Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Bea had never spent a day with Gage like this. Strolling through the streets of St. Ives, with nothing but time and each other.
They started at a hidden bookshop he knew she’d love.
It was one of those cozy, tucked-away places, the kind that smelled like aged pages, cedar shelves, and something faintly spiced in the air.
Old wooden ladders reached up against a wall of books.
Dust motes danced in the golden light filtering through the windows.
Gage watched her as she trailed her fingers along the spines. “Pick something,” he offered.
Bea glanced at him. “You’re buying me a book?”
“As many as you want.”
Bea huffed, shaking her head, but didn’t argue. She didn’t let him buy her much—not clothes, not jewelry, not the easy luxuries that came with him. But a book? A book didn’t glitter. She’d accept that from him and treasure it.
She chose Persuasion, a special edition you didn’t find twice. He tucked it under his arm, satisfied.
They kept walking, aimless on the surface, until he guided her to a tiny bakery tucked between shuttered storefronts. Supposedly home to the best kouign-amann in the city. He hadn’t tried it, hadn’t even stepped inside. But he knew she had a weakness for anything flakey.
She took one bite, caramelized sugar crackling beneath her teeth, eyes fluttering shut, and moaned.
Gage shot her a look, his eyes darkening. “Should I leave you two alone?”
She swatted at him. “Shut up.”
They weren’t going to his usual places. Not the sleek, high-end venues where the waitstaff knew him by name. Not the private rooftops with champagne in crystal flutes or the exclusive lounges where deals were made with a single nod.
They were for her.
After lunch, he took her to a gallery he never mentioned before. It was small, unassuming, filled with names local to the UR. Bea looked at him more than the art, the way his gaze held on certain paintings.
She stepped closer. “You like this one.”
“I do.”
Bea glanced at the painting again. Muted blues and greys, layered and deep. There was something introspective about it, something that felt like him. She tilted her head. “Because it looks like your suits?”
His eyes flicked to her, amused. His hand settled at her waist like it belonged there.
Bea didn’t know the exact moment it happened.
Maybe it was when his hand found the small of her back as they crossed the road outside the bookshop.
Or the way he ordered her sparkling water without asking, skipping his own second glass of white wine over lunch.
Or minutes ago, when he hooked a finger around her coffee cup and eased it toward her.
Like he couldn’t help but take care of her.
Maybe it wasn’t a moment at all, but a thousand small things, layering over time, until there was no other conclusion.
And it wasn’t just about what he did for her. It was what she wanted to do for him.
She wanted to give him warmth, the way he gave her certainty. To be the softness that balanced his sharp edges. The person he turned to when the world demanded too much. The one who understood what he didn’t say out loud.
Because sitting across from him now, the late-afternoon light tracing the lines of his face, Bea felt it like a quiet, certain ache.
I love him.
“Bea.”
She blinked back to attention. Gage was watching her. She must have been quiet too long. “What?”
“You’ve been staring at me for two full minutes.”
Bea flushed. “I have not.”
He didn’t look convinced. “What were you thinking about?”
Too much. Everything. Him.
She couldn’t say it. Not yet.
Her brain scrambled. Deflection needed. Fast.
“I was…thinking about going home,” she heard herself say.
That worked immediately.
It wasn’t anything big. But she had learned to watch for the smallest tells. The way his jaw flexed, the set of his shoulders. She knew what it meant.
“No, you weren’t.”
Bea watched him, not saying anything yet.
Gage tipped his head. Then leaned back, eyes steady.
“Come home with me.”
Her eyes widened slightly. She’d walked away from one landmine only to step right onto another.
Not well done, brain.
“I don’t have clothes.”
“I’ll look after that.”
“Gage—”
His voice was soft. “You don’t want to go back to Mayfield Hall.”
She forced herself to hold his gaze. “If I go home with you tonight…”
He already knew what she meant. A second night meant the expectation was higher.
“I’m not going to make you do anything,” he said, the timbre of his voice rich with meaning.
Her thighs clenched. Immediate betrayal.
The problem wasn’t him making her. It was that she might beg him to.
His thumb brushed over her knuckles. “Come home with me, Bea.” The faint smile he gave her told her he already knew he had her. Because he did.
She could say no. But she didn’t want to.
She nodded. And prayed she had enough wits left to play this right.
It was different tonight.
She knew it as soon as they were back in his penthouse.
Because today, she knew she loved him.
She was surprised, but not surprised, when he handed her a bag. Inside was a set of her own underwear, her pink short pajamas, a green and white dress, and a pair of sandals. “How…?”
“Georgie,” he said simply.
Bea groaned, mortified. That meant Georgina knew she was staying here. She was going to get grilled.
He set his keys down, loosened his watch.
“I’m gonna shower,” she murmured, already moving toward the bathroom. She made it three steps before his fingers curled gently around her wrist. Bea stopped.
“Use mine,” Gage said.
“Okay.”
She walked from the lounge, into his bedroom, and closed the ensuite door behind her.
For a moment she just stood there. Trying to remember exactly what it was she wanted. And why.
The shower helped, but not much.
Bea stepped into his bedroom nervously. She knew she was about to be tested beyond the limit of any reasonable woman’s resolve. Still, she knew what she had to do.
Gage was already sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands resting loosely on his knees. He looked calm. But when his gaze lifted, she knew better. She saw it in his eyes. The fraying edge of his restraint. The last inches of a rope that would eventually run out.
His voice was low. “Come here.”
She didn’t at first. Not because she didn’t want to. Because she did. So much. But she was one step away from losing this battle.
Bea bit her lip. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Gage was on her before she could finish, closing the space in a heartbeat. His hands caught her waist, his lips crashing into hers before she could even think.
Heat exploded through her veins, flooding every nerve with fire. It wasn’t a kiss—it was a claim. The kind that erased questions, burned through uncertainty.
His hand slid up, cupping her jaw, tilting her deeper into him like he needed more. Like he couldn’t get close enough.
By the time he pulled back, Bea was shaking. Her lips tingled, swollen and sensitive, proof that he’d been there. His forehead dropped to hers.
“Gage—”
His lips traced her jaw. “Hmm?”
Bea closed her eyes. Steeled herself. “Can I sleep in the guest room?”
Gage huffed a low breath, amused. “No, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing a slow kiss against her throat. “You can’t.”
Her pulse hammered. “Can you sleep in the guest room?” she tried again.
He stilled. Like he just realized she wasn’t joking.
This was the moment she had known was coming. What she needed to stand up to.
She loved him. She knew that now.
But giving herself to him had to be more than momentum—more than him just being too much, too irresistible, too inevitable. It had to be a choice.
They’d waited this long. And it wasn’t something she could give twice. She was just sentimental enough to want it to be special when she did.
In that quiet way of his, he searched her eyes. Bea held still, letting him read her. The words sat heavy at the back of her throat, impossible to say.
I’m not denying you. It’s not that I don’t want you.
Her palms were sweaty.
Before he could convince her, before she could give in, she forced the words out. Drew the line. “Soon,” she breathed. “But not tonight.”
His nostrils flared.
His hand dragged down her spine. Like the words were slowly seeping into him. Like he had to recalibrate the entire course of his body to accept it.
She felt the muscles in his back lock into place, a slow ripple of command running through him. His breathing steadied as he reeled everything back, inch by calculated inch.
Then, finally, a single nod. “Let’s go to bed,” he murmured. Then, dryly, “And don’t even think about the guest room.”