Chapter 12
Graham
Snow drifts in thin, silent waves across the Hearthstone lot as I step out of my SUV. The lodge sits ahead, hulking and half-asleep, the wind tugging at its battered siding.
I’ve tried calling, texting and emailing to no avail.
Willow will not respond. Then, I had a feeling …
and I followed that feeling. Willow is here.
Her SUV is parked crooked, like she pulled in fast and didn’t care about lines.
My pulse kicks up as I take the steps two at a time and push open the warped front door.
The great room is dim, morning light filtering through fractured windows. Willow stands at the far end of the room, hands shoved deep into her coat pockets, staring at the mountain view like she’s trying to hold herself together. The second she hears my footsteps, she tenses. That’s not good.
“Willow,” I say quietly.
Her shoulders rise. Then fall. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“You should have,” I counter.
She turns, eyes sharp and wounded at the same time. “Your investors think I’ve been …what was it? Batting my eyelashes? Manipulating you?”
A cold fury ignites inside me. “They were out of line.”
“They weren’t wrong.”
“That’s bullshit.” My voice echoes through the hollow room.
She flinches. “This was a mistake.”
“No,” I say, stepping forward, “it wasn’t.”
She backs up a step. “I let myself think that you meant what you said.”
“I did.”
“That this wasn’t just a project to you.”
“It’s not.”
“That our kisses weren’t …”
“Willow.” I close the rest of the distance between us, slow but unstoppable. “Nothing about this was strategy.” Her breath catches, white in the cold. I lower my voice. “I kissed you because I couldn’t not kiss you.”
“Don’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll believe you.”
I feel the weight of her vulnerability. She’s right there on the edge. One push in either direction and everything breaks. I reach up, cupping her jaw softly — giving her every chance to pull away. She doesn’t. She just stares at me with eyes that look like they’re unraveling from the inside out.
“They don’t matter,” I say, meaning every word. “The investors. Their opinions. Their assumptions. What matters is what happened between us.”
Her breathing turns uneven. “And this project?”
“This project becomes what we build. Together.”
Her throat works, like she’s swallowing chaos. But her body leans toward mine — the smallest pull, the tiniest surrender. I lower my forehead to hers. “Tell me you don’t feel this,” I whisper.
A broken sound escapes her. Then she’s in my arms, fisting the front of my coat, pulling me down into a kiss that’s hungry and raw.
Finally, Willow lets go after holding back for so long.
I meet her just as fiercely, hands sliding into her hair, gripping her waist, lifting her onto her toes as she melts into me.
Willow’s mouth opens under mine. I feel her fingers curl against my jaw. The lodge creaks around us, wind slipping through the cracks, but none of it touches us.
She kisses me like she needs this. I kiss her like I’ve been starving for her from the moment she challenged me in that lobby. When we break for air, our foreheads stay touching. The cold air rushes between us.
“Come with me,” I breathe.
She blinks slowly. “Where?”
I capture her hand, threading our fingers together. “To the Summit.”
She hesitates for one long moment. Then she nods.
???
I press the door open with my shoulder, leading her inside.
Warmth envelops us instantly, heat from the fireplace flickering across the hardwood floors.
Willow steps in slowly, eyes taking in the room with its stone hearth.
She eyes the leather armchair and the king bed with winter-white linens.
Snow falls heavily outside the balcony doors, turning the world soft and quiet.
She turns back to me and whatever hesitation she had is gone. I close the door behind us. She doesn’t wait. Willow rises onto her toes, kissing me hard enough that I stumble back against the wall. Her fingers tug at my coat, pushing it off my shoulders, breath warm against my neck.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispers against my lips.
“Are you sure?”
Her answer is a deeper kiss, her tongue sweeping into my mouth with a desperation that sends heat surging through my veins.
Willow's hands roam wildly, nails scraping down my chest through my shirt, fumbling with buttons as she presses her body flush against mine.
I feel the soft crush of her breasts, the urgent grind of her hips seeking friction against the growing hardness in my pants.
She's trembling, her breath hot and ragged, like she's been holding this fire inside for too long and now it's consuming her.
I groan into her mouth, my cock throbbing painfully against the confines of my trousers, but I grip her wrists gently, pulling her hands away before she can undo more. "Willow," I murmur against her lips, my voice rough with restraint. "Slow down."
She freezes, eyes snapping open, dark with lust and a flicker of uncertainty. "Why? Don't you want …"
"I want you more than I've wanted anything," I cut in, my thumb tracing the swell of her lower lip, swollen from our kisses. "But we're not rushing this. Trust me … it's going to be worth every second."
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, nipples pebbling visibly under her shirt in the warm glow of the fire.
She nods, though her body still vibrates with need, her thighs shifting as if to ease the ache between them.
I release her wrists and step back, shedding my coat fully before reaching for the room's phone on the side table.
The Snowy Summit's concierge answers on the first ring.
"Send up a bottle of the '96 Dom Pérignon Rosé," I say, my eyes locked on Willow as she watches me, lips parted. "And a selection of light bites—oysters on the half shell, fresh strawberries with crème fra?che, some caviar if it's Beluga. Make it quick."
I hang up and turn to her, closing the distance again to brush a strand of hair from her face.
Her skin is flushed, warm under my fingers, and I can smell the faint, intoxicating scent of her arousal mingling with the woodsmoke from the hearth.
"Let's make this unforgettable," I whisper, leaning in to nip at her earlobe, feeling her shiver.
She lets out a soft whimper, her hands clutching my arms. "Graham ..."
I lead her toward the ensuite, my palm at the small of her back, guiding her through the arched doorway into the marble-clad bathroom.
The space is a sanctuary of luxury with polished Italian Carrara floors veined with gold, a chandelier dripping crystal above, and in the center, a freestanding clawfoot tub carved from a single slab of onyx, deep enough for two and wide as a small pool.
Floor-to-ceiling windows frame the swirling snow outside, turning the storm into a private spectacle.
I twist the gilded faucets, and water cascades from the rainfall spout, steaming hot and filling the air with the scent of eucalyptus from the built-in aromatherapy system.
I pour in a generous measure of the hotel's bespoke bath oil which I noticed when I arrived.
An intoxicating mix infused with rose and sandalwood.
Willow stands at the threshold, her gaze fixed on me.
I notice a mix of nerves and desire etched into her features.
I cross to her, my fingers grazing the hem of her shirt, lifting it slowly to reveal the lace of her bra, the curve of her belly.
"Let me take care of you," I say, voice low and commanding, peeling the fabric over her head and tossing it aside.
Her breasts spill free as I unhook the bra, full and heavy, nipples hardening further in the steamy air.
I cup one, thumb circling the peaked tip, drawing a gasp from her lips.
A discreet knock sounds at the suite door. I press a kiss to her collarbone. "Don't move."
I retrieve the delivery myself – a trolley wheeled in by a uniformed attendant who averts his eyes discreetly and vanishes with a nod after I tip him generously from the stack of bills in my wallet.
The champagne chills in a bucket of crushed ice flecked with gold leaf, the bottle's pink foil glinting under the lights.
Beside it, a platter of plump oysters nestled on a bed of seaweed, glossy black caviar in a mother-of-pearl bowl with blini and crème fra?che, and ruby-red strawberries dusted with edible silver.
I wheel it into the bathroom, popping the cork with a soft hiss.
The fizzing rosé pours into two flutes, bubbles racing to the surface like tiny stars.
I hand one to Willow, clinking glasses before guiding her lips to an oyster, watching as she tips it back, the briny juice sliding down her throat.
She moans softly, the sound shooting straight to my groin.
"Undress for me," I instruct, sipping my champagne as I lean against the vanity, my erection straining visibly now.
She complies, shimmying out of her pants, revealing lace panties soaked at the crotch, the outline of her swollen pussy lips clear through the fabric.
She places her thumbs in and slides them down, exposing the neat trim of curls and the glistening folds beneath, slick with her wetness.
My mouth waters at the sight, cock twitching as I imagine burying my face there, lapping at her until she screams.
I strip efficiently – shirt unbuttoned to reveal the hard ridges of my abs, pants and boxers discarded to free my thick shaft, veined and heavy, pre-cum beading at the tip. Willow's eyes widen, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.
The tub is full now, steam curling invitingly. I step in first, sinking into the silken heat, then extend a hand. "Join me."