Chapter 12 Ex Marks the Spot #2
"You had nothing to be embarrassed about. You handled it like a damn pro," I murmur, loosening my tie, watching her from the corner of my eye. "That smile you gave Nana when she showed you that cape photo? Legendary restraint."
"I worked for him at CoreSyte, you know. We met at a company retreat.” I hear her exhale. “And I bought that dress for him." Her voice is quiet in the darkness. "Spent money I didn't have because I thought it would make me look like I belonged in his world.”
My jaw tightens. “Sage—"
"And then he left me anyway. For someone who probably doesn't even own dresses that cover her entire ass."
“You did belong. He just didn’t. His loss."
"Is it though?" She turns to look at me, city lights painting her face in gold and shadow. "He got exactly what he wanted. Someone uncomplicated. Someone who doesn't challenge him. Someone flexible. Literally. She can put her foot over her head, you know.”
“He went in for someone boring, Sage.”
“And young. And beautiful. And—"
"Boring," I repeat firmly. "Trust me. I've spent my entire career around tech executives and their rotating collection of vapid twenty-something girlfriends.
They're all the same. No depth. No challenge.
No midnight goat chases or plumbing disasters or kitchen conversations that make you rethink everything. "
She's staring at me now. "Luke..."
"You want to know the truth about Derek Manning?
" I shift closer, drawn by some force I don't want to name.
"He's weak. He saw your strength, your complexity, your absolutely infuriating ability to handle any crisis, and it scared him.
So he ran to someone who would never challenge him, never push him, never make him question whether he was good enough. "
"Or maybe he just wanted someone who doesn't come with a failing inn and a goat with separation anxiety."
"Maybe he's an idiot who gave up extraordinary for easy, not to mention, boring.”
“You’ve said ‘boring’ already.”
“And I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.”
We're very close now, the space between us charged with possibility. Her hand is on the seat between us, and I cover it with mine.
"You really think I'm extraordinary?"
"I think you're impossible," I say honestly. "Impossible and chaotic and absolutely extraordinary.” I lean in. “And I think you're fucking magnetic.”
“I’m also broke. And kind of a mess.” She blinks. Angled toward me now, knees nearly touching mine, her green eyes search my face like she’s trying to find the trap door. “I come with emotional baggage, Luke.” Her gaze lowers to our hands laying between us. “You don’t have to pretend that I don’t.”
“There’s a lot of things I’ve had to pretend tonight, Sage, but that sure as shit ain’t one of ‘em.” My teeth grind in my mouth.
“Jesus, do you have any idea what you do to me? Do you have any earthly clue what it took not to drag you into a supply closet tonight?” I murmur.
“Watching you walk into that ballroom, in that dress, in those heels—looking like every fantasy I’ve ever talked myself out of?
I was one more insult from Derek away from saying screw the IPO and fucking you against a bathroom counter. ”
She swallows.
“You’re not a mess,” I go on. “You’re forty-one. And I’m forty-fucking-six. We’ve both lived lives. We’ve both fucked up, lost people, been betrayed. That doesn’t make you a mess. That makes you—”
“What?”
“Dangerously irresistible.”
She lets out a breathy, nervous laugh. “Luke—”
“I’m not your boss, Sage. Or your business partner. Not tonight.” My voice roughens as I cup her jaw, thumb brushing the soft skin beneath her lip. “Tonight… I’m just a man who can’t stop thinking about what it would feel like to have your thighs around my head.”
Her eyes darken, breath catching.
“And the way you kissed me in that kitchen?” I lean closer, my lips barely grazing hers. “That didn’t feel like a mess. Or like baggage. It felt like perfection.”
She shivers.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” I murmur, lips ghosting along the shell of her ear. “Tell me I didn’t feel you press closer in that kitchen. That you didn’t want more.”
“I want more,” she whispers.
That’s all I need.
I claim her mouth in a kiss that’s nothing like earlier.
This isn’t careful. It’s not composed.
It’s all tongue and teeth and years of my own loneliness combusting into raw hunger.
Her fingers clutch my lapels, dragging me closer as I shift, angling my body over hers.
The limo windows fog as I slide one hand up her thigh, finding the slit in her dress, groaning when I meet bare skin. “Jesus, Sage. No stockings?”
“They itched,” she pants.
“You’re going to kill me.”
I push the dress higher, my fingers dragging along the soft skin above her knee.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to touch you like this.
How many nights I’ve spent imagining what you’d sound like when you fall apart, getting a chance to actually see you in that underwear with the little tacos all over it… ”
She gasps as my teeth find that tender spot below her jaw. “Luke—”
“Say my name again.”
“Luke.”
I reach her hip, palm skimming over the curve with greedy reverence. “You feel that?” I press my hand lower, over the lace barrier between us, over the heat between her thighs. “That’s mine tonight.”
Her head tips back against the seat, lips parted in silent surrender.
She’s gorgeous like this—wild and disheveled, hair falling from her updo, autumn-green eyes stormy with lust.
“You don’t need to be perfect for anyone,” I tell her, my fingers stroking the slowly dampening material. “Not him. Not me. But if you’re going to fall apart tonight, sweetheart, it’s going to be with me.”
She pulls me back in for another kiss, this one dirtier—deeper—and I’m gone.
Hands roam. Moans mingle. I grind the heel of my hand over the nub between her thighs, the friction maddening—delicious.
And then—
The limo slows.
We freeze.
The car stops.
The driver’s voice slices through the heated haze. “We’ve arrived, Mr. Sterling.”
Sage pulls back, her lipstick smudged, her hair thoroughly messed.
She looks debauched and perfect and utterly fuckable.
"I should go," she says, not moving.
"You should."
"Early morning."
"Inn responsibilities."
"Right." She straightens her dress with shaking hands. "This was..."
"Efficient?" I suggest.
She laughs, bright and sudden. "So efficient."
"The most efficient gala attendance in history."
"We should put it in the SafeStay marketing materials." She reaches for the door handle, then pauses. "Luke? Thank you. For tonight. For all of it."
Before I can respond, she's out of the car and hurrying up the inn steps, wobbling slightly in her heels.
She pauses at the door, looking back, and even from here I can see her smile.
Then she's gone, and I'm alone in the back of a limo with smudged lipstick on my collar and the taste of extraordinary on my lips.
"Back to the city, Mr. Sterling?" the driver asks.
"Yes," I say, already knowing I won't sleep tonight. "Back to the city."
As we drive away, I touch my lips, still feeling the phantom pressure of hers.
My phone buzzes with a text from Connor.
Grandmother says Sage is perfect for you. I agree. Stop being an idiot.
For once, I don't argue.