28. Reece
Reece
I haven’t driven in months. That’s Michael’s job. I pay him well to make sure I can work uninterrupted. But tonight, I drive. Because this isn’t a meeting. It’s not business. It’s her.
I knock on her door exactly one minute before seven. The door creaks open. And she stands there in a dark-green satin slip dress that makes me lose my goddamn breath.
Her hair is down. Her heels are high. Her expression is hesitant but soft.
“You drove?” she asks, eyes flicking to the curb.
I nod. “Told you. I’m doing this the right way.”
She studies me for a beat, then opens the door wider.
I step in. The air shifts between us immediately. Warm. Electric.
She smells like pure temptation, making my mouth water. Her skin is glowing. Her lips a soft pink I want to taste until she’s breathless.
But I don’t touch her. Not yet. I offer my arm.
“May I walk you to the car, Miss Rhodes?”
She raises a brow, lips twitching. “Formal tonight, are we?”
I lean in, voice low. “Only because if I don’t play it careful, I’ll end up dragging you back inside and fucking you against the wall.
” Her eyes flare, but she takes my arm. “Apologies. I’m trying to remain a gentleman, but you still get me so fucking worked up it’s like an animal trying to escape. ”
I open the passenger door and help her in. Gentleman on the surface. But inside? I’m wrecked. Because she smells too good. Looks too good. And I haven’t kissed her in weeks.
I walk around, slide into the driver’s seat, and steal a glance. She's folded her hands in her lap, trying not to fidget.
“Nice car,” she says, eyes darting around.
“Thanks. Got it last fall. Haven’t driven it much. Felt like the occasion deserved it.”
“What occasion?”
I glance over. “Our first date.”
Her smile flickers, soft and cautious. My hand rests on the gear shift. Close to her knee but not touching.
I drive slowly, wanting to savor every single second with her. I’m done rushing things with her. We don’t speak for a few minutes. But it’s not silence. It’s loaded. Like every molecule between us is vibrating with memory and want.
When we hit a red light, I reach out. Just to fix a strand of hair behind her ear. My thumb grazes her cheek. She exhales slowly.
“Still driving yourself crazy trying to be a gentleman?” she whispers.
“You have no idea.”
She laughs softly.
“Can I tell you something?” I ask.
She nods.
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
We drive the few remaining blocks to the restaurant and I hand my keys to the valet before guiding her inside. The rooftop terrace is everything I planned.
Twinkle lights. Candlelight. Music low and warm. Her favorite wine already waiting. She walks in ahead of me, then stops short.
“Oh my God.”
I step behind her, hand resting lightly on the small of her back.
“Too much?”
She shakes her head slowly. “No. It’s perfect.”
I guide her to the table and pull out her chair. I pour the wine, and she takes a sip, still scanning the garden.
“This feels… surreal.”
“Good surreal?”
She meets my eyes. “Dangerous surreal.”
I nod once. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Dinner is slow. Delicious. She laughs easily, but I can see the war still playing out behind her eyes. It’s in the way her fingers toy with her napkin. The way her eyes dart to my mouth and then away. The way she flinches every time I get too close and then leans in anyway.
She’s still protecting herself. And I don’t blame her. But I’m here to earn every layer of armor she’s wearing. Not to dismantle it. To deserve its removal.
By the time dessert arrives, she’s visibly more relaxed.
Her laugh comes easier. Her eyes don’t flick away when I reach for her hand.
And when I trace a circle on her palm with my thumb, she doesn’t stop me.
She just watches. And lets me look at her like she’s the answer to every question I’ve ever had.
Because she is. She always fucking has been.
After dessert, we make our way down to the bar for a nightcap… Skye’s idea. She’d looked at me with that sly little tilt of her head and said, “Let ’ s not end the night yet.”
Like I could’ve said no to that. The rooftop was quiet. Intimate. But down here? It’s a different kind of heat. Low lights. Dark wood. Jazz playing through hidden speakers. The kind of place people come to pretend they’re not lonely until last call.
She picks a booth in the corner. I order us both a whiskey, neat for me, on the rocks for her. When I return with the drinks, she’s already kicked off one heel and curled her leg beneath her, lounging.
“Second thoughts?” I ask, sliding in across from her.
She lifts her glass. “None that involve you.”
I smirk and clink mine against hers. “Good answer.”
We sip. Talk. Flirt. She’s leaning over the table more now. Letting her fingers graze mine. Letting her voice drop when she tells me I should wear my Henley more often .
And then it happens. She stiffens. Eyes fixed just over my shoulder. I clock the change immediately. Her breath slows. Shoulders go tense.
“Skye?” I murmur.
She doesn’t answer right away. Just stares.
“Tell me,” I say, quieter now. “Who is it?”
She lifts her glass and takes a slow sip, like she needs the burn.
“Shane.”
It takes a beat to register the name. Then the weight behind it. Shane. Her ex. The man she’s mentioned only once or twice but never with fondness.
I keep my expression neutral. My tone casual. “Want me to take you out the back?”
She smiles tightly. “I’d rather he see me.”
I reach across the table and place my hand over hers. “Then let’s make sure he really sees you.”
Before I can say anything else, he spots her. Stops mid-stride. His eyes widen like he wasn’t expecting her to look this good. To glow like this. He straightens his jacket and makes his way toward us, smiling like he belongs at our table. Like he ever fucking deserved to be in her orbit.
“Skye,” he says, eyes dragging down her body in a way that makes my blood burn. “Wow. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Shane,” she says. Her tone is flat. “Didn’t think you liked places like this.”
“Didn’t think you did either but here you are.” He runs his eyes over her again, flashing that charming-on-the-surface smile. “Guess you’re full of surprises.”
His eyes flick to me, to the way our hands are linked.
He blinks. “Sorry, and you are…?”
I don’t stand. I just level him with a cool look. “Her date.”
“Right,” he says, not even pretending to hide the tension behind his smirk. “Shane.” He extends a hand I don’t take.
“I know who you are,” I say flatly.
Skye shifts beside me. I don’t let go of her hand.
Shane turns his attention back to her, reaching his hand out and casually wrapping his fingers around her upper arm. “Can we talk for a second?”
My spine straightens. Skye stiffens.
“No,” I say before she can answer.
His smile fades. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
He turns to face me fully. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Yeah, but I’m talking to you.”
Skye squeezes my hand. He laughs, that mocking little huff like he thinks he’s still got a shot here. Like he doesn’t know he’s already lost.
“And who the fuck are you exactly?”
I rise slowly, my height clearly unexpected when I stand fully and tower over him. He shifts back half a step.
“I’m her fucking boyfriend,” I say, my voice cold steel. “And if you want to finish your night with your teeth intact, I suggest you back the fuck off.”
He glances back at Skye who has a smirk on her face, then back to me. But he doesn’t say anything. Because he knows. And then he walks away.
Skye rises beside me, and I slide my hand to her lower back. She leans into me like it’s instinct. I lean in, lips brushing the shell of her ear.
“You okay?”
She nods once. But when she looks at me, there’s a fire in her eyes.
“I didn’t know how much I needed that,” she whispers.
I brush my thumb along her waist, possessive. “I meant every word, sweetheart.”
We don’t speak as we step out of the bar, but the second the door swings shut behind us, I wrap my hand around her wrist and pull her with me toward the car. She follows easily, her heels clicking on the concrete, her silence loud with expectation.
When we reach the car, I turn her so her back hits the door. Not hard, just enough to make her eyes snap to mine. I brace one hand beside her head and bring the other to her jaw, gripping it just tight enough to hold her still.
“You’re not going home tonight,” I say, voice low. “You’re coming with me.” Her lips part, breath hitching. “If you have an objection, now’s your one chance.”
I watch her closely, daring her to challenge me. She doesn’t. Her pupils dilate, her chin rising slightly like she wants to meet the demand with her own power but her body gives her away. Her thighs press together. Her breath trembles. She wants this. Me.
“Didn’t think so,” I murmur, brushing my thumb across her lower lip. “Now get in.”
The ride back to my penthouse is fast. Charged. She doesn’t look at me, but I feel the energy coiled tight between us like it might detonate. When we step out, I don’t hold her hand, I grip it.
Possessive. Grounded. Mine.
And when the elevator doors close, I don’t wait. I pin her against the mirrored wall with one hand between her shoulder blades and the other gripping her ass.
“You have no idea what seeing him touch you did to me.” She gasps as I press my body to hers, letting her feel the hard line of my cock through my jeans. “I wanted to rip his fucking head off, Skye.”
“Reece…”
“I wanted to take you right there, on that table, in front of everyone. Let him watch you come on my cock and know he never had you like that. Never owned you the way I do.”
Her breath is ragged now, her fingers gripping my shirt.
“You’re mine,” I growl, voice like gravel against her throat. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she whispers.