night to end.
His mansion was massive—more like a palace, really. Even in the dark, the size of the place was impossible to miss. The ceilings stretched high above us, and the living room was so spacious it felt like something out of a movie.
We sat cross-legged on the plush carpet, Uno cards scattered between us. He had made a cheese board earlier, complete with wine, and the room felt cozy despite its size. It was probably 2 a.m., but I didn’t feel tired. The whole day had stretched on forever, in the best way.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his brow arching as he watched me peel the skin off a grape before pairing it with cheese.
“I just hate the texture,” I said, frowning slightly as I held up the peeled grape.
He chuckled, a warm sound that sent a shiver through me.
“What?” I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Nothing.” His smile softened as he grabbed a grape, peeled it just like I had, and paired it with cheese. He held it out to me, waiting.
I reached for it, but he shook his head, his smile widening as he gestured for me to open my mouth. My breath caught as I hesitated, but I parted my lips.
He leaned in, placing the bite gently on my tongue. His fingers brushed my lips as he pulled back, lingering for a moment longer than they should have.
The light, teasing air between us shifted. Heat coiled in my stomach as I swallowed. When I looked up, his gaze was already on me, pulling me in like a moon in the dark.
I wanted this man. There was no denying it. And judging by the way his jaw tightened and his eyes dropped briefly to my mouth, he wanted me too.
I blink, the memories fading as I meet his gaze. His eyes are on me like he’s thinking the same thing. My stomach flips, heat crawls up my neck, and I quickly shift my attention to the TV.
Ruby wedges between us as the movie plays, resting her head on my lap. He reaches over to pet her, his fingers brushing lightly against my arm.
The contact sends a shiver through me, goose bumps prickling my skin before I can stop them.
“Cold?” A slow grin spreads across his face.
I shrug, trying to sound casual. “No. You?”
His grin widens. “No.”
I turn back to the screen, pretending to focus, but it’s useless. He’s still watching me instead of the TV. Another shiver runs through me. Before I can say anything, he grabs the throw blanket draped over the back of the couch and tosses it over me.
“You look cold.” He pulls the blanket over my shoulders. Well, I was a little cold. Being anemic means I get cold often due to a lack of blood cells.
His arm rests against mine under the blanket, his warmth seeping through, and my stomach twists in ways I don’t want to name. I should move and put space between us, but I don’t.
It’s definitely the wine. That’s the only reason I’m snuggled into him right now, my head resting against his shoulder, his arm wrapped around me like it’s always belonged there. The empty glass sits forgotten on the coffee table. He’s feeding me cheese, crackers, and grapes.
The movie continues playing, and we’re losing it over the absurdity unfolding on-screen. The woman bursts into the guy’s office holding a dead plant and a dog wearing a ridiculous costume.
His laugh rumbles beneath me, and he shakes his head as the scene escalates. “I don’t care what kind of apology she’s trying to make—there is no way my dog is ever wearing something like that.”
I gasp through my laughter, clutching his arm for balance. “But Ruby would look so cute! Imagine her with a cute pink little tutu.”
“Nope.” He chuckles, looking genuinely horrified. “You’re not getting near her with that idea.”
My laughter bubbles over, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes as the woman waves the sad little plant dramatically, shouting something overly emotional about their future. “Oh my God, and the plant? She’s doing this!”
He leans back against the couch, his broad shoulders shaking with laughter. “She’s completely lost it. He should’ve run the second she walked in.”
But then the laughter fades as the movie shifts. The next scene is quieter, the tension building as the couple stares at each other. Their emotions bubble to the surface into something deeper, more intimate. I make the mistake of turning my head to look at him.
His eyes are already on me.
The glow of the TV flickers across his face, catching the sharp angle of his jaw and the faint curve of his lips. He’s staring at me like he’s memorizing me, like he’s afraid I might disappear if he blinks. His gaze drops, staying on my lips, and heat pools low in my belly.
I’ve been dreaming about kissing him again since that kiss in my office. Now, with him this close, his scent wrapping around me, something fresh and woodsy mixed with the faintest trace of the wine—we’re on dangerous ground.
I don’t know who moves first or leans in, but before I know what’s happening, my lips brush against his. My body shifts without thought as I move onto his lap. My knees sink into the couch cushions on either side of his thighs. My heartbeat is so loud, I’m sure he can hear it. His hands fall to my waist, his fingers curling there as if on instinct, but he doesn’t pull me closer. He watches me, his dark eyes half-lidded, his breath shallow.
This is a fucking terrible idea, Rylee , the small, logical voice in my head hisses. But I’m not listening to it right now. I never do when it comes to him.
My fingers slide into his hair, threading through his curls, soft and thick, just like I remember. His breath catches, his chest lifting slightly as his hands grip my hips.
“Rylee,” he murmurs like he’s trying to talk himself out of whatever this is. But his hold on my hips hardens, pulling me a little closer. That tiny movement, that slight pull, is all the permission I need.
Leaning down, I press my lips against his again, and we exhale simultaneously, like we’ve both been starving for this moment. I can taste the wine on his tongue as the kiss deepens, a quiet moan slipping from me before I can stop it. His groan follows, the sound curling through my body like a spark to dry kindling.
My hips press into him, seeking relief from the ache between my thighs. His body reacts immediately, hardening beneath me, and I let out a needy whimper that has his fingers bruising my waist.
“Fuck, Rylee,” he mutters against my lips. The warning in his tone doesn’t stop me. I don’t want to stop.
The layers of fabric between us might as well not exist, the friction building as I grind against him, desperate for more. His hands guide my movements as we find a maddening and perfect rhythm. My head tips back, a gasp tearing from my throat as the pressure spirals tighter and tighter.
He flips us, his movements controlled as he presses me into the couch. The cushions dip beneath my weight, molding around us. His body aligns with mine, and his hard length grinds into the perfect spot that has a gasp tearing from my lips.
“Oh, God.” My nails dig into his shoulders, desperate for something to hold on to as the pleasure coils inside me, threatening to snap.
He pauses, hovering above me for a single heartbeat, like he’s giving me an out. A moment to stop this before it goes too far, but my body is begging for more. “Please, don’t stop.”
The last thread of restraint he was holding on to crumbles. His mouth crashes into mine again, rougher this time. His desperate kiss matches every bit of my hunger. My moans mix with the faint sound of the movie still playing in the background, but it’s all white noise now. Nothing else exists but him—the way he feels and we feel.
His lips trail down my neck, and his tongue leaves a searing path in its wake. He slips his hands under my T-shirt, igniting every nerve. I didn’t bother with a bra tonight, and when his fingers brushed over my bare nipple, teasing the sensitive bud, I gasp, my back arching into his touch.
His hips grind into me. Each thrust is a perfect tease. I’m trembling beneath him, helpless against the intensity of it all, as the tension builds unbearable.
“Are you going to be a good girl and come for papi?” His breath shudders against my ear.
Papi . Oh fuck. My heart flutters like tiny bird wings. “Yes,” I gasp.
“Yes, what?” he demands.
“Sí, papi,” I choke out in broken moans.
My orgasm crashes through me, wracking my body with wave after wave of intense ecstasy. I cling to him, toes curling as the pleasure takes over.
Luc’s eyes darken with something feral. The weight of his body presses harder into me now, faster, more desperate, grinding perfectly against my sensitive clit. Sending aftershocks of pleasure through my over-sensitive body. Warm, ragged breaths fan over my neck, his rhythm faltering as he loses control.
“Rylee.” He groans my name, a raw, guttural sound as he latches onto me. His entire body goes tense, a shudder ripping through him. He buries his face in my neck, his breath hot against my skin as his body jerks, his weight sinking into me.
For a moment, neither of us moves. His weight presses me deeper into the couch, his head resting on my shoulder, and his breath warm against my skin.
Did he just… Did he come too?
His lips find mine again, softer now, as though centering me while the world slowly settles around us. He pulls back just enough to look at me. His hand cradles my face, and his thumb brushes soothing circles over my cheek. The moment is too tender. I press my palms to his chest. My hands tremble as I push him away gently. “I should… I should get to bed.”
His brows pull together, a shadow of disappointment passing across his face. His hands remain on my waist, his grip loose but hesitant, like he doesn’t want to let go.
“Rylee,” he says softly, almost pleading.
I can’t do this.
Sliding out from under him, I adjust my pajama shorts with clumsy fingers. “Good night.” I grab my phone from the coffee table as I walk away.
His eyes are still on my back as I make my way upstairs. My body screams at me to turn around and stay.
The moment my bedroom door clicks shut behind me, I collapse against it. My knees give out, and I sink slowly to the floor, the cool wood pressing against my spine.
I pull my knees to my chest, curling into myself as my fingers brush over my swollen lips. They’re tender, tingling from his kisses, and his taste still lingers there.
My thighs press together, sticky from the orgasm he pulled from me with nothing but the friction of his body.
What the hell have I done?
I release a frustrated groan, letting my head fall back against the door. My chest aches as I sit there. I should call this off. Cancel the agreement. There has to be another way.
My phone vibrates, cutting through my thoughts. I unlock the screen to see my sister’s name. It sends a wave of guilt crashing over me. So heavy it feels like I might choke on it.
I’m doing this for her .
My fingers wrap around the phone so tightly it hurts. I can survive a little heartbreak. I can survive anything if it means she’s okay.