Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Bea should go home.
That was the logical choice.
Dinner with Lillian had been nice. A necessary escape, a restful corner in the middle of a week that had been anything but. They’d talked about assignments, made fun of Lillian’s professor, gossiped lightly about nothing important.
Bea stepped onto the curb, the weight of choice settling over her: left, toward Mayfield Hall, or right, toward him.
The night at Imperium felt distant now, swallowed by the days that had passed. Gage hadn’t mentioned it. Not that night, not after. Not even in the quiet moments where she thought he might. So she had decided it hadn’t mattered. That she had been worried over nothing.
But now, nearly a week had passed since they’d spent more than an hour together at a time. Deadlines had piled up, essays had consumed her, and his schedule had been relentless. They had fallen into late-night calls and hurried lunches in his office. It was good, but it wasn’t enough.
She shifted on her feet, fingers tightening around her phone. And then, before she could overthink it—
She turned right.
Bea stopped outside the black double doors of Gage’s penthouse.
She could still turn around. Could still take the elevator back down and go back to Mayfield Hall. Where it was safe. Where nothing would change.
But where he wasn’t.
The concierge downstairs had recognized her instantly and waved her through.
Mr. King said you’re welcome anytime.
That had bolstered her flailing courage. A little.
But standing in front of his door now, staring at the keypad, she realized what this meant. What it would mean, to him, to them, that she was using his code.
She stared at the panel beside the door. Five numbers. That was all it would take. She shifted on her feet. He hadn’t told her to come over. Hadn’t asked. But she had been thinking about him all day.
Her phone buzzed.
GAGE KING: Are you home?
A sign. Bea took one steadying breath, and punched in the code.
The lock clicked open.
The penthouse glowed softly. Warm lighting spilled from the recessed fixtures, casting soft shadows across the clean space.
Her sneakers were nearly silent as she stepped inside and slid them off.
She turned when she heard movement.
Gage emerged from the hallway. Barefoot, shirtless, every inch of him carved in lines of strength.
His damp hair was pushed back, still tousled from the shower, revealing the sharp angles of his face.
The glow of the apartment lights caught on the ridges of his abdomen, each muscle shifting subtly as he moved.
The world seemed to tip, recalibrating to the fact that Gage King had a body like that.
She swallowed, the sound loud in her own ears.
Of course, she’d known—logically, at least—that a man as disciplined as Gage would have something good going on underneath the three-piece suits he practically lived in.
But knowing it wasn’t the same as seeing it.
Heat spun low and taut, a languid ache that tightened where she was softest.
Suddenly she had the strong sense that she’d miscalculated something crucial.
He stopped midstep. Took her in. Caught the way she stared.
Warmth bloomed in her chest, crawling up her cheeks. “I should’ve texted first,” she said.
Gage’s gaze flicked to the door behind her, unreadable. “You used the code.”
She wasn’t sure if that was a statement or a question. “I did.”
“Come here, sweetheart.”
Her pulse leaped. She stepped forward, each movement feeling surreal, like she was crossing some invisible threshold she couldn’t turn back from. When she was close enough, his arms wrapped around her, and he drew her against him.
She was encased in a fortress of warmth—hard, strong muscle, carved from years of merciless self-control. The scent of him, expensive and clean, unmistakably Gage, filled her entire world. It was dizzying.
She wasn’t sure where to put her hands, if she was even allowed to touch his bare skin. She wanted to. More than she should.
Finally, she rested them lightly on either side of his back.
His muscles shifted beneath her palms, the power in him startlingly real.
She hadn’t known what it would feel like to touch him like this—how solid, how human he was beneath all that control.
Awareness flared, pooling low and molten in her stomach, spreading, pumping through her veins.
“You came here instead of going home,” he murmured. Slowly, he pulled back. His blue eyes held a question.
For a moment, she considered brushing it off. Saying she’d just been passing by, that it was convenient. But she was here. In his space. Wrapped up in him. There was no hiding from that.
“I…missed you.” It was the closest she’d come to saying the thing that was left between them.
“Mm.” He pulled her back in and kissed her. Like he’d taken her admission and etched it on her mouth, signing it with his. Then, against her lips, “You’re staying over?”
Her heart thudded hard, his question slipping into the space where the kiss had been. Her thoughts tripped over themselves.
Bea shook her head.
His eyes darkened. “No?”
“I didn’t…plan to.”
He blinked. “But you used my code.” His fingers navigated down her spine.
Bea was concentrating on breathing. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. But now, standing in his embrace, with the hour so late and him so close, leaving felt…unnecessary. Like something she was forcing just for the sake of it.
“Can I…stay in the guest room?” She held his gaze, but the quiet stretched, and she felt uncertain.
Then, finally—slow, unimpressed—“You’re kidding.”
The idea settled, quick and clear. A win-win. She could stay without giving up more than she was ready to. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something.
Bea straightened in his arms. Steeled herself. “I’m not.”
She felt it beneath her fingertips, the ripple of tension through his back, muscles coiling tight under her palms.
“No,” he said, firm.
She looked up, searching his eyes for a whisper of softness. There was none. He hadn’t let go. If anything, his grip had tightened, holding her in place.
Slowly, she slid her hands down, letting go of him. He didn’t move. Not right away. His hands lingered, strong and steady, until finally, reluctantly, he stepped back.
She needed the inches between them to think.
“You have three bedrooms, Gage.”
“I’m aware.”
“So I’ll take the spare one.”
His eyes narrowed, measuring the depth of her resolve. She wanted to be here. She wanted to see him. And now that he mentioned it, she really wanted to stay.
But she needed to be careful, because with all that smooth skin and pheromone action, her defenses were paper-thin, and she knew it.
Wanting him was easy. But wanting him didn’t mean she loved him. And the last thing she wanted, when everything had been going so well, was something to regret.
“You want to sleep alone?” His voice was softer now, probing.
Yes. No. Maybe?
Ugh.
Her hesitation was answer enough.
“Then take my bed.”
Bea blinked.
“I’ll sleep in the guest room.”
She frowned. “That’s not—”
“It’s the only way you’ll get what you want.”
She wasn’t so sure what that was anymore.
Gage was already moving, and she had to hurry to keep up. He strode into his bedroom, heading straight for his wardrobe.
She watched him pull out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, movements crisp. Then he turned, closing the distance between them, extending the clothes without a word.
Bea took them. He kissed her. His thumb and forefinger held her jaw with just enough pressure to keep her still. Her fingers gripped the bundle in her hands as the kiss deepened.
And just when she started to sway toward him, he pulled back. “Sleep well, sweetheart.”
Her body protested the loss. But he’d already turned, and shut the door behind him.
Silence came over the room.
Bea inhaled, steadying herself. She had won. Technically. But it didn’t feel like a win. It felt like a loss.
Her gaze swept the room, all clean lines, dark wood, cool steel. A huge bed. There was no clutter. No unnecessary décor. Everything was chosen for functionality. The only personal touch was a picture frame on the nightstand.
Bea did a double take.
In it was a photo of her. A candid shot from their first date in Bora Bora. Moonlight in her hair, her face in profile, her expression lightly laughing. She didn’t even know he had taken it.
Her throat tightened as she traced it with her finger.
Slowly, she peeled off her dress and pulled it over her head. She curled her fingers around the soft cotton of the shirt, slipping it on. The fabric was warm, worn-in, like he’d lent her the ones he liked best. The shorts were so big she had to pull the drawstring tight just to keep them up.
She stared at his bed for a long time. Which side did he sleep on? She guessed it must be the side with the picture on the nightstand. She walked around to the other side. Gingerly, like she might get caught doing something she shouldn’t, she slipped under the covers.
His sheets were cool, fresh. Unmistakably expensive. They smelled like him. She closed her eyes and let herself indulge for a moment, the fabric soft against her cheek, his scent cocooning her like a secret she wasn’t supposed to know.
This was unreal.
Gage’s bed.
She was lying in Gage’s bed.
Bea turned off the lamp, closed her eyes, and willed herself to sleep.
A small voice in her head wondered if he was going to sleep at all tonight. A pang of guilt. And maybe regret. She’d chased him from his own bed. After tossing and turning for a while, she sighed, and reached for her phone.
Her fingers hovered over his name. She bit the inside of her cheek.
She typed quickly.
BEA CRUZ: Thanks for the clothes. Goodnight.
GAGE
Gage sat at the kitchen island, palms braced flat against the cool marble, the tension running up his arms and locking his shoulders in place.
He hadn’t gone to bed. Of course.
Bea was in his bed. Wearing his clothes. Wrapped in his scent. His.