Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
GAGE
He hadn’t knocked on her door since the first time they met. That moment had been unexpectedly pivotal, something he could recall instantly, down to the exact way she’d looked at him. Wide, guileless eyes, unaware of their effect. Unsure what to make of him.
Now, he knew exactly what to make of her.
He lifted his hand and knocked.
The door opened.
She stood, backlit by the windows of the apartment. Her hair, usually pin-straight, had been styled into soft, glossy waves. For him. The kind of soft that asked to be touched. He tucked his hands in his pockets.
The dress was white and pale blue. Feminine. On someone else it might have looked demure. But Bea had a body that turned restraint into suggestion. He didn’t let himself think about how easily it would come off.
“You’re here,” she said, her smile almost cautious.
He crossed the threshold, closing the space between them. Noted her scent—vanilla, something floral. Registered the pull. Decided not to fight it.
“I’m here.”
She shifted, a subtle adjustment of weight. Nervous. “I wasn’t sure what kind of dress. You didn’t mention where we were going.”
Gage took his time looking, taking her question as permission. “That’ll do.”
A simple summary. No room for doubt.
As they walked toward his car, his palm found the small of her back. Noted the way her spine lengthened instinctively at his touch.
She slipped into the car. He shut the door, then moved to the driver’s side.
She probably expected St. Ives town. Or maybe Northgate.
They talked, half focused, surface-level, the way people chat when they were actually thinking about what came next.
She watched the road. From the corner of his eye, he watched her.
Fifteen minutes later, he turned. A private airstrip stretched ahead—gated, lit, empty but for the jet already waiting.
Bea blinked. Turned to him. “Should I be surprised?”
Gage’s lips curved. He said nothing, stepping out into the cool air. He felt her eyes track him through the windshield of the car. He crossed to her side and opened her door.
When she hesitated, he held out a hand. Steady, unapologetic. “You’ll be safe.”
Her jaw clenched. Like she was gathering herself.
The moment her fingers touched his, he knew she was going with him.
Curiosity had tipped into trust—just enough. She stepped onto the tarmac, her heel snagging slightly on the concrete. His grip tightened instinctively, steadying her before she could stumble.
Their flight attendant, Macy, waited at the base of the stairs, perfectly poised in a navy uniform, her smile practiced and professional.
“Welcome, Mr. King. Miss Cruz.”
Gage nodded once in acknowledgment, guiding Bea up the steps and into the cabin. Inside, the air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of leather and citrus polish. A bottle of chilled champagne rested in a silver bucket, condensation pooling at its base.
Macy adjusted the linen and checked the settings, unobtrusive, capable, before stepping away.
Gage reached for the bottle.
Bea sat carefully, accepting the glass he held out. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Would it change anything?”
She arched a brow. “It will if I need a passport.”
“I suppose you’ll find out.”
Bea shook her head, smiling despite herself.
Macy returned. “We’ll be in the air shortly, Mr. King, Miss Cruz. Let me know if you need anything.”
Bea murmured a quiet thanks as the woman disappeared into the galley.
She gripped the seat arms as the jet taxied, the cabin vibrating with soft momentum before lifting smoothly into the sky.
She didn’t like not knowing.
But she was letting it happen. Trusting him to take her down an unknown road. That mattered more than anything she could’ve said.
Because what came next was irreversible. The kind of escalation that reset the board.
And Gage had no intention of playing small.
An hour and a half later
The plane landed just after dusk.
They stepped onto the bitumen, and Bea slipped out of her coat, humid air clinging to her skin in place of the crisp autumn chill they’d left behind. Gage took it from her without a word, handing it to a waiting driver who stood beside a sleek black car.
They drove along a narrow road curving along the edge of the island. The air was thick with salt and hibiscus. Through breaks in the trees, the jagged silhouette of Mount Otemanu loomed against the starlit sky.
Bea watched as the island revealed itself in pieces—dense forest, stretches of white sand, then water. Always the water.
The road ended at a small dock that jutted into a lagoon. A wooden boat waited at the edge, its oarsman silent, already standing. No questions. No instructions.
Bea paused again.
It was a boat, she told herself. Not a metaphor. Not a trap.
She’d already come this far.
Bea got in first. Gage followed.
The boat glided almost soundlessly across the lagoon. In the distance, overwater villas glowed like lanterns floating on the sea.
They reached a private bungalow perched at the far end. The dock led straight to a candlelit terrace. One table. Two chairs.
Bea spun slowly around. A gradual thrum started in her chest and spread outward.
Endless ocean. Endless night. Moonlight, glistening like spilled silver across the water. And the quiet sense that this moment had been waiting for her, long before she ever arrived.
She’d never seen anything so purposefully beautiful. Like whoever designed this moment knew exactly how to disarm her.
The man in front of her.
“Gage,” she whispered. He said nothing, letting the moment speak for itself. She turned to him slowly, not bothering to mask her disbelief. “This is…”
“Dinner,” he said simply.
She dragged her gaze back to the sea. Then to him. “This is insane.”
Gage came forward. Close enough that the tips of his shoes brushed against hers. She pressed a hand to her sternum, fingers splayed, like she could anchor the feeling in place.
“You flew me to Bora Bora,” she whispered, “for dinner?”
“Yes.”
Her laugh was quiet, disbelieving. She shook her head again, trying to process him. Then, finally, she whispered, “What are you doing?”
“Making sure I have your complete attention.”
Bea’s chest rose and fell in languid, measured breaths. She searched his gaze for answers—a tell, a trick. And yet all she found was that maddening steadiness. He wasn’t hoping this would work; he already knew it would. She should’ve felt trapped. Instead she felt…seen.
She cleared her throat. “So, do you do this often?”
“Do what?”
She gestured around them. “Fly girls to tropical islands. Sweep them off their feet.”
Gage watched her. “Would it matter if I did?”
Bea narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”
The corner of his mouth tipped slightly upward. “Then it’s a good thing for both of us that I don’t.”
She shook her head, smiling, but didn’t resist as he led her toward the table.
He didn’t take the seat across from her. He sat beside her. Close.
Bea’s eyes took in the details in front of her. Plates edged in gold leaf sat atop woven chargers the color of driftwood. Cream linen napkins rolled and tied with thin strands of palm fiber. Soft ukulele drifted from somewhere behind the palms.
She had to be dreaming. A good dream. The kind you didn’t want to wake up from. “This isn’t subtle.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “Subtle doesn’t get results.”
She studied his profile, the edge of him cast in candlelight. “You always expect results.”
“I don’t do things without a payoff, Bea.”
She’d heard those words before. He was repeating them on purpose. A reminder—that at some point, soon, he was going to collect.
The car rolled to a seamless stop in front of Mayfield Hall. The engine faded, but the quiet between them lingered.
Bea fiddled with the pendant of her necklace. How did you end a night like this? A thank-you felt absurd when the man beside her had flown her to French Polynesia like it was just another part of town.
Gage had one hand resting on the wheel, the other on his thigh. His body was angled toward her now, watching. The silence felt heavy, like it knew what he wasn’t saying.
She forced herself to speak. “This was…” she started, then faltered.
He tilted his head. “A good night?”
She gave a small smile. “Yeah.”
Now was the moment to leave. To reach for the door.
She didn’t.
The quiet pressed in, asking for a decision. She wasn’t brave enough to look at him.
“Bea.” An invitation. A challenge.
She turned warily. Heart already pounding.
The anticipation was electric, stretching the seconds between them until it felt like the world had stopped just to watch.
She knew it was coming. Knew it with the same certainty she knew her own name.
He touched her jaw, tilting her chin gently. Her breath caught. He leaned in, his plush mouth brushing hers with agonizing precision. Not rushed. Not demanding. But it wrecked her. Heat surged under her skin—wild and disorienting, stealing her balance. Her body leaned in before her mind caught up.
It didn’t matter that it was gentle. It was intimate in a way she’d never felt before.
He kissed her again, a fraction deeper. So careful. Like he wanted her to feel the choice. Like he’d already made his, and was giving her space to make hers.
She wanted it too much. Too soon. Too easily.
Her fingers found his shirt. Curled. Pressed, slightly.
He felt it. Stopped.
His mouth hovered a second longer—enough to make sure she’d feel the absence.
“I should go inside,” she whispered.
He withdrew slowly. His hand flexed once against the console. “Okay.”
But he didn’t look away. And the fire he’d lit under her skin didn’t go out.
Bea drew an unsteady breath, reaching for the handle. “Goodnight, Gage.”
“Goodnight, Bea.”
She opened the door, then stopped. Looked over her shoulder. Smiled. “And thanks. For the best first date ever.”
She didn’t wait for his reaction. Didn’t give herself time to second-guess.
She stepped outside, quietly closing the door behind her, forcing herself not to glance back.