Chapter 26 – Lance
Chapter Twenty-Six
One Perfect Night…
Lance
Three weeks married, and I was getting the hang of it. More importantly, not a peep from my brother or grandfather.
Three weeks of total bliss. Okay fine, there were a couple of bumps with Morgan's schedule. As things were getting closer to the delivery of her designs, she was busier and busier. And more stressed out.
But we had been great. She was letting me spoil her, cook for her, and give her many, many orgasms. Give her breaks from the stress. But it wasn't enough.
The situation before the wedding hadn't exactly lent itself to concentration and work, so she'd fallen a little behind.
The least I could do was help her relax.
I'd texted her earlier to leave me an hour this evening. I knew she'd be worried about taking a break, but I figured she needed this particular break.
I checked my watch as I balanced the takeout bags against my hip, fumbling for my keys to Morgan's studio. The familiar scent of jasmine rice and pad thai drifted up from the containers, making my stomach growl despite having eaten lunch hours ago.
6:47 PM. She'd been at the studio since six this morning. Again.
Fashion Week deadline loomed like a storm cloud, and my wife—Christ, I still got a thrill saying that—had thrown herself into her designs with single-minded determination that was both admirable and concerning.
I'd taken to setting reminders on my phone. Bring Morgan dinner. Check if Morgan ate breakfast. Text Morgan to drink water.
The woman would forget to breathe if she got too absorbed in sewing.
I pushed open the studio door to find her exactly where I'd expected—hunched over her drafting table, braids twisted into a messy bun secured with what looked like a paintbrush. The setting sunlight streaming through the tall windows caught the golden undertones in her skin.
Fuck, she was beautiful. Even stressed and covered in fabric scraps, she made my chest tight with want.
"Don't even think about telling me it's already evening," she said without looking up, her pencil flying across the paper. "I know exactly what time it is."
"Do you know what day it is?" I asked, setting the food on the nearby table she'd cleared for eating. Well, theoretically cleared. Currently, it was covered in fabric swatches and thread samples.
She paused, pencil hovering over her sketch. "Thursday?"
"It's Saturday, Spitfire."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide with panic. "Saturday? But that means I only have?—"
"Three weeks until delivery," I finished, moving behind her chair to massage the knots I knew would be tight in her shoulders. "Plenty of time."
She melted under my touch with a soft sigh that went straight to my cock. Even stressed out of her mind, she responded to me like her body was made for mine.
"I'm behind schedule," she muttered, but she didn't pull away from my hands. "I need to finish the beading on the evening gown today, and I still haven't figured out the neckline for piece twelve, and?—"
"And you need to eat," I interrupted, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. The scent of her shampoo—coconut and vanilla—made me want to bury my face in her hair and forget about everything else. "When was the last time you had food that wasn't coffee?"
The guilty silence told me everything I needed to know.
I'd been watching her work herself into the ground for weeks now. The passion she brought to her designs was incredible—watching her create was like watching magic happen. But she forgot everything else when she was in the zone. Food, sleep, and basic human needs.
Hence the regular delivery service I'd become.
"Come on," I said, tugging gently on her hands. "Food first, then you can get back to conquering the fashion world."
We'd done some rearranging of the co-op and added a seating area for breaks. She let me pull her to the couch. Not that she used it nearly enough.
"Thai from Lotus," I said, unpacking the containers. "And before you ask, yes, I got the pad thai with extra peanuts, and yes, I remembered the mango sticky rice."
The smile that spread across her face was worth the twenty-minute detour I'd taken to get to her favorite restaurant. "You're perfect," she said, and something warm and possessive unfurled in my chest.
Mine. The thought hit me with startling intensity. This woman, this moment, this life we were building together—all of it was mine to protect, to cherish, to keep.
I was still getting used to this. The casual affection, the way she looked at me like I hung the moon when I did something as simple as bringing her dinner. The easy intimacy of knowing her preferences, her habits, her needs sometimes better than she knew them herself.
My phone buzzed just as Morgan was digging into her pad thai.
Micah: Be there in five.
I grinned, typing back quickly.
Me: You're late.
Micah: Blame our boss. Pierce and Gwen needed my help.
Gwen and I still hadn't found even footing yet, so it was no surprise I hadn't been first on her call list. While Morgan had book club, I'd call Atticus.
"What's that smile about?" Morgan asked, catching my expression.
"Nothing," I said innocently. "Just checking in with Pierce about security updates."
It wasn't entirely a lie. Pierce had updated me earlier about the data Gwen had extracted from my grandfather's servers. Mostly financial records, nothing immediately useful for building a case against him.
I pushed those thoughts aside. Today was about Morgan, about making sure she took care of herself.
Three minutes later, the studio door burst open and Micah strolled in with what looked like enough snacks to feed a small army.
"Surprise!" he announced, followed by Amber, Devon, and—to my surprise—Gwen, who was carrying a sleepy Ava in her carrier.
"What is this?" Morgan asked, looking between me and the invasion of her workspace.
"Emergency book club meeting," Amber announced, setting down a bottle of wine. "Because you've been hermitting, and we missed you."
"I'm working ," Morgan protested, but I could see the way her face lit up at seeing her friends and her sister. "I have deadlines."
"Which is exactly why you need this," Gwen said, settling into one of the chairs with Ava.
The baby made soft little sounds in her sleep, completely oblivious to the chaos around her.
"You're going to burn out if you keep going like this.
We know you only have an hour. So while you eat, we're going to have bookclub. "
Morgan slid me an irritated glare. "Judas."
"Hey, this is good for you. And might bring you a fresh perspective.
Listen to your sister," I said, pressing a kiss to Morgan's temple.
The contact sent heat through my veins. Even something as innocent as kissing her forehead made me want to drag her home and remind her exactly why she married me.
"I'm going to work on something while you all catch up. "
Morgan's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Work on what?"
I gestured to the evening gown hanging on her dress form—a stunning creation in midnight blue silk that still needed the intricate beadwork she'd been stressing about. "Figured I could help with the beading. You showed me the pattern."
Her mouth fell open. "You want to do beadwork?"
"I have steady hands," I said with a shrug. "And you taught me the technique last week."
It had been late one night when she'd been working and I'd found her nearly crying with frustration over a particularly complex section. I'd sat with her, letting her guide my hands through the delicate process of attaching each tiny bead in the precise pattern she'd designed.
"Lance," she said softly, and I could hear the emotion in her voice. "You don't have to?—"
"I want to," I said simply. "Let me help."
The look she gave me was worth everything—soft and grateful and full of love that still made my chest tight with wonder. The beast in me preened at her approval, at being useful to her in yet another way.
"Okay," Micah announced, clapping his hands together as I settled at Morgan's work table with the dress. "Emergency book club is now in session. This month's disaster was Billionaire's Passion by Ana Gunan. I have to say, I don't love this stalker romance kick we're on."
"Disaster?" Devon asked, raising an eyebrow as he opened the wine Amber had brought.
"Oh, boy," Amber said gleefully, settling onto the couch next to Morgan. "Micah has Opinions about stalker heroes."
"I have concerns about the entire romance reading community," Micah declared dramatically. "What is wrong with you people?"
Gwen laughed as she cradled my goddaughter. "But he's so hot, though, when he carries her out of the club to his penthouse, I swooned."
I focused on threading my needle while listening to the conversation, the familiar rhythm of their banter washing over me. Morgan's laugh—real, unguarded, relaxed—was the best sound I'd heard all week.
"He literally breaks into her apartment," Micah continued, pacing now. "He has cameras all over the place. And somehow this is romantic?"
"It's fiction, Micah," Gwen said patiently, adjusting Ava in her lap. The baby stirred slightly but didn't wake. "Fantasy. No one actually wants to be stalked in real life."
"Do we not?" Amber asked with a wicked grin. "Because I wouldn't mind a billionaire stalker obsessing over me enough to buy the building where I work."
Morgan choked on her wine, shooting me a look. I kept my expression carefully neutral as I attached another bead to the intricate pattern she'd designed, but internally I was smug as hell. She had no idea about half the things I'd done to ensure her safety and happiness.
"That's different," Morgan said quickly. "That's just... practical."
"Uh-huh," Devon said with a knowing smirk. "Sure it is."
"Can we please focus on the actual concerning behavior?" Micah interrupted. "The man literally says he wants to lock her up and keep her safe. That's not romantic, that's kidnapping!"