Chapter 28
Scottie
ENTHUSIASTICALLY MARRIED
I’m in trouble. The irreversible, life-changing, fuck-up-all-my-plans kind of trouble.
Because I think I’m falling for my husband.
Not a crush.
Not an infatuation.
Not just good dick—though, to be fair, that’s absolutely not helping.
I mean falling.
Giggling, kicking-my-feet, want-to-scream-it-from-the-rooftops falling.
Butterflies-in-my-stomach, heart-racing, can’t-imagine-ever-losing-this feeling falling.
And yeah—it’s fast.
Too fast.
The kind of fast that should terrify me.
And I have no idea what to do about it.
“We’re here,” Gavin says as he makes the turn to go down the long driveway.
Shaking my head, I snap out of my own thoughts and try to focus.
I know we agreed to actually make this relationship real while we’re here, but we still have to appeal to these people. I can’t withdraw and act like I’m confused or distracted because I’m realizing my feelings at the most inconvenient time.
The trees open up and the house comes into view—bigger than I remember. Charming. Warm. The clapboard siding warped by time and weather, but only adding to its appeal.
Parked in the circular driveway, right in front of the wraparound porch, is a car that looks out of place.
A red, sleek, shiny, luxury foreign-looking car with black tinted windows and out-of-state plates.
I only met them the one time, but it doesn’t look like the kind of car Carl and Maggie would drive.
My gaze cuts to Gavin who looks suspicious about it as well.
We step out of the car and before I can fully get my bearings, the front door swings open. Carl is waving alongside Maggie as they stand on the porch.
“Hey there!” Carl calls.
I wave back as Gavin grabs our bags from the back.
Maggie meets me halfway down the porch steps and pulls me into a warm, unexpected hug that smells like cinnamon and lavender. “We’re so glad you two could make it.”
Gavin and Carl shake hands and together we all go in inside.
The view from the floor to ceiling windows is the first thing I notice.
I walk up to get a closer look, drawn in by its beauty.
It really is a stunning view, the lake shimmering under the bright sun.
If you stand just right, it feels like you’re floating—land gone, just the sky above and lake below.
Carl is trying to take one of the bags, Maggie is pointing down the hall explaining which room is ours, and I turn to follow them—and walk directly into something solid.
It’s potent smelling.
Like overpriced cologne mixed with strong whiskey.
“Oh—sorry,” a smooth voice says.
I look up to find a man I don’t recognize.
He’s tall, but still a little shorter than Gavin.
Dressed in a suit tailored within an inch of its life, his hair slicked back.
He hits me with an aw-shucks smile, all charm and teeth—one I might actually believe if it reached his eyes. Maybe he’s the new listing agent.
“Whoops—apologies,” Maggie says quickly. “This is our son, Andy. He surprised us with a visit.”
He sticks out his hand. “Andrew,” he corrects.
I shake his hand on instinct. Soft skin. No calluses. No sign of any real work. His thumb lingers on my wrist—quick enough to look accidental, slow enough to mean he wanted me to notice.
Before I can recoil, an arm slides around my shoulder, pulling me close. It’s Gavin. And I feel instantly relieved with him by my side.
“Gavin,” he says evenly, shaking Andrew’s hand with his free one. “And this is my wife, Scottie.”
The way he emphasized wife sends a little spark down my spine. It almost sounded possessive and it’s embarrassing how much I like it.
Andrew’s eyes linger on my ring for a beat before he smiles, that same too-smooth curve of his mouth, and steps back like nothing happened.
Maggie claps her hands together lightly, breaking the moment. “Well! Let’s get you two settled. Lunch will be ready in about an hour. No rush—just decompress from the drive.”
We follow them down the hall, past family photographs and painted landscapes, the house creaking in that comforting, old-bones kind of way. Carl directs Gavin to set the bags just inside the doorway while Maggie pushes open the door to our room with a little flourish.
It’s simple and cozy—wood beams, two wide windows looking over the water, and a quilt that looks handmade.
“This was our mother-in-law suite, so it’s nice and roomy. And there’s a full en suite, so you’ll have your privacy. If you need a thing, just holler,” Maggie says, patting my arm. “We’ll leave you two to settle in.”
She and Carl head back down the hall, their voices fading toward the kitchen.
The second their footsteps disappear, Gavin shuts the door.
His jaw is tight. His shoulders are tense. Then his hands find my waist, like he can’t stand one more second without touching me.
“I don’t like the way that guy was looking at you,” he says quietly.
His tone is hard and rough, and so unlike the Gavin I’m used to.
I blink up at him. “What do you mean?”
I’m playing dumb, I know what he means, but up until now I thought it was in my head. And seeing this side of Gavin is ridiculously hot. I shouldn’t encourage it. I really shouldn’t.
His eyes flick toward the door, as if Andrew’s presence is still lingering in the air. “He was checking you out. In front of me.”
A warmth starts to curl low in my stomach. Why is this so hot?
Out of all his siblings, he’s the even-keeled one, the level-headed one, the one who never lets his emotions get the best of him. But right now he looks like none of those things—and it’s wildly attractive that he’s losing control because of me.
I press a hand to his chest. “You’re not jealous, are you?”
His gaze snaps to mine. Not embarrassed. Not defensive. He’s looking at me with the kind of carnal need that sends my heart beating in a frenzy, pulse racing, pressure building between my hips.
“Yes, I got fucking jealous.”
I swallow, trapped in his stare. “Why?”
His hand slides from my my waist, down my hips and around the curve of my ass, slow and deliberate, like he’s claiming territory one inch at a time. “Because you’re mine.”
An exhale punches out of me. My voice tries to be teasing but comes out breathy instead. “Oh. Yours?”
One of his hand lifts, fingers brushing my jaw, my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Yeah,” he says, voice low enough to vibrate in my chest. “Mine.”
The air thickens, like a cloud of lust and desire is wrapping around us.
I rise onto my toes, my hands sliding up his chest. “I am yours. And you’re mine. I want you, only you.”
His exhale is shaky.
And then his mouth is on mine.
His hands grip my hips, guiding me back until my legs hit the edge of the bed. I fall back against it with a soft bounce, and he follows, bracing himself over me, his knee sliding between mine, heat pressing into heat.
His lips trail down my jaw, to my throat, to the spot beneath my ear that makes my heartbeat trip over itself.
“I’ve never felt this kind of jealousy before,” he murmurs against my skin. “It’s like I can’t control it.”
My fingers curl in his shirt, pulling him closer because I need him closer. “Why do you think you feel it?” I whisper, barely holding steady.
“Because I’ve wanted you for so long. I can’t handle the thought of someone coming between us. And it’s not just him—it’s anyone. I can’t lose you. Not now. Not when I finally have you.”
My heart does that dizzying, too-fast, too-full thing again. That falling thing. That terrifying, exhilarating, I’ll never come back from this thing.
His mouth crashes back to mine—deeper, hungrier, full of that jealousy and need. His hand slides under my shirt, fingers splaying across my lower back, dragging heat through my skin.
I gasp into his mouth and he swallows the sound like it belongs to him.
His knee shifts between my thighs and I instinctively rock against him, chasing friction, chasing relief, chasing him.
He groans—low and rough, like I just knocked him off balance. “Scottie…”
The sound of my name like that—like a prayer, like a warning, like worship—nearly undoes me.
I tug him down, lips brushing his ear. “I want you,” I whisper. “Right now.”
His breath stutters—and then a floorboard creaks somewhere down the hallway.
We freeze.
Not because we want to.
But because we’re in a stranger’s house.
With people.
Gavin’s forehead rests against mine, both of us breathing hard, caught halfway between falling apart and holding it together.
He laughs—a soft, frustrated exhale. “They said we had an hour.”
“And we’ve been here for what?” I say, completely breathless. “Ninety seconds?”
His smile tilts crooked. “We should be polite guests.”
I drag my thumb along his bottom lip. “We’re being polite. We’re just enthusiastically married.”
He huffs a laugh—then kisses me one more time, slower this time, like he’s imprinting it.
When he finally pulls back, he brushes his fingers along my cheek. “Later,” he promises, voice low enough to bloom heat straight down my spine. “I’m not done with you.”
My pulse thunders.
“Later,” I echo, though I’m pretty sure I will not be the one waiting patiently.
We stay there for a breath—steadying ourselves, gathering what’s left of our composure—before we straighten our clothes and smooth our hair, trying to look like we haven’t just devoured each other.
Lunch is set on the back patio overlooking the water.
There are sandwiches stacked on a wooden board, a pitcher of iced tea sweating in the warmth, pasta salad in a big ceramic bowl, and a heap of Rainier cherries off to the side.
And best of all—no sign of Andy.
“This looks amazing,” I say, sliding into the chair Gavin pulls out for me. His hand grazes my lower back on the way down.
After we managed to pull ourselves together enough to exist in the same room without tearing each other’s clothes off, Gavin unzipped his duffel bag and pulled out one of those tiny mint-green retro fridges. The kind teen girls keep skincare in.
Except this one was Lily’s.