Chapter 32
Kori
The next morning, I wake to sunlight streaming through the curtains, pushing my hair out of my face, I sit up and take in the guest room I’ve been given.
It’s beautiful in that old-money way—antique furniture, silk bedding, artwork that probably costs more than my car—a stark contrast to the cozy charm of Wavecrest.
A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.
“Come in,” I called, pulling the covers up to my chin, suddenly conscious of my pajamas—an oversized t-shirt and shorts that weren’t meant for anyone else’s eyes.
The door opens to reveal Kane, already dressed in jeans and a Henley that hugs his broad shoulders in a way that makes my mouth go dry. He’s carrying a tray with coffee and what appear to be fresh pastries.
“Morning,” he says, kicking the door closed behind him. “Thought you might want breakfast before facing the MacGallan inquisition downstairs.”
“My hero,” I say, making grabby hands at the coffee. “How are you doing this morning?”
He sets the tray on the bedside table and sits on the edge of the mattress, close enough that I can smell his soap and something uniquely him. “Better than expected, actually. Had some time to process everything.”
I take a sip of the coffee—perfect, with just the right amount of milk—and study him over the rim of the mug. “And?”
“And I’ve been thinking,” he says, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. The casual intimacy of the gesture sends a shiver down my spine. “Declan wants to postpone Alberta for a week. Apparently, some estate matters need handling first.”
“How do you feel about that?”
He shrugs, his hand lingering near my face. “Honestly? I’m relieved. I need some time before facing whatever’s waiting for us there.”
“So we’re staying here? At the estate?” I ask, trying to ignore the way my skin tingles where his fingers brushed it.
“For a week, yeah.” His eyes meet mine, something warm and questioning in their depths. “Unless you’d rather go back to Toronto? Deal with Mark and everything?”
I shake my head quickly. “No. Definitely not ready for that.”
“Good,” he says softly. His thumb traces my cheekbone, and I find myself leaning into his touch. “Because I’m not ready to let you go yet.”
The air between us shifts, charged with something that’s been building since that first kiss in the Irish rain. I set my coffee down carefully, not trusting my suddenly trembling hands.
“Kane,” I start, not sure what I’m going to say next.
He leans closer, his breath warm against my lips. “Yes?”
“I—” Whatever I was about to say disappears as his mouth meets mine, soft and questioning at first, then more insistent as I respond. My hands find their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer until he’s half on top of me, the covers between us suddenly an unwelcome barrier.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard. His eyes are darker now, pupils dilated with desire.
“We should slow down,” I say, though my body is screaming the opposite.
“Is that what you want?” he asks, his voice rough in a way that makes heat pool low in my belly.
I consider the question seriously. What do I want?
I’m technically still married, though that marriage is undeniably over.
I barely know Kane, though in some ways I feel I know him better than people I’ve known for years.
And there’s no denying the chemistry between us, the pull that’s been there from the start.
“No,” I admit finally. “Slowing down is the last thing I want.”
His smile is slow and devastating. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about this—about you—since that first day on the plane.”
He kisses me again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes me moan softly. His hand skims down my side, finding the hem of my t-shirt and slipping underneath to touch bare skin. I arch into his touch, suddenly desperate for more.
“Wait,” I gasp, pulling back just enough to look at him. “The door—”
“Locked it behind me,” he murmurs against my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below my ear.
“And the others?”
“Breakfast meeting in the east wing. We have hours.”
That’s all the reassurance I need. I pull him down for another kiss, wrapping my legs around his waist as he settles more fully on top of me. His weight is delicious, solid, and real in a way that grounds me when everything else feels uncertain.
His hands are everywhere. Tracing the curve of my waist, cupping my breast through the thin cotton of my shirt, sliding along my thigh. Each touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake, my body responding with an eagerness that would be embarrassing if he weren’t so obviously affected, too.
I tug at his shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine.
He sits back just long enough to pull it over his head, revealing the tattooed torso I’ve been imagining since that first glimpse on the plane.
Celtic patterns wind around his arms, disappearing beneath his jeans, while a stylized dragon curls across his left pectoral.
“Your turn,” he says, his voice husky as his fingers find the edge of my shirt.
I hesitate only briefly before lifting my arms, letting him pull the garment over my head. The cool air pebbles my nipples, and I resist the urge to cover myself as his gaze roams over my exposed skin.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, and the reverence in his voice melts away any lingering self-consciousness.
His mouth finds my breast, tongue circling the sensitive peak before taking it between his lips. I arch off the bed, a gasp escaping me at the sensation. His hand slides up my other side, palming my neglected breast with just the right pressure.
“Kane,” I moan, my fingers threading through his hair, holding him to me.
He hums against my skin, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure straight to my core. His free hand travels lower, tracing the waistband of my shorts before dipping beneath to find me already wet for him.
“Fuck,” he groans, his fingers exploring dripping pussy. “You feel amazing.”
I can’t form words, can only whimper as he finds my clit, circling it with just enough pressure to drive me wild but not enough to push me over the edge. My hips buck, seeking more, and he obliges, sliding one finger inside me while his thumb continues its maddening circles.
“Please,” I finally managed, tugging at his hair to bring his face back to mine. “I need—”
“What do you need?” he asks, his eyes dark with desire as he adds a second finger, stretching me deliciously. “Tell me.”
“You,” I gasp as he crooks his fingers, finding that spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. “Inside me. Now.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He withdraws his hand, making quick work of his jeans and boxers while I shimmy out of my shorts and underwear. Then he’s back, gloriously naked, his body covering mine as he settles between my thighs.
The feel of him, hard and hot against my entrance, nearly undoes me. He pauses, forehead pressed to mine, breathing ragged.
“Protection?” he asks, and I almost laugh at his restraint when I can feel how much he wants this.
“I’m on the pill,” I tell him. “And I’m clean. You?”
“Clean,” he confirms. “Got tested after my last relationship ended.”
That’s all we need. With one smooth thrust, he’s inside me, filling me in a way that makes both of us groan. He stills, giving me time to adjust, his arms trembling with the effort of holding back.
“Okay?” he asks, his voice strained.
In answer, I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. His control snaps, and he begins to move, each thrust driving me higher, closer to the edge. I match his rhythm, my nails scoring his back as the tension builds.
“God, Kori,” he pants against my neck. “You feel so good. So perfect.”
His words, combined with the delicious friction where our bodies join, push me closer to release. When his hand slips between us to circle my clit again, I shatter, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crash over me.
He follows moments later, his rhythm faltering as he buries his face in my neck, a guttural moan escaping him as he pulses inside me.
For a long moment, we lie tangled together, sweat-slicked and breathing hard. He’s heavy on top of me, but I don’t want him to move, not yet. I want to stay in this bubble where nothing exists but the two of us, where there are no dead fathers or fake sisters or cheating husbands.
Eventually, he shifts, rolling to his side but keeping one arm draped across my waist, his face close to mine on the pillow.
“That was...” he starts, then shakes his head, apparently at a loss for words.
I laugh softly, feeling lighter than I have in months. “Yeah. It was.”
His fingers trace lazy patterns on my stomach, raising goosebumps in their wake. “No regrets?” he asks, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes.
I consider the question seriously. “None,” I decided. “You?”
“Only that we didn’t do this sooner,” he says with a grin that makes my heart skip.
I swat his arm playfully. “We’ve known each other for all of two weeks!”
“Longest two weeks of my life,” he counters, pulling me closer for a slow, thorough kiss that rekindles the heat between us. His hand slides down my body, finding me still sensitive but already responding to his touch. “Round two?” he murmurs against my lips.