Chapter 18 Kai
KAI
I find Samantha in the library, hunched over her laptop with that intense focus she gets when she’s working.
She’s been at it for hours. I know because I’ve walked past three times, and she hasn’t moved except to refill her coffee mug.
“You’re going to burn out,” I say from the doorway.
She jumps, hand flying to her chest. “God, Kai. You scared me.”
“You’re too easy to scare.” I move into the room and close her laptop. “Break time.”
“I’m in the middle of—”
“Whatever it is can wait.” I pull her to her feet. “You’ve been working nonstop for days. You need to actually see this place instead of just living in it.”
She tries to reach for her laptop. “I really should finish this presentation—”
“Nope.” I keep myself between her and the desk. “I’m kidnapping you for the afternoon. Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“On an adventure.” I grin. “Trust me.”
She hesitates, then sighs. “Fine. But if your father asks why his marketing strategy is late—”
“I’ll take full responsibility.” I offer my arm. “Now come on. There’s a whole estate you haven’t explored yet.”
She takes my arm, and we head out of the library.
“I’ve seen most of the main areas,” she says as we walk.
“You’ve seen the public areas. The stuff we show guests.” I lead her down a hallway she probably didn’t know existed. “But this place has secrets. Layers. You just have to know where to look.”
We reach a section of wood paneling that looks like every other wall in this wing. I press a specific spot, and a hidden door clicks open.
Her eyes widen. “Are you kidding me right now?”
“Secret passage.” I gesture for her to enter. “After you.”
She steps through, and I follow, closing the door behind us.
The passage is narrow, lit by the same emergency lighting as the tunnel system. It winds through the walls of the estate, connecting different wings in ways the original architect designed for servants to move unseen.
“This is insane,” Samantha says, trailing her fingers along the stone walls. “How many of these passages are there?”
“Dozens. Maybe more. Dad’s still finding new ones.” I lead her deeper. “The estate was built in 1887 by a guy named Theodore Blackwell. He made his fortune in silver mining and decided to build himself a mountain palace.”
“1887? This place is over a hundred years old?”
“Yeah. Blackwell was paranoid as hell. Built all these passages so he could move around without being seen. Secret rooms where he hid his silver. Underground tunnels connecting to the mines.” I push open another hidden door, and we emerge into a section of the estate she definitely hasn’t seen.
“He died in 1903, and the place sat empty for decades. Changed hands a bunch of times. Nobody wanted to maintain it.”
We’re in what used to be a ballroom. High ceilings, enormous windows, dusty chandeliers. It’s being renovated slowly, but you can still see the original grandeur.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathes.
“Dad bought it in the late nineties. Place was falling apart. Roof leaked. Foundation was cracked. Everyone said he was crazy to take it on.” I lean against one of the windows.
“But he saw potential. Spent five years restoring the original structure and another three building the modern resort sections. This ballroom is one of the last rooms he’s working on. ”
“Why did he want it so badly?”
“He never really said. But I think he liked the idea of taking something broken and making it great again.” I push off the window. “Come on. There’s more.”
I take her through room after room. The old library with floor-to-ceiling shelves still full of Blackwell’s books. The wine cellar that goes down three levels. The conservatory where Blackwell’s wife grew orchids.
Samantha’s fascinated by all of it, asking questions, running her hands over original architectural details, genuinely interested in the history.
“Blackwell had a daughter,” I tell her as we walk through what used to be the family quarters. “She died young. Scarlet fever. After that, his wife lost her mind. Spent the last years of her life wandering these halls talking to ghosts.”
“That’s tragic.”
“That’s life in 1890.” I open another hidden panel. “But it makes for good ghost stories. Staff swear they’ve seen a woman in white walking the third floor.”
“Have you seen her?”
“Nope. But I’ve heard weird shit. Doors closing on their own. Cold spots. Could be ghosts. Could be hundred-year-old architecture settling.” I grin. “Either way, it’s cool.”
We end up in the oldest part of the estate, where the original structure meets the mountain itself. The walls here are stone, carved directly from the rock face.
“This was Blackwell’s private retreat,” I explain. “He had a sauna and bathing area built right into the mountain. Natural hot springs.”
“Natural hot springs?” Her eyes light up. “Are they still functional?”
“Dad restored them. They’re incredible.” I push open a heavy wooden door. “See for yourself.”
The room beyond is something out of a dream. Rough stone walls. Wooden benches in a traditional sauna. And beyond that, visible through glass doors, a hot tub built into the natural rock with steam rising from the water.
“Oh my God.” Samantha moves toward the sauna. “This is amazing.”
“Right? Blackwell might have been paranoid and weird, but he had good taste.” I flip a switch, and the sauna heats up. “Want to try it?”
She turns to look at me. “I don’t have a swimsuit.”
“Who said anything about a swimsuit?”
Her cheeks flush. “Kai—”
“Come on. When’s the last time you did something spontaneous?” I’m already pulling off my shirt. “Live a little.”
She watches me strip down to my boxers, and I see desire war with hesitation on her face.
“The door locks,” I point out. “Nobody comes down here. It’s just us.”
“You’re terrible.”
“You love it.” I step into the sauna in just my boxers. “Coming?”
She stands there for another moment, then laughs and starts undressing. I turn away to give her privacy, adjusting the temperature controls. The heat is already building, dry and intense.
She joins me wearing just her bra and panties, and even in the dim light, she’s gorgeous.
We sit on opposite benches, and the heat wraps around us. “This is incredible,” she says, tilting her head back. “I can see why Blackwell built this.”
“Guy knew how to live.” I pour water on the heated rocks, and steam hisses up. “So what do you think of the estate? Now that you’ve seen the real parts.”
“I think it’s one of the most interesting places I’ve ever been.” She looks at me through the steam. “And I think your father is crazy for taking on a restoration this massive.”
“He’s always been crazy. In the best way.”
“What about you? Are you crazy?”
“Absolutely.” I grin. “But also in the best way.”
She laughs, and the sound fills the small space.
We talk for a while, letting the heat seep into our muscles.
She asks about growing up here, about Donovan and Dad, about the business.
I tell her stories that make her laugh. About the time I crashed a snowmobile into the frozen lake.
About Donovan getting stuck in one of the secret passages when we were kids.
About Dad finding us trying to make a zip line from the roof.
“You were a nightmare child,” she says.
“I was creative.” I stand. “Come on. Let’s hit the hot tub before we melt.”
The hot tub is perfect. Water heated by natural springs, surrounded by rock and glass with a view of the mountains. Snow is falling outside, creating a surreal contrast between the heat and the cold.
I sink in with a groan. “This is the best thing in the entire estate.”
Samantha lowers herself in across from me, and her sigh of contentment makes me smile.
“You were right,” she admits. “I needed this.”
“I’m always right.”
“That’s not even remotely true.”
“Let me have this one.”
She splashes water at me, and I splash back. Within seconds, we’re laughing like kids, water everywhere.
I catch her wrist mid-splash and pull her closer. She doesn’t resist, just lets me draw her through the water until she’s right in front of me.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi.” Her voice is breathless.
I brush wet hair back from her face. “You’re beautiful. You know that?”
“You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Not so bad? I’m devastated.” But I’m grinning. “I’m extremely attractive, and you know it.”
“Your ego is extremely attractive.”
“Same thing.”
She laughs, and I kiss her because I can’t help it.
The kiss is soft at first. Playful. But it deepens quickly, heat building that has nothing to do with the water temperature.
She tastes like chlorine and something sweet I can’t name.
I hook my fingers under the band of her soaked bra and peel it up and off. It lands with a wet slap on the stone edge. She retaliates by yanking my boxers down and flinging them so hard they sail clear through the open glass door and disappear into the snowdrift outside.
We both lose it, laughing like idiots, naked now, water lapping at our waists.
I pull her closer. The buoyancy makes her weightless; every tiny shift of her hips grinds her against me in slow motion. She feels it, and her eyes go dark.
“Kai,” she breathes.
I answer by kissing her again, deeper, and sliding my hands down to cup her ass. She rolls forward experimentally. The resistance of the water turns the movement into something filthy and perfect. We both groan.
She pushes me back until I’m half-sitting on the submerged stone bench, water to my chest. Then she rises up on her knees, reaches between us, and guides me inside her.
The heat of her around me, even in the hot water, is almost too much. She sinks down inch by inch, forehead pressed to mine, eyes locked, watching every flicker on my face like she’s memorizing it.
“Jesus, Sam.”
She starts to move with lazy, teasing circles that make the water ripple out from us in perfect rings. I let her set the rhythm, hands resting on her hips, thumbs tracing the dimples above her ass.
“You’re grinning like an idiot,” she says, breathless.
“Can’t help it. Watching you ride me might be my new favorite hobby.”
She laughs, and the sound goes straight to my chest. I cup water in my palms and let it pour over her breasts, watching it run in warm streams down her stomach, over the place we’re joined.
Her rhythm stutters. She drops her forehead to mine again, hips rolling faster.
I slide one hand between us, thumb finding her clit, moving with her instead of against her. She gasps, nails digging into my shoulders.
“Come for me, gorgeous,” I whisper. “I want to feel it in the water.”
She does—hard, sudden, a shocked little laugh spilling out as she clenches around me, thighs trembling, water sloshing over the edge with every pulse. I hold her through it, kissing the corner of her mouth, her cheek, the tear that slips free for no reason she’ll ever admit.
When she can breathe again, I stand and lift her clear out of the tub. She squeaks in surprise as I turn and set her on the wide stone ledge, her back to the glass wall. Snowflakes melt against the warm pane inches from her spine.
I step between her thighs and drive back in.
The angle is deeper, sharper. She claws at my shoulders, half laughing, half moaning.
“Kai—fuck—the snow—”
“I know,” I growl, and set a hard, steady rhythm. Water splashes everywhere. Steam curls around us like we’re burning.
Her legs lock around my waist. I feel her building again, but this one is mine to give. I slide a hand between us, press my thumb just right, and watch her fall a second time.
That’s it. I’m gone. I bury myself deep and come with a guttural sound, forehead pressed to hers, snow falling silent and endless behind her.
We stay like that until the water starts to cool around our calves.
Eventually, I lift her down, wrap her in the biggest towel I can find, and kiss her forehead like she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever touched.
She disappears into the shower to rinse off the chlorine.
The second she’s gone, the pain hits. Sharp and brutal, radiating from my chest down my left arm. I grab the edge of the hot tub, breathing through it.
Not now. Please not now.
I fumble for my jeans with shaking hands, finding the pill bottle I’ve started keeping in my pocket. Three pills. I swallow them dry and sit on the bench, waiting for the medication to kick in.
The pain intensifies before it eases. My vision blurs. Sweat breaks out on my forehead despite the cold air. I force myself to breathe slowly. In. Out. In. Out.
After what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, the pain starts to fade. My heartbeat settles into something closer to normal. The bathroom door opens, and I force myself to stand, to look normal.
Samantha emerges, dressed and dry, looking relaxed and happy. “That was exactly what I needed,” she says. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” I pull on my shirt, trying not to wince. “Ready to head back?”
“Yeah. I should probably finish that presentation before your father comes looking for me.”
We make our way back through the passages, and she’s still asking questions about the estate, about Blackwell, about the restoration.
I answer automatically, but part of my mind is still on the pain. On the fear that sits in my chest alongside the medication.